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muzanswaifu · 11 months

Text

Out of Options

Sugardaddy!Toji x Fem!Reader

18+

You needed money. He wanted free use. You weren't past making an exchange... until he started to get cheap. What else was a girl to do?

5k Words

Big thank you to my beta readers @mistymuichiro & @thosestarry-nights & @mrskokushibo !!!

Sfw Warnings: Sugar Daddy Toji, Sugar Baby Reader, Themes of prostitution, Angst, Bad Communication, Toxic Relationships, Creepy Old Men, Misogyny, Toxic Work Environment, Jealousy

Nsfw Warnings: Smut, Hints of Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! receiving), Cunnilingus, Squirting

The wooden frame of the bed slammed viciously into the thin walls of the motel bedroom, the withered coat of eggshell white chipping away with the ruthless collision, likely cracking the wood as well. The hellish creaking burned into your ears, scratching at the back of your brain and preventing any chance of relaxing in the moment. You’d had a shitty day, and the fact that this wasn’t even the worst of it was almost sad.

Work was exhausting, stupid old men yelling at you all day that you couldn’t do your job and the lead physician not doing a thing to stop them. Not to mention that you were in charge of most of the side work all day, replacing the instruments and utensils, emptying trash bins, cleaning out inpatient rooms, none of which was given to any of the newer technicians. You were good at what you did. You studied hard in school, you perfected all of your residency, you had astounding references. Your only flaw? Your gender. You were one of the only females in your department - hell - in the entire building. Most either quit or moved to different hospitals, entirely due to the terrible environment. None of your peers or superiors or inferiors respected you. You were always stuck with the dirty, side work while the others got to do what your job actually entailed, and the rare occurrences when you did get the opportunity to work with patients, they were always abusive to you. It was hell.

But what other choice did you have?

All the other openings at other hospitals were either filled or about to be. No other fields or retail jobs made enough pay. You didn’t have near enough money or grounds to seek out legal help. You were stuck. You were desperate for money. You were out of options.

You had family to take care of - two brothers, a sister, your mother. Dad died years ago in a car accident. Mom was already working overtime with two jobs, barely making ends meet. Rent, insurance, taxes, student loans, car payments, groceries, clothing, hospital bills, schooling, existing. It all cost money. So much money. It felt like you were suffocating. You were out of options.

Finally the creaking stopped. You back was already sore beyond belief and your legs numb. Your knees were probably bruised, too. Damn, you could go for some marble cheesecake right now. Your nose scrunched as you smelt the familiar scent of cigarette smoke, you lungs burning from the second hand nicotine.

“Here.”

A wad of cash fell across your back, the paper crunchy and bent. You groaned as you rose up, stretching your back out and hissing at how tight you were. How much was ibuprofen again?

You flicked through the money, your brow furrowing when you shuffled across the last layer.

“This isn’t enough,” you countered.

The end of his cigarette burned gold. He stood in front of the window, brushing away the curtain to peer outside as he took a drawl. He was still naked and didn’t seem in a rush to dress himself.

“It’d be more if ya didn’t make me wear a condom.”

You scowled but kept silent, fidgeting at the sides of your panties where he tied the damn things. The latex was knotted tight with each used rubber, five in total today. It’d be easier to just throw the whole pair away.

He took another hit.

“Won’t make our date on Saturday,” he mumbled, “got plans.”

You were already redressing yourself, desperate to get out of there and get going. Shower. Eat. Jerk off. Go to sleep. There were only so many hours in a day and you still had work in the morning.

You sighed, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He chuckled softly to himself. “How’s work.”

“Bye, Toji.”

The store wasn’t all that crowded surprisingly. It was Thursday afternoon, but people tended to not follow norms around here when it came to scheduling. They were out of marble cheesecake so you had to get turtle. It was too sweet in your opinion.

Everyone was asleep when you got home, but you were grateful for the privacy. Mom was still at work.

You locked your door and ruffled through your bottom drawer, fetching out your vibrator. The fan in your room was loud so nobody could hear it anyway. God, you were tired.

You never thought of anything particular when you were trying to get off, it honestly depended on the day. Sometimes you thought about getting eaten out slowly by a fireplace. Sometimes you thought about getting dicked down in a dark alley. No matter the scenario, there was only one similarity. You never imagined anyone in particular. You couldn’t put a face to the man. He was big, muscular, strong. You felt safe yet thrilled underneath him. But you couldn’t see him, if that made any sense.

Your sex drive had always been high. Ever since puberty you were antsy and pent up, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to date. Your first boyfriend was overwhelmed with how needy you were, and the moment you sensed his rejection, your attraction to him plummeted. You needed to feel secure before you felt horny. Were you demisexual? Maybe. You weren’t sure and hardly had time to find yourself.

You tried to find another partner again in your third year of college. There was a party at a local bar, and your friends hyped you up to go. You were both drunk, him more than you. He had whiskey dick. You didn’t feel comfortable. You left relatively quickly after calling him an uber. Failed again.

You didn’t try again after that.

You were fine keeping to yourself. You had your own assortment of toys awaiting you in your room. And work only solidified your hatred of the male species. You likely would’ve remained celibate forever if you hadn’t run into Toji.

You had just gotten off work, walking through the subway to catch the next train. Your engine was busted so your car was in the shop. Not many people were around, and the ones that were left after a while since it was taking too long. But you were too tired to walk so you stayed. The sketchy figures in the back didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. Finally the train came and you got on, only about six people onboard. The man a couple feet down on the bench smelt like burnt flesh. He had a cigar in his mouth despite the no smoking sign. Whatever, it wasn’t any of your business. Your left side was occupied, surprisingly, despite the abundance of free seats. This man was close, too close. Two others gathered in front of you.

“Where ya headed to baby?

“Yeah, yeah, you need some company?“

“We’ll treat ya real nice.”

You tried to ignore their taunts, keeping your eyes down and trying to appear as small as possible. You immediately noticed when a knife was drawn.

“We’re tryna talk to you, bitch.”

The blade nicked the bottom of your jaw, your blood running cold.

“Yer makin’ too much ruckus over there.”

Everyone slowly turned to look at who spoke. The man looked without a care in the world.

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask you, now did I old man?” The knife was now pointed to him.

He drew a long sigh and took out his blunt, pressing the lit end into the seat, the plastic screaming in agony.

You don’t really remember the rest of the conversation. Everything was a blur. Words were said. Punches were thrown. Bones were shattered. The man with the cigarette hardly got up from his seat, really. The next thing you knew he was sat back down and the others were lying on the floor, knocked out. You shifted your feet away so they didn’t get near the bodies.

Awkwardly, you tried to thank him, offer him what little you had in your pocket, mostly out of fear. You didn’t want to get on the bad side of someone who could so easily hurt people, and you didn’t want to appear ungrateful. Based on the scar that tore into his mouth, he’d seen his fair share of violence. He turned it down. You offered to buy him food. He turned it down. Medical care to clean his fists? He turned it down. You were out of options. Was there anything you could offer him? His answer still burned in your mind.

“You wanna fuck?”

The money afterward was unexpected. You woke up sore and broken, your thighs burning and covered in bruises. He was long gone, in his place a wad of cash that made your eyes bulge. Did he think you were a hooker? You weren’t sure. The sex wasn’t bad. You didn’t get off, but he obviously knew what he was doing. It felt nice. You felt safe.

Your next meeting, he found you walking the streets. Money in hand, stinking of booze. Wagging a room key in your face and giving you an address to go to if you need some money. Maybe he thought you were someone else. You didn’t care. You needed money and didn’t mind the sex. You were always wet enough to be comfortable for a decent amount of time, but it would hurt more after each round. You wish he didn’t last so long. Or for so many rounds. You wondered if he was even human. More money.

You had a couple rules for your… relationship. No kissing. No oral (for either of you). No raw contact or cumming on your body. No telling. You didn’t need a reputation.

He paid based on what he felt like paying you, but he was never stingy so you didn’t mind. Until lately.

He wasn’t paying as much as he used to. He didn’t seem to be enjoying himself as much. Maybe he was getting bored. You were worried.

You needed the money. You always needed money. And this wasn’t paying like it used to. It was a hard pill to swallow, but you knew what you had to do.

You needed another outlet.

It was going to be hard to find one. You were essentially selling your body, but you still had standards. You refused to sleep with anyone who you didn’t find attractive, anyone who was married, anyone dangerous. Your work was cut out for you.

And since you were now free on Saturday, you would go out then.

You put your siblings to bed early, double checking with mom that she’d be out until early morning. You dressed nice but not too nice. Hot but not too hot. It was a fine line you were walking, and you absolutely were not going to cross it.

The bar in the popular part of the city was going to be the number one spot for rich bachelors. You never went there yourself because it was so expensive and uptight, but you were looking to get drinks anyway. You didn’t have to wait long before you had a drink in front of you, courtesy of a gentleman sitting in a booth in the back. He was too old for you but you smiled at him. The others came quickly. You had the bartender sneak most of them into the sink. You couldn’t get drunk and most of these men you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. It was starting to get late. You didn’t spot anyone worth your while.

“This seat taken?”

You whipped around to your right, surprised to see a young man - no - someone your age in here. Not to mention attractive. You shook your head, trying to cover your own shock.

“Not a lot of… not… old guys in here, am I right?” He laughed, nodding toward the tables of older gentleman. Most were fifty or so. You felt gross now realizing how many were staring at you.

You laughed back nervously, “Yeah…”

“What brings you here?” He asked innocently, “Not that you don’t belong here! You just look… I don’t know - uncomfortable?”

You cringed. Did you look uncomfortable?

“Yeah, sorry. Just… hanging around, I suppose,” you offered. He was too cute now. You couldn’t bring yourself to take his money even if you wanted to.

He smiled. “Same here. I thought this place was going to be fun, but there’s not a lot to do.” He looked around. “Most of these guys are talkin’ business.” Looking around yourself, you realized he was right. Most of them were meeting up with business partners whiles others were trying to make business partners. Some looked pretty shady. You were getting more nervous by the minute.

“I-I have to go,” you mumbled quickly, getting up from your seat end creeping toward the door. He was surprised. “Uh, by-”

You bumped into something, stumbling back into the bar.

“Oi, you should watch where you’r-”

You gasped.

The music got louder. The air felt heavy. His eyes looked dark.

The corners of his mouth tugged down and his eyes narrowed. Sweat condensed on your brow.

“What are you doing here?” He growled, his stature big and menacing. His green eyes bore into you sharply.

“I-I-I-”

“Hey-” The boy from before was back. “Are you okay?” He looked to Toji and frowned.

“This guy bothering you?” He asked, all too naive. You gently pushed him back. You could see Toji about to pounce.

You pushed him back a little harder when he didn’t get the hint. “No, it’s fine, man,” you told him, “just go.”

He gave you another concerned look, but left when you gave him a stern one. You felt bad. He seemed nice.

Much to your disappointment, the other man you were dealing with didn’t just vanish into thin air. You sighed. “I was just about to leave, anyway.” You tried to step past him. He didn’t let you, his wide torso stepping in front of you. His smirk made your skin crawl.

“Let’s talk.”

You weren’t given the option to deny him as he stole you away, a large fist grabbing you arm far too harshly. He pulled you through the exit, dragging you down the crowded street. Any struggle you made was met with a firm tug, his grip getting tighter and tighter. You were definitely going to bruise.

When you’d rounded lone alleyway between the buildings, he’d pressed you against the wall, the grainy texture of the brick scratching your skin.

“What the fuck was that about, huh?” He hissed, his teeth sharp and burning white.

“You fucking around? You screw any of those fuckers?” He’d never been so angry with you before. He’d never been angry with you, period. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“N-no!” you argued, “Toji, no. What the hell - what are you doing here?” When he gave no answer, his eyes still glaring, you continued.

“You said you were busy today…”

No answer.

“I can spend my free time wherever I want.”

No. Answer. Your eyes glazed over, and you turned away from him.

“I… needed money…”

With that he seemed to let up.

“Money?” He scoffed. “This how you get money now? What the fuck happened to your job?”

“Nothing… I just needed more.” You bit your lip. “Your’s isn’t enough.”

“What do you mean mine isn’t enough?” He barked. He wrapped his hand under you jaw, his palm grasping your pulse.

“I told you I’d give you more if you let me screw you raw. Didn’t I?”

You swallowed thickly, tears clinging to your eyelashes.

You looked back at him with fear in your eyes, his hand slowly closing around your neck. His expression softened ever so slightly as he realized he was scaring you.

He released you with a huff and walked a few steps away, running a hand down his face.

“What’s the issue? STDs? Birth control? I’m clean, and I’ll get you pills-”

“No!”

He looked at you surprised. You calmed yourself down and rubbed your arms, suddenly feeling the chill of the air.

“Toji…,” you began, “we’re… not together. You have your fun, I get paid - that’s all we do.” You looked up at him softly. “I need more than what you’re giving me.”

His eyes narrowed. “You saying you don’t have fun.”

You bit your lip and looked away. He scowled. Wrong answer.

He took wide strides forward, cornering you against the wall yet again, this time with his hands on either side of your head, forcing you to face him.

“You saying you don’t love it when I fuck you? That your cunt doesn’t fuckin’ love my cock?

You frowned back at him.

“You tell me.”

His mouth thinned.

It was no secret that you didn’t come when you two fucked. It’s not like he was trying either. You always prepped yourself beforehand, lubing yourself up and stretching yourself out so he didn’t hurt you. And during your escapades, he always just pulled his dick out and got to it. He never touched you more than necessary, never tried to feel you up or grope around. His only goal was to get himself off. And you were fine with that. So long as he paid you.

His eyes looked at you softly, he almost looked guilty, but you knew him better than that. You sighed and pushed away from him.

“It’s late… I gotta go hom-”

He grabbed your wrist, squeezing tight.

You looked down at it, his hand engulfing your arm, his fingers and knuckles all too big for you. His nails dug into your skin and he pulled you back. You couldn't walk away if you wanted to. You were trapped. You wanted to push him away, you wanted to be mad, but you couldn't find it in yourself.

He leaned in, his eyes soft yet cold.

You flinched, his lips connecting with the side of your neck. He was rough, his mouth moving against your flesh in a sloppy kiss. His tongue flicked across your neck, and his teeth tugged at your skin. He was hungry. Always hungry. You pushed your free hand against him. He ignored it.

His free hand snaked up to the underside of your breast, the other dropping to your hip, his palm resting on the bone. His thumb rubbed at the exposed skin where your chest spilled out. You felt conflicted.

He bit you harshly, drawing blood. Your eyes widened and you hissed.

“So that’s what this was all about, huh?” He rasped, his bottom lip resting on your skin, his breath hot.

“Little girl not cumming like she wants to?”

You pushed his face away and groaned.

“As if you’ve ever gotten me off? I’m leaving.”

You went to move, but he kept his grip tight. He grabbed the other wrist as well. He squeezed hard, forcing you to gasp. He smirked.

“You’re this stubborn you’ve forgotten how to ask for things? You had me worried there. Thought you were tryna end things for real.”

Your face flushed in anger and embarrassment. You yanked your arms away but he didn't let go. You tugged once, twice, three times - he didn't let go. You yelped as he tugged back, forcing you to stumble and fall against him. He pressed his hips against yours, his groin digging into your stomach. You grunted at the pressure, your toes curling at the contact. He was hard already, his cock throbbing against your navel.

He pinned your arms over your head, his weight forcing you up against the wall, his mouth looming over yours. You turned your head to the side. He couldn’t kiss you, that was against the rules. His hot breath fell down your cheek and neck.

He leaned in again and you turned away.

He was hungry. Always hungry.

He leaned in again. And again.

You whimpered softly and groaned. Your heart throbbed.

You swallowed thickly as he leaned in again, your chest heaving, his lips brushing against your jaw. You shook your head weakly. He huffed, a deep, almost animalistic rumble leaving his chest.

You whined and shut your eyes.

His tongue smoothed over your jawline, his hand finally letting go of you.

You placed a hand on his shoulder but didn't push him away. He was too strong, anyway.

He grunted and ran his fingers through your hair, grasping a handful and pulling your head back. You whined, the sound only encouraging him to continue, your hair tightening in his fist. He pushed his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing against your pelvis, the fabric of your skirt doing nothing to stop the feeling.

“C’mon sweetheart, Don’tcha wanna feel good?” He cooed.

He forced you into the wall once more, his free hand moving down to your thigh, squeezing the skin just under your knee. He pulled your leg up, wrapping it over his hip, his bulge rubbing your heat. A chuckle rose deep within his throat, and he licked at your ear.

“Ugh, Toji, stop it! You’re being annoying,” you complained, despite the thrill lacing up your spine. He laughed.

“Don’t lie,” the man crooned. “I’ll make you come so hard, you’ll be beggin’ me to fuck ya.”

Your cowered away. “Wha-” Umph.

You couldn’t finish as you we dropped onto a hard surface, a mixture of both brick and stale dirt. Looking up, dead branches and deader leaves filled your vision. The alley way had led to a smaller subsection of the street, a lone crevice in the city district that was long abandoned and withering away. Your dress was smushed into the dirt of the old dirt bowl that was in the center of the small courtyard, the tree taking root twisted and weak. It almost seemed pitifully metaphorical to your current situation.

A scheming hand slithered up your thigh, scrunching back your crinkled skirt and hiking it around your hips, your lacey g-string fully exposed.

“Fuck,” Toji moaned, licking his lips, “You were definitely looking to get fucked tonight.”

“No I wasn’t!” You countered nervously, trying to press your thighs together to hide yourself. Despite being in an abandoned area, you were still in a public space and didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Much less be here for the long duration it took him to be satisfied. But this time felt a bit different. He was taking his time, touching you more, teasing. He usually got straight to business and had his fly down by now, but instead it was you who was being undressed, his big, warm hands encompassing your thighs and groping them. He was trying to break another rule, you could feel it. He had a devious look in his eye. He smiled at you.

“How much to touch your pussy?”

You were taken aback by the question, squeezing your thighs even tighter.

“Wha- that’s off limits!”

“No, no,” he insisted, “everything’s got a price, baby. What’s yours?”

He couldn’t possibly be serious. You’d never seen him so adamant to give you pleasure, much less offer money for it. From your experience, men were hesitant to do anything besides receive, convincing themselves that woman adored pleasing them. And the rare moment when they did touch a girl, it was always careless and short-lived, the only real goal to get them wet enough to be a slippery hole. You weren’t in the mood to be disappointed.

“Thirty thousand yen? Forty?”

“Not interested.”

“More?”

“No.”

He leered.

“Three. Hundred. Thousand.”

Your eyes bulged. Mouth gaping.

“Th-thats…”

“Going once,” he announced. “Going twice!” Don’t let him get to three.

You could get a new computer with that, replace your old busted one that had lost half the keys and took fifty years to load.

“Going-”

“I’ll do it!” You gasped, defeated. “I’ll do it…”

His paws squeezed your thighs, drifting up the insides and gently prying them apart. You hardly fought him when you realized that was the only way you were going to get the money. New computer. New computer. You tried to focus on the positives.

Toji pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, kissing your skin softly. You shivered at the feeling of his soft lips brushing your flesh. He moved up your leg, placing his hands on each side of your panties and tugging them down, your skin glistening with sweat as he pulled the cloth against the curves of your flesh. He pulled your legs apart further and licked a long stripe up your skin. the wetness cold on your overheated flesh. You clenched your teeth. You were on the verge of telling him the deal was off, but his tongue brushed against your core and you could no longer find the words. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving marks in his wake.

Your core throbbed.

He pulled you closer to the edge of the pot, your body lying at an awkward angle, the base of your spine aching.

Toji pressed a thumb against your slit, dragging it across your folds and collecting your slick on the pad. You shuddered.

He ran the pad of his thumb across your clit, rubbing slow circles into the bundle of nerves. You gripped his hair with one hand, tugging it hard, his muffled groan tickling your core. His finger slipped between your folds, easily entering your wet hole, his finger much bigger than your own. You grunted at the intrusion, the thick digit stretching your inner walls, his knuckle pressing against your clit as he bottomed out inside of you. He wiggled his finger, stretching your walls before pumping his finger in and out of your cunt, dragging out every little noise he could from your mouth.

He pulled you closer to the edge of your seat, your legs dangling in the air as he sat between your thighs, your hands digging into the dirt beneath you for support.

His finger moved slowly within you, his eyes never leaving yours, a fire burning within his emerald eyes. You grunted when he added another finger, the feeling almost too much for you. Your noises echoed briefly throughout the courtyard, bouncing off the concrete and surrounding buildings, and you were all too aware of how loud you were being. You pulled harder on his hair as the knot in your stomach grew tighter.

But you tried to keep your composure, your body still tense with the fear of your surroundings. Any moment someone could come waltzing by, see what you two were doing, your disheveled appearance, perhaps even try to take advantage. Your alarm hindered your concentration on the pleasure.

“What’s up?” You heard, turning your eyes back down to look at him. You hadn’t realized your gaze had wandered to the opening in the walls to where the city life buzzed about. He glanced over to where you were looking.

“Ain’t nobody comin’ over here. Relax,” he mumbled, his eyes getting warm again. “I’ll protect ya. Just relax.”

Your heart throbbed at the promise, warmth enveloping your body. You hesitantly let your head fall back and sighed, dropping your shoulders. His free hand moved to the hem of your skirt and pushed it up over your belly. He wanted a good view. You didn't care. You felt… safe.

His fingers picked up speed, fucking you harder as you bit your lip. His thumb moved back to your clit, rubbing circles on the swollen button. You hummed and sighed, his fingers twisting inside you. The pleasure began to build up again, boiling in your belly and tingling up your spine. And just when you got comfortable he only took it further.

Heat enveloped your clit, wet and slippery and hot like a warm bath. You gasped out, squirming around a bit and digging your nails into the roots in the ground. Looking back down, you confirmed your theory. Toji’s head was between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and wrapped around your little bead, his fingers still working inside of you. Soft pants and whines left your mouth, your legs shaking around his head as he continued to suck at you, his tongue swirling around and prodding under the hood, leaving you slick and sensitive. Your core throbbed.

You felt a sharp pressure inside you, and then a slow stretch. You yelped. A third finger was entering you, your cunt molding around the thick digit. You writhed again, trying to ease the ache of the intrusion. His other hand rested on your belly, gently smoothing over your skin as he ate you. His head moved side to side, tongue laving over you, his hands never stopping their movements. Oh god. It felt like you going to- to-

“Ah!,” you moaned, shaking viciously and clutching at his head, holding him in place. You were melting, you were sure of it. Everything was slipping away from you, your bones, your brain, your worries. His tongue kept lashing at you, extending your pleasure and refusing to slow down. His fingers remained pressed against your sweet spot, his other hand pushing on your belly. It was all too much, you were squealing with overstimulation. It got tighter. And tighter. And tighter. Until something popped.

All the tension broke from your body, the shocking sensations melting into something warm and fuzzy. You slowly let go of everything, all tension easing away from you and allowing for complete bliss to take over. Sweet sighs and mewls left your lips, your back lying against the dirt as you caught your breath and waited for your head and pussy to stop tingling. Another whine was pulled from you when he took his fingers and mouth away from you, unraveling your legs from his head and stepping back.

“You fallin’ asleep now?” He laughed.

You pouted and groaned. “No… jus’… gimme a sec.” Your bones were like jelly, your eyelids heavy. He cackled at you and that was the push you needed to get off your ass. He looked smitten.

“Good, right?” He crooned, wiping his mouth, “Ya fuckin’ squirted on me.”

Your face got dark and you looked to your lap, embarrassed.

“Nothin’ to be ashamed about princess.” He assured, fishing out his wallet and shufflling through the bills. He took out a stack and threw it in your lap.

“It was hot.”

You groaned again and dug your face into your hands, trying to ignore his raspy laughing.

You jolted when you felt his breath on you, looking up and freezing. His eyes burned into you.

“Now next time, let’s work out this condom situation, alright?”

You gulped.

Part 2 coming eventually...

2K notes · View notes

aconflagrationofmyown · 1 year

Text

A Whole Man Is Hard Find || chapter 15

An Elvis Presley riverboat AU

Warnings: the typical universe warnings apply but with a significant raise in this particular chapter with mentions of and repeated talks of past rape, exploitation, drugging, prostitution, mentions of suicide and contemplating suicide

Word Count: 21k 🤭

Note from the gremlin author: thank y’all so much for your patience and continued interest in this sprawling AU, your messages and comments and screaming are what I live for and truly ensure each next part ever seeing the light of day. I love you all and thank you for being so good to me on here, makin’ E so proud with your warmth, I do believe. Warning, this chapter has only been edited by my exhausted eyes. Xoxo Marina🌹

Previous chapter link -because lord knows I take so long between updates y’all probably don’t recall where we are at

“I dreamed a dream in time gone by, when hope was high and life worth living, I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving”

Rosey thought the announcement went rather well, though some credit was no doubt owed to the whiskey passed around by Jerry first.

Due to the pouring rain the crew meeting was moved from the deck and instead took place in the grand ballroom. There beneath unlit chandeliers, Captain Presley took a stand atop a billiards table and managed, not without severe bouts of emotion, to relay to his friends and crew that they’d be dumped on the river bank this evening for the interim of a month. That they would go with ample remuneration hardly seemed to worry most, it was assumed.

When one was fired by Captain Presley, one knew it. The men Captain Presley had fired before were either shot, pitched over the side or else so viscerally cut down to size in a vocal harangue as to alter their bearings and stature for the rest of their lives. When one got fired by Captain Presley, one apologized for fucking up and took the bullet. He was a fair man, his temper an instrument of justice, and it earned him a loyal crew.

This was no firing. And after the incident at table this morning, his crew had the good sense to take it in the vein it was presented. Choiceless, on his part and theirs.

Those occasional crew members who had in the past chosen to leave the Proud Marie on good terms, had been subjected to bouts of sullen pouting by their superior officer, but they’d never been allowed ashore without ample funds and gifts, momentos and embraces by their erstwhile captain.

For this particular development, Rosey knew the Captain found it hardest to tell them of their abandonment and yet be forced to not divulge that his triumphant return was no sure thing. He had argued heatedly in the office that they deserved to know he was most likely sunk, that they should not spend their ample severance pay on rent and provisions waiting for his return, when that awaited return did not guarantee a resumption of their jobs. Which point, Scotty and Rosey both argued against, from different angles.

Scotty made the decent point that despite Elvis’ childlike trust for his crew, telling them of his rebellion against the Colonel was the quickest way to stamp out their daring endeavor -news of it would be wired to the Colonel by one of them before nightfall.

On her part, Rosey pointed out that he very well might win at this dare, in which case it was hasty to command them not to wait for his return and a resumption of the life they enjoyed and thrived in.

“Don’t you ever get tired of placin’ your bets on a lame horse?” he had teased her.

“I’ll tell Beans you’re maligning him.” she had threatened him in return, lips trembling in a giggle that the haughty set of her brows could not disguise.

He was near unbearably fond of that expression of hers, he’d seen it often enough since she boarded his boat and snippily ordered his life for the better. That grinning giggle had talked him into heaven and a heap of trouble, but one way or another he was no longer stagnant, and tiring as walking through hell turned out to be, it was better than purgatory.

And so he had jumped up on that billiard table and announced it, choking down his warnings and his apologies and everything he wanted to say to folks who’d followed and trusted him for ten years, during times of lean and fat, times when he felt capable and times when he had courted death it seemed so appealing.

The family he had made when he came home and found none waiting for him, found that he’d been buried and mourned and replaced in their hearts. So he had set himself out to become irreplaceable, and maybe Sister Rosetta was right, this current helplessness was his judgment, playing at god had landed him in a Devine fix where he was left powerless to defend what was his beyond shoving money and thanks into the hands of his beloved dependmants. Comending them to the care of the One who could do more.

Upon the conclusion of the Captain’s announcement -speech, lullaby, eulogy, it seemed- a mournful murmur bubbled through the gathered crew and they rushed him to say their goodbyes and swear their lifetime loyalty. One of them went to Rosey instead, her bronze cheeks wet with tears but her face a strong mask of composure.

“Oh, Miss B.” her melting creole patois washed over Rosey.

Etta’s name had been on the list of crew to be dispensed of, pretty maids a liability on a boat full of desperate soldiers. Her hand now gripped Rosey’s firm and warm, her dark eyed shining with emotion, and belatedly Rosey realized with heart stopping regret that she had both made and was now losing a friend. The first true friend she’d had since she lost Maddy. It was silly and selfish but with Etta gone, Rosey felt that she’d finally be well and truly alone with Elvis, the Elvis that only women who laid beneath him and gentled him awake knew -and she felt scared by that.

“Be good to him.” Etta stroked Rosey’s fair cheek and it made her realize she had shed a tear herself, though her own chest did not heave nor her lips tremble, too focused on the last touches of a friend, “Be strong, be gentle, and teach him to forgive himself.” she whispered, “You could start by example, ya know.” she teased, then let out a gasp as Rosey abandoned all decorum and flung her arms about Etta’s pretty neck, her exotic necklaces making a cold and familiar rattle against her cheek as she squeezed her tight, a silent thanks for teaching her not to be scared of womanhood. Etta squeezed back.

“I've told her, you both, to be gentle with each other.” Etta commissioned someone over Rosey’s shoulder, not letting up with the embrace, “And for the love of the saints, don’t you dare put a child in this sweet girl until you’re headed back down river, ain’t nothin I can do against her flushing a babe or pukin her life out when I’m hundreds of miles away.”

Oh Etta, Rosey thought to say as they hugged beneath Elvis’ gaze, he wishes to marry me even as he learned today he cannot love me. What of that? Is there a herb or a spell or a potion for that ache? Nothing but a child would love or cure her, nothing but her own child could she fashion to adore her for her provision and her use. But he wouldn’t give her that, not now he knew her, she knew he wouldn’t.

“We won’t, we ain’t… oh Etta,” Elvis voice landed close and rich in Rosey’s ear and suddenly his chest was to Rosey’s back and his arms wrapped round them both, joining their embrace, his hands sweeping up Etta’s back like he was trying to confirm his memory of her topography one last time. “Etta’darlin, I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry.” he couldn’t keep the tears out of his voice and Rosey felt his chest heave against her back, lying to Etta a useless thing, and an honest goodbye was due between such friends. “I’ve tried but it’s no use, I’m so sorry it’s ended like this”

“Now hush up.” Etta’s head reared back with loving ferocity, “That’s exactly the sort of nonsensical idiot talk Rosey and I have decreed banned on this boat.”

“Have ya now?” he chuckled in Rosey’s ear.

“Yes, we have, haven’t we?”

“Yes, we have.” Rosey confirmed, grinning at her friend, eyes sparkling under tear soaked lashes.

“Well, go on, tell him.” Etta prodded, “You’d best get your method down while I’m here, girl. Go on.”

“No more.” Rosey attempted sternness.

“Hmm, weak.” Etta declared, pulling back a little so she could both observe them and allow Rosey room to maneuver and look up at the besotted fool currently gazing down at her with love-sick compliance. “Try flippancy.”

“None of that! .” Rosey attempted to tut at him with breeziness.

“Hmm, stern again.”

“None of that!”

Elvis just kept grinning, a lazy smirk and his fingers loosely holding onto his neglected cigar.

“Let’s try pleading.” Etta suggested.

“Enough of that.” Rosey attempted a good beg and he remained unmoved.

“Hmm, teasing.” Etta ordered next.

“We’ll have none of that, sir!” Rosey fought her giggle, out of amusement or embarrassment of this exercise Elvis didn’t know, but either way, there was that slyly fought grin of hers and-

“Oh, oh teasing it is then.” Etta crowed gleefully as Elvis melted and spluttered, and in an attempt to save face, shoved his cigar back into his smiling mouth.

“B.B. get over here and curtail your woman, hug me while you’re at it.” Elvis demanded of his approaching friend and a fourth body was added to the embrace, all limbs entangled and chins in shoulders, patting hands moving to each other and watery laughs exchanged as the tears were fully banished by pure willpower alone.

“Say King, you’ll have made Etta an honest woman by the time I see you both again?” Elvis raised his brows in significance at B.B. who grinned back just as enthusiastically.

“Yes sir, E.P,” he grinned, “reckon we’ll hitch ourselves at a chapel here, grab ourselves a minister so it’s proper like. Make our way south as a married couple. Ain’t that right, sunshine?”

“That’s right.” Etta grinned back.

“What a darling idea.” Rosey murmured, heartsick.

“I’d best be godfather to your child,” Elvis demanded with a wavering smile, “whether I’m dead or alive, that’s my right.” he tried to tease.

“That would be funnier if you weren’t goin’ up to where they scalp pretty heads like yours.” B.B. drolled, giving Elvis one last pat in farewell.

Etta and B.B. went to depart, her hand on his arm before he paused, nealey to the deck doors and looked back at his captain, standing amidst the superfluous finery of his once glittering amphitheater of entertainment,

“Presley,” King’s voice carried low but earnest, “if either of you find yourselves in need of a place to, to -hunker down- you make your way to Na’Lens, come call on us. The both or either of ya.” he reiterated with an extra nod to Rosey, as if he suspected she might not think herself welcome without the captain, which made her think of the very strong likelihood of returning without him. Which made her gut twist and her hand heavy as they gave them a last wave of farewell.

Ada Overton stepped up next, a strange look on her face as she worried a small book round and round in her wrinkled hands, nervously perhaps, though her worn and painted face was devoid of sentiment. They faced off against each other, the lady cold and almost combative in her stance, and the Captain viewing her with a strange revulsion he could hardly reconcile. It was as if beginning to let go of this life, even just the first slip of it from his fingers gave him a vantage point to view it for what it was -a business that ate one’s soul. ‘You’ll get used to it’ Ada had told him back in New York as she painted his face, she’d been at it since a child. Elvis never gotten used to it. Or he feared he finally had, till Rosey jolted him right out of the cold waters of the Styx.

“Ada.” he nodded at her, remembering then kinder things, not the way she’d fed him to them but rather, the way she patched him up after, old enough to be his mother and strangely cruel in her kindnesses, “I wish ya well.”

“You should let me stay.” she replied instead, “I’ve nowhere to go and you’re about to receive an influx of clientele such as will tear this ship apart if deprived of available diversions.”

“Ain’t the first transport ship to make it successfully without the uh, moderating, yeah, moderating influences of ladies.”

“No,” she agreed coldly, “they’ll turn on each other, and turn on the captain.”

“Well, that’ll be their officer’s problem.” Elvis replied evenly and glanced over at Rosey in a subconscious tick of concern.

“So you’re letting that vicious little thing stay and not me?” Ada observed without malice, just a wry inventory of Rosey’s assets.

“Do you suddenly know your numbers, Ada Darlin’?” he asked in a tone similar to her own.

“I can count, when needed.” she shook it off like she might a fly, head turned away as if to collect herself from a slap, her shoulders shimmying and her taffeta rustling with the intake of breath.

“Course,” he grinned in an effort to cheer her, “wouldn’t do to lose count and whip a patron to death.”

“E,” there was a rather demented change for the softer in her demeanor when she spoke next, looking him dead in the eye, her dark rimmed lashes bleeding into the fine lines around her harsh eyes, “I must -please can I talk to you I never meant to do you wrong.”

Rosey found the change unsettling enough to inadvertently make a move to withdraw from their hushed tete-a-tete at the edge of the ballroom, feeling as if there was no way he could deny so forceful a plea in a woman so strangely unnerving. But that was Rosey, unused to Ada and her belladonna dilated pupils except for the occasional passing in the halls or the times she sought Etta and found her with Ada. The Captain’s hand landed heavy and final on her shoulder and stalled her retreat, rooting her to his side.

“Sure Ada,” he answered with a light tone, “I know that, you know I know that. Else you’d be overboard ages ago. And what’s more, here.” he motioned to Rosey with an open palm while keeping his eyes on Ada’s and Rosey recognizing the gesture put the envelope holding Ada’s generous allotment in his palm. “Here, Ada,” his voice was gentler, pressing the cash into her hands and closing her bleached palm himself, squeezing it shut in a gesture of farewell, “I wish ya well, i truly do.”

Ada’s eyes sharpened, her mouth flattened grimly and the harsh paint of her brow raised in recognition of his dismissal. Then like a hawk her eyes slid from his to Rosey’s, “Child,” she addressed her calmly, “will you plead a case for me?”

“Say your piece Ada.” he interrupted with a sigh, and a wary set to his mouth.

“I know you’re breaking with Parker,” she continued to look to Rosey, gripping his hands nevertheless, “I know you are, and I tell you now that if you do and leave me here I am a dead woman. He’ll come after me, you know he will, and when he does it would be better for ya that I were dead already. I’d be paid better than this cash to testify against you when you return. I’ve one decent remedy at hand, and you’ll have no blood on your conscience or ghost to tarnish your name. Grant it, take me with you.” her eyes slid back to his, “Please E, this ain’t a beg, I’m telling you now, you’d better choose to put a bullet in my mouth or else when you come back I’ll see you across a judge’s bench. You know I never had it in me to be principled, but I’d like to leave our score as is. Take me north,” she suggested as if she had not just said the previous slew of threats and dire predictions, “take me north and drop me off there. Maybe this cash will be worth something there,” she looked down at the envelope, “a new start perhaps. Or a new clientele.” Ada sniffed but it wasn’t due to tears, snuff dust more likely, Elvis thought, “I’ll make a home in Saint Paul and wait for the word that she’s put the colonel to sleep.” and she jerked her head at Rosey, much to that girl’s unsettled surprise.

“Ain’t no one gonna murder him.” was all Elvis had to say to this meandering appeal of hers.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Ada smirked and the wrinkles around her mouth smoothed out when she did, Rosey shuddered, “She’s wicked that one.”

“No she ain’t.”

“Fool.” Ada declared him, still eyeing Rosey, “Gonna let me stay? I’ll give ya my bellows camera, E! You know I don’t beg, I don’t, but I’ll empty shit buckets if it gets me up north.”

“That is what you’ll be doin’ if you stay.” he replied vehemently, and watched as she shrugged again. He sighed and gave a shrug of his own while pulling his hands free, both Ada and Rosey knew him enough to know it signified his concession, “Once you get up there, you know that you can’t start working again, you know that! There’s enough money in that envelope to keep you well secured, and you ain’t bad with a needle, you’ll find work. But if you start puttin out again, if you start infectin’ folks you know they’ll lock you up.”

“That a threat?” Ada asked with a hiss before catching herself, “I ain’t gonna put out,” she went on more sullenly, “or at least keep to what i been doing here. There’s gotta be perverts in Minnesota, haven’t there? And no I won't, I won’t, not until my eyes go and I can’t wield a needle. In which case your money and my time may be runnin out.”

“Yeah well, nothin’ either of us can do about that.” He observed with strained coldness.

“No.” she agreed and Rosey wondered what it was that was claiming her life so surely that he would put three thousand greenbacks in an envelope and declare it enough to last her lifetime.

“You got those gentleman suits of your’n still?” he asked her tiredly and Rosey wondered at the change of topic, “The ones as hemmed to your proportions?”

“I do.” she replied.

“Hmm,” he pondered an unspoken scheme, staring at Rosey as if seeing through her, “reckon one would fit her?”

Ada joined him in eyeing up the buxom little thing by his side, her eyes narrowing at the profusion of womanliness at her chest. “Take some squashin, but otherwise their height can be altered.”

“Then alter one,” he ordered decisively in a much stronger voice, “whichever is your most modest, alter it and have it on my bed with clean linens before another bell strikes.”

“What-“ Rosey began to ask and found that his face suggested that silent compliance was her most valued asset at present.

“Want the straps or the wooden-“ Ada herself began before he snapped,

“-No damn you, leave the equipment, just the clothes.”

Ada backed away from them warily but her eyes were scarily alight with what Rosey assumed was that woman’s version of mirth, “Aye, aye captain, but just recall, wicked that one, quite capable and wicked, I can see it in her hands.”

“Don’t mind her.” The captain spoke to a bewildered Rosey when Ada had retreated out of sight and a new line of crew had formed to gather their severances and say their farewells, “Don't mind her none,” he repeated with a shudder that suggested he personally minded her greatly, “sickness has addled mind.” he explained as if that solved everything and turned to his next departing crew member.

Rosey felt bereft and as if she were mourning dead friends for the rest of that afternoon while overseeing the severances and bidding farewell to faces more or less familiar, faces who had welcomed and cheered and worshiped beside her. The Captain’s own barely concealed grief managed to leech into her heart by osmosis as he stood beside her, shaking hands and kissing cheeks and handing out little gifts. They had done this once before, Rosey and him, passing out prizes at the school, and while this proceeding was shrouded in melancholy and business like abruptness, they moved as before like a smoothly oiled machine, seamless and complimentary in all things, even in their repressed heartache, as if now they had no secrets to separate them, they had become one.

“Well, that’s that then.” he spoke up when the last of them had left and the rest of the crew had cleared out to their designated stations, preparing the boat for the influx tomorrow. “God that took awhile.” he complained and rubbed at his lower back as if his cause for annoyance were aches instead of the upending of his world.

Rosey followed him through the room as he took stock of his deserted ballroom and fiddled with the billiard tables, “They’ll let us keep these I reckon,” he mumbled, “so long as it’s not against the house.”

“Wouldn’t want you to make any money.” she agreed sourly and he perked up and looked over at her, tsking at her in a paternal sort of way she hadn’t seen him use since her first week aboard, she realized she had missed it, “You think about money far too much for a pretty woman.” he chided and while she sent him a skeptical look he stepped into her space and pinched her cheek till her scowl melted.

“It’s what you pay me for, sir.” she answered him pointedly, trying to act stern as his arms dropped and wove around her waist with a sudden affection so strong in them she shuddered from feeling so familiar a touch after it’s absence -only since breakfast, she reminded herself. But this felt different, this felt like them, before he had begun to doubt them.

“I’m a fool to pay you for that alone.” he announced, tugging her closer somehow yet beginning to spin on his feet, a strange, stumbling, dizzying motion Rosey belatedly recognized as him dancing with her, a childish and uncoordinated spin that sent the chandeliers blurring in a white streak of crystal above them.

Elvis is dancing with me, Rosey thought with a little awe, and all that suppressed want to be upstairs when he worked a crowd, or to sit at his elbow as he wined his patrons, or fan herself as he danced with heiresses was soothed as her twirled her around now with tender frenzy, no onlookers, just for the joy of it. Not a waltz, not a polka, a bastardized sort of reel instead that took advantage of the entire length of his empty boat and had her bouncing in his arms and his legs exerting themselves to their fullest capacity. Rosey felt she’d rarely moved so fast on a horse, much less in someone’s arms. He’s dancing with me, she thought, and perhaps she laughed because of it. It was a demented sort of cheerfulness but they both felt it, like last lovers left alive after the rapture.

They spun and spun till the world tilted and a wheeze hit them and they collapsed in an ungainly heap on the floor. Rosey grunted as he landed on top of her but he didn’t bother to move, just caught his breath sprawled atop her on the rich carpeted floors.

“Why do I need a man’s suit?” she asked in a voice thin from his heaving weight.

He grunted as if she’d woken him up and it reminded her how exhausted they both were, “It’ll attract less attention goin’ to the courthouse. Got the- we gotta sign papers.”

For their wedding. Of course.

“How long before we need to leave?” she asked running her hand along his back as he still panted.

He fumbled into his vest with a series of moans and grunts before digging out his timepiece from a pocket and squinting at it. “Bout two hours. Can’t go before Jerry comes back anyway, he’s gotta witness ‘em and I sent him for ice gear.”

“Have you ever been up to Minnesota?” she asked him softly, staring up at the chandeliers and registering the spooky quiet of the near abandoned boat.

“Mhmm, couple times.” he mumbled into her neck.

“What’s it like?” she asked, secretly as intrigued and eager to go a few hundred miles northward as to go to the moon, so trapped and small had her life been before him.

“T’weren’t much.” he shrugged, “It’ll be covered in snow this time a’year and the growlers in the river will tear the hull to shreds.”

Soberly she recalled this entire adventure was miserable for him and he hadn’t even slept enough to prepare to pilot them tomorrow. “Up.” she whispered gently, shoving at his shoulders and urging him to his feet even as he whined and growled. “Up, come now up. We're lying on the floor, that's why, up.”

“Didn’t notice with those pilla’s under my check.” He murmured dreamily as she began to tug on his hand, urging him to follow her, “Where you takin’ me?” he protested.

“To bathe, and to rest.” she replied, tugging him through the double doors she had spied on him through and into the desolate kitchen, all Cruddup’s minions out to buy provisions for an army.

“Can’t go to our room, Rosey.” he objected from behind her as she lead him down the stairs.

“Why not?” she asked without pausing.

“The fella’s are in there movin’ our shit out.”

She took only a moment to cheer over the concept that they had collective shit before confusion replaced it, “Why?”

“Gonna have to give the commanding officer my quarters.” he pouted worse than her, stopped in the doorway of his suite and watching as some of the last of his books were packed into trunks by his order. “It’s expected. And if I don’t, he’ll know for certain I’ve a lady aboard and we’ll have no peace about it.”

“Where am I to go then?” she asked, some fearful little part of her still suspecting he’d pack her off and send her back.

“Down in the hull with Charlie and Cal.” he rubbed at his eyes, “Ain’t roomy but you're no fine lady.”

She nodded her head in admittance before catching his omission, “And you?”

“I’m gonna be piloting.” he replied as if that were the plainest thing in the world. That he would be piloting for fourteen consecutive days and nights with no rest.

“And when you’re not?” she raised a brow in exasperation.

“Don’t plan on leaving the wheel.” he lied moodily.

She was about to lay into him regarding his continued distancing, what with the men having left and the room bare of company but she was stopped short by the appearance of the physician from yesterday panting in the doorway.

“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” The gentleman wheezed and comforted his heaving paunch with a clammy hand, “I have been trying to find you, it is well past time for your second tonic.”

“Aww hell.” Elvis moaned in reply, pinching the bridge of his nose in exhausted resignation.

“Wha- no! No!” Rosey spluttered, and having attracted the unimpressed attention of both men, pressed her argument with, “No! Absolutely not! Not whatever yesterday’s was. Near killed him, and I’ll have your license if you don’t get off this boat now, so help me god.”

“Rosey darlin’, don’t be like that.” Elvis' hand fluttered feebly out to grip her elbow but she was gone from his reach and crossing the room before he could and he was very tired and didn’t feel like chasing her the extra five feet.

“I’m contracted by the colonel.” The physician argued placidly in the face of Rosey’s diminutive ire. “It is my job and my contract to see to the captain’s health and have been attending it since before you-“

That’s about as much as the Captain could make out of his sentence before the thunk of the closed door right in the physician's face turned his voice to an indistinguishable mumble. Rosey turned back to him with a look of satisfied righteousness.

“Ain’t his fault.” he tried to explain to her how Dr. Nick had kept him alive, kept him running and virulent all these years despite his base nature and his poor blood.

“Yes, no doubt.” she replied in that snippy way that suggested she didn’t believe a word as she breezed past him into the washroom, “And he will be compensated for such…remarkable…service.”

“Rosey,” he watched dead eyed as she began to pump at the tub faucets, hot water then cold, as if she meant to take a bath, “we can’t send him away or he’ll tell the colonel and we’ll be fucked.”

She paused in pumping for a brief moment, steam making the little curls at her hairline boing into ringlets, “So you’re admitting he’s a goon, the man who is supposed to be caring for your health is a pimp’s goon.” She watched the captain swallow hard before he rolled his eyes and nodded his head as if she were making a greater deal of it than necessary, “Yet still you’ll take his potions?”

“What’s the harm.” he muttered, trying to think of a word or sentence to stop her as she began to unlace herself in front of him nonchalantly as though her anger had leveled them both to an even plain and she had no recollection of her previous prudery.

“The harm is you nearly dying on me last night. That’s -chiefly- the harm.” she emphasized the one word while looking at him significantly, hinting unsubtly at the more he had done that evening, or almost done.

It tuned his stomach the way even now his body responded to the natural sight of her coming into view as she shucked her layers. He shouldn’t be in here, he couldn’t be trusted around her. As she was so kindly reminding him even now. “I’ll take my leave.” he muttered, thinking about going back to the stables and Beans and catching some shut eye before going into the city.

“You’re taking a bath.” she disagreed and her tone was so foreignly authoritative his knees near buckled out of habit.

“Say what now?” he asked in a daze, not having made it even halfway to the door.

“I’m not marrying a man who smells of Mercury slats and stables.” she replied with a huff, hands on her hips accentuating the curve of them through the transparent cotton of her shift.

“We ain’t marryin.” he argued the point.

“Then you can shove your deal.”

“Rosey-“

“Come now, just get in the tub.” she urged, “I won’t touch you, if that’s what has you so petrified, I shan’t touch you, it’ll just be the sponge.”

“You don’t gotta be here for any of it.” he pointed out.

“Indeed, true.” She conceded, “And there’d be a few idiots aboard who might be prone to doubt that I gotta be here for anything. But the captain once said, I’m essential for his well being and sleep. So I’m staying. Tell me sir, in the one night since you stayed away from my bed, did you sleep?”

He flashed a grin at her tenacity before he could catch himself and turned it into a belligerent eye roll.

“Did you sleep last night, Captain?” She pressed her advantage.

“You know good’n’well I didn’t.” he replied, “Neither did you.” He added defensively only to realize it wasn’t quite the ammo he required to win this particular fight.

“So, it would seem that breaking with those habits which proved effective for your well being has been most insalubrious for you, no?” He adored it when she used those big, unnecessarily long words and pretended to busy herself as she was now with refolding washcloths and moving the soap about on the ledge. Acting industriously to hide her nerves. It made him painfully fond of her, or maybe that was the exhaustion talking and the steaming copper tub.

“I don’t mind you touchin’ me.” he muttered, starting to undo his belt, entirely unsure of what it was he minded at all, wondering when he’d started minding anything.

Funny how before she came into his life he’d have done anything for love of pleasure and money and not minded. And now, thanks to her, he found himself burdened with scruples, and they were hazy and half hearted and it felt wrong to have them at all. But he blamed her for making him think he wasn’t so cheap, that he ought to have a limit. It was true irony that the first limit he set in this history of setting him setting limits was in regards to her. And he didn’t even know their boundaries himself.

“Forgive me for -for havin’ some objection to a well endowed child babyin’ me in my own washroom.” he snarked as it was the only scruple he could manage to voice or think of.

This was his Cricket standing there, stripped down to her thin shift with the prettiest, fullest, softest pair on a woman he’d ever seen and it was hard to live with the fact he had often wanted to push them together and run his cock between them till he spewed her face with his release. He had scruples about the fact that knowing she was Cricket didn’t abate that particular desire of his, and only his exhaustion kept him composed.

“Yes well, you can sit yourself down in the tub and have trouble with that, and while you’re at it I’ll have trouble with swathing down a certified deacon.” Rosey replied pointedly and she had a point, “But we’ll both do it, won’t we? And I’ll take in stride the fact that an ordained man of the cloth once put the tip of his cock in me and still prides himself on having been quite restrained.”

Elvis’ whole body shivered at the memory of thumbing her button in his bed till her little hole sucked around his cock like a whole ‘nother mouth sucking at him down there and he had painted her belly so pretty that morning. He could see it in his memory clear as a photograph. He shucked off his pants with begrudging compliance.

“I didn’t think me being a deacon would matter so much to ya.” he begged for a little mercy as he walked to the tub, noticing that Rosey was feigning an admirable amount of disinterest in his stark naked form as he lowered himself into it, right in front of her waveringly averted eyes.

“I didn’t think a few years less on me than expected would have you infantilizing me.” she noted with another huff, before picking up his overcoat from the floor and donning it.

The jacket that usually hit below his knees came to her ankles and he bit his lip in appreciation of that before realizing she had caught him admiring and cleared his throat, “Whatcha doin’ now?” he couldn't keep up with her, his brain fuzzy since he’d nearly been asleep in the ballroom.

“Going to apologize to the damn docter and tell him he can stay.” she replied, ruffling his hair as she passed him like he were a child and for a man who had protested her need to be here for his bath he sure felt bereft being left to it alone. “You’re not taking a single dose till I inventory what all he’s givin’ but he can stay. So he doesn’t rat us.” she added, making her position on it clear before he heard her undo the latch and leave.

Alone, he slapped at the water's steaming surface and sloshed it half heartedly at his face, puckering over the feeling of hot water on sensitive eyelids. He didn’t want a bath, he wanted to sleep. And so he laid his head back against the rim of the tub and decided to catch a nap, if this is how and where his would-be assassins found him then he really didn’t give a damn anymore.

When the world swam fuzzy back into view there was a Angel swabbing him down gently, hovering over him with a halo of dark curls and a strong nose, her shoulder bare as her white gown slipped from its place at her clavicle and exposed a breast that jiggled exquisitely with every dutiful rub of her sponge across his chest. He moaned with mouth watering need to be closer to her and tried with shaky hands to leverage himself towards her, the slippery tub be damned, he wanted to be held. He wanted to sleep.

“It’s alright, it’s alright you can go back to sleep.” she whispered and adjusted something behind his head that his movements had dislodged and he had not noticed before, a rolled up washcloth it felt like, to mitigate the harsh lip of the tub against his neck.

She thinks of everything, he whispered, and tried nipping at the delicate forearm swiping past his cheek in her efforts.

“How’d it go?”he asked and his voice came out creaky and hoarse, Rosey just shrugged, an angry look on her face,

“He’s staying.” was all she said.

He caught her wrist as it began to descend past his chest, a commanding grip that made all her movement cease and her eyes meet his soberly.

“Get in here with me, Rosey darlin’.” he called for a ceasefire as he pried the sponge from between her fingers and let it float in the water, “Be our last warm bath for awhile.” he coaxed, and tugged on her tiny wrist till she was leaning close, “No reason to go separate and have you bathing in the cold. After all, we might be dead ‘fore we get another chance. For old times sake, get in.”

“Oh, so now you suddenly want to talk of old times?” she quipped as if she couldn’t stop her banter once warmed to it, but he didn’t take the bait, he just tugged gently again and reached out his other arm so that she rose from her knees and, looking down at the swarthy length of him laying against copper and shimmering beneath the eddies of water, stepped between his long legs.

“I’m always eager to talk about the way you rode my tub rail like the thing was gonna take years off your time in purgatory.” he drawled while smirking at the way the water turned her shift translucent in seconds, and to his immense satisfaction she smirked back, fully aware of her affect on him and no longer bashful.

She had given him scruples, he had given her pride. God knows how they’d manage to navigate such an exchange. “Nor I, of the way you sucked blood off my fingers.”she murmured huskily.

He’d honest to god forgotten doing that, and he feared in his anger and confusion at her recently, he had forgotten she had already killed for him. Humbled by this ungrateful omission he shifted in the tub and took her foot in his large hand as she settled opposite him, picking up the sponge and swathing it over her yittle footsy.

God the woman was a combination of minuscule proportions and hefty endowment. It warped his brain and he felt his stiff back turn loose and puddly in the hot water.

“Rosey,” he soberly tried to be honest, cradling her ankle in his broad palm and thumbing over her arch in his anxiousness, “i-i- ya see- i-it’s not that I don’t wanna be near ya.” he managed, “If I’m to be makin this trip upriver, I’m gonna…I’m gonna need that tonic, honey. A lot of it.”

He watched closely as her dark brows twisted in remonstrance at this, a helpless shake of her head refusing to believe it.

“Listen to me, no no, listen Rosey.” he begged, clutching her foot to his chest, “It’s the only way I’m gonna manage it, and you know what it turns me into. I-i-i can’t be crawling into bed with you like I used to when -when I ain’t myself. W-we can’t risk that again.” he pleaded with her to understand how close they’d come to ruination the night before. The thought of her bleeding out in childbirth due to a mindless urge of his was as clear in his mind as if it had already occurred -and he saw himself locked in some prison for sodomy while she lay dying, their baby left alone, just like he’d thought he’d left Maddy’s. That was the only vision of Memphis and returning he could imagine. And he couldn’t, never again. “We can’t risk you like that, I can’t, can’t protect ya from myself.”

He bowed his head, in shame or defeat she didn’t know, but he bowed his head till all she could see was the oily slick of his hair and the fan of his lashes, diligently bent over her well sponged foot.

“Elvis,” Rosey’s voice was soft and gentling, not requiring his acknowledgment, only that he listen, “I don’t know what Rosetta told you, I don’t know what you think occurred last night. But you were harsh, and you were wild with wants and angers, legitimate each. But, but -hear me please!” she sniffled and leaned forward in the bath to clutch his knees, needing to anchor them together, “I was not frightened of you. Nor of what you promised me, because it wasn’t a threat, can’t be a threat to someone who wants the same. Darling, darling man I-I only stopped you because -because it was the…the right…the loving thing to do. I knew you didn’t want me like that, even though I was willing. I was so very willing, oh Elvis I was! I am! But you’ve trusted me with the knowledge of what that -what such an act would mean to you. So I stopped you, that’s why I stopped you. For your sake, not out of fear.”

He was looking at her by then, a searching, quiet look of study that she noticed had none of the shrewd, squinting suspicion of the past few days. “Ya mean that?” he demanded, his voice beyond rough and looking up at her from under his lashes.

“With all my heart!” she affirmed adamantly, squeezing his knees as if her nails could puncture the truth into his marrow.

There was silence for a long bit before she realized his searching stare had gone far away and blank, then suddenly tears were pooling in those azure eyes and his shoulders had begun to shake in the way he had when he was suppressing his weeping. “Oh my love.” she mourned for him, “I’ve done you wrong, but not then, not that night.”

“Rosey I-I-I dunno w-what to say.” he choked out, leaning forward himself till they were both crouched in on themselves, knees knocking and forearms overlapping and noses brushing.

“You needn’t say a thing.” she petted his shiny head and he slumped against her forehead, tremblingly vulnerable, “But you’ll come to me, and you’ll lay by me at nights, and we will have our talks and our baths and our fights, and I will keep you true to yourself. I’ll do it, I’m your oldest friend, remember? Who better to know who you are deep down?”

“Does that mean I know you?” he whispered against her lips, a miserable little gust of words.

“I think you’ll help me learn who I am.” she replied after giving it some thought, and he hummed in understanding, and she was reminded why he was so remarkable, beyond his beauty and ability and magnetism, he had an ability to understand the root of a trouble, more than anyone alive, she thought. “I’m Rosey, I am who you fashion me to be.” she tempted him, and he stirred in her embrace, just enough to fling his own arm around her shoulders and hug her himself.

“Are you in some particular hurry to change your last name, Miss?” he teased her.

“Presley has a nice ring to it.” she shrugged. “-Elvis?” she spoke up again after a while of holding each other, she thought perhaps he had dozed off leaning against her.

“Hmm?”

Rosey thought she had been right, his hum was so throaty and groggy, he had fallen asleep. Again. The poor man, “Please trust me with this,” trust me with us, was what was said without saying it, “I’ll swear to ya, I’ll, I’ll say anything you want or promise anything that I’ll keep you from harming me. But I can’t-I can’t live down below for a month and not have you at times. I can’t, I don’t think either of us will make it that way. I really don’t.”

He roused himself from his slump and pulled back so he could meet her eyes and to her relief he gave a small smile of understanding. “Sweetheart, last night -“ he trailed off for a minute, his gaze contemplating the floorboards outside the tub and his silence lasted so long she thought he would never resume but when he did he looked her dead in the eye with a firm clarity she’d only seen him use with fellow men, as if he thought women too delicate for the weight of that stare. She felt privileged to be considered strong enough for it, even as a bolt of electricity seemed to shoot up her spin from it. “Last night when you, you stopped that nonsense…darlin’, ya gotta understand, you saved the one last dream I’ve got from gettin’ wrecked.”

“What’s that?” she whispered, leaning forward and he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb, “What’s your dream?”

“I wanna get married.” he whispered back like to was the most heinously shameful desire ever held by a human being -she had no doubt Parker had painted it similarly to keep him withdrawn over even wanting it, Nancies don’t marry, she could hear that accent saying it now, “I wanna marry a woman before God Almighty and I want to have a home, a place where I-I-I can have a family, where I ain’t looking over my shoulder all my life.” he leaned back in the tub, as if his back were too tired from the crouch and the secrets, she heard his knees pop as he straightened opposite her and the motion of leaning back -it disengaged their hands. So Rosey settled back too, clasping her own hand soothingly and knowing there was more to it than this. She sat back in the steaming water and watched as a dreamy and strange look flitted over his face and those starry eyes stared up at the boat cabin’s white washed ceiling and went miles and astral fields away from her:

“See, I’ve always wanted a perfect wedding night.” he divulged in tone so dreamy it terrified her that the Elvis she thought she knew was no longer in the room, his head now leaning against the the tub rail, and his gaze fixed to the ceiling and whatever was beyond it, “Complete with a sweet and blushing bride, as demure as she was eager. And I would worship her until she bloomed open for me and when I finally took her, it would be a sacrament. I’d be making her my wife, and God would look down on our pleasure and deem it good, bless it and the children I would plant in her womb. It wouldn’t be a sin, so He wouldn’t take her life when the time came for birth. And on that night she -she would be pleased, so very pleased with me and when we were too old to so much as dance a jig, we’d sit on our porch and reminisce about the first time I took her. How the blood only eased the way and she never had cause to fear my touch, or dread my attentions.”

His gaze which was once nearly unbearable in its intensity was now eagerly desired by Rosey, anything but this accusatory, strangely detached monologue. But then he finally drug his burning eyes from the ceiling to her naked form folded in on herself in the tub, and immediately she prayed he’d look away again.

“You,” Elvis jabbed his finger at her, some emotion finally showing and it was an entire deluge of angry hurt, “you coulda taken that from me!”

She shook her head and falsely accused confusion, whimpering out, “But I didn’t!”

“No, no you didn’t.” he agreed, more solemn than she’d ever seen him, “You saved that for me, last dream I’ve got and, a-a-and now I-I can’t, I can’t let that dream go. I don’t think -I don’t know how it’ll ever happen between us, but I can’t, I can’t ruin the chance of it. And now, this, this alliance we’re gonna make it ain’t, it ain’t that, honey. I-I’m askin’ ya to understand that a-and not to -to tempt me. And it ain’t fair, I know it ain’t fair! Not fair to you, but you’ll find I ain’t ever been much good to those who care about me.”

“That’s a goddamn lie!” she bit out fiercely, taking joy in the way his eyes grew wide at her strong language, “And you needn’t ask me so, so pathetically… you know full well I stopped you before I even knew the full of this. I figured -I’d figured enough advantage had been taken of you as it is. But I- I’ll do this for ya, for us, but only if you swear you won’t keep this as some dream.”

“Whadda ya mean, honey?” he asked, hunkering down in the tub and she watched as the bath water lapped at his collarbones, made them sparkle and glitter in the gaslamp’s glow.

“I mean that it’s a lovely dream.” Rosey said, “Lovely enough to deserve fruition.” she watched as he bit his lip and pulled at the sponge, “And I’ll guard it, I’ll guard it and deny every right i have to you so that you can have it, but only so long as you work towards making it more than a dream. Do you hear me, Presley?”

Goddamn, he thought, the woman knows me. She knows he’d very much like to marry her tonight, sign his money to her, then quietly go up to the wheelhouse and slit his wrists so as not to be here in a few weeks time when the colonel drags his name through the mud. A man put in prison for degeneracy -it welcomes all sorts of…attention… in prison. He’d know. And he wasn’t of a mind to endure it again.

“That means you’ll stay alive for me,” she went on, breaking through his panicked introspection, “it means you’ll treat me kindly, you’ll keep your temper and get us to the terroriotes and get us back, it means you’ll think of me and Cal and Etta and Maddy’s boy and all those who love you before you take more tonic than necessary. It means if you die on this trip, you’ll do it for us, not just cause you’re so tired and wanna sleep beneath the cold ground. Or else, god forgive me, I’ll use the pistol you gave me to end my own. I will. I’m done going it alone in this world.”

The salty tang of snot and tears dribbling over his top lip and seeping through the seam of his lips informed him he was crying. So was Rosey, unless the gaslit was merely reflecting off a splash to her face. He didn’t recall anyone splashing. “I’m so goddamn tired.” he admitted weakly, dropping the sponge so that he could scrub his face with his hands, hiding behind them, too bare to her knowing gaze. Please don’t see me, he kept thinking and pleading in his mind and maybe some of it came out audibly, “it’s been so long since anyone knew me, i don’t think you’ll like what you see.”

“Then that’s a mutual fear.” she pointed out, soft and sad.

“It’s gonna get hellish, Rosey,” he tried to reason, “this whole lil rebellion sure soothes the conscience but, but it’ll end with us swinging from nooses. Leave me my dreams, lemme get us out west where -where maybe we can try to, to, I dunno-“ he stared down into the bath and the wavering sight of his thighs and belly beneath the water.

“Do you think I haven’t any dreams of my own?” she challenged him, her tone was cold as ice, and suddenly he realized his glaring omission. “Have you never wondered? Do you think I’ve spent a decade toiling alone, utterly alone, and hadn’t a single dream to keep me running?”

He shook his head shamefully and snorted back his weepiness, “What is it, Rosey?” he begged softly.

“It’s simple,” she dithered, “but seems hard for anyone to grant. I don’t want to be alone.” she had a way about her where she would heave in a great breath and he could watch as her eyes swam with tears but until this morning he’d never seen them truly spill, her grief remained firmly constrained, “I want a partner in things, you know? Just someone to care enough not to die on me, to leave me alone with it all. They always have. Some by their own hand, some by giving up the fight in their sickbeds, some by careless happenstance. Or Maddy, Maddy who I needed and loved more than my own life but who wanted to die from the minute her belly swelled.” His jaw ticked and some savage, mean part exulted in the pained shock on his face at this revelation -it was about time someone else felt the hurt she’d carried all this time, “Maddy wanted to die, ever after…after what they did to her. She’d lay in bed next to me and tell me, her baby sister, tell me she hoped the babe inside her would kill her. It didn’t. But I reckon she hoped enough, long enough to die, God finally gave her her wish. I'm not sure I can forgive her for the fact she took your mama with her.” She hadn’t seen that look on his face ever before, anger and understanding all at once, and something dull and mournful coming through it. “Someone who wants to die they -they should stay away from those trying to live.” Rosey surmised a philosophy she had come to live by, sixteen years old and all alone on the plantation, “I'm asking you, Elvis, don’t invite death to this boat. Shame and pain, they’re endurable when you’re not alone, but death. Death, it separates. And there’s no strength in that.”

“Darlin, I-“ he had his hands clasped over his nose, eyes freely running with tears and trying to make his chest calm its frantic heaving. How had she known?

“I think our dreams align rather well, don’t you?” she tried for a lighter tone, scooting up again and laying her hands boldly on the water-warmed and sturdy meat of his thighs, “You want a sacramental wedding night, and I want a husband who’ll stay alive for me. Why not fight for it?”

“Rosey it gonna get nasty-“

“I am a woman, have you forgotten?” she retorted, “Shaming and lewd accusations are as common for us as compliments.”

“The shit I’ve don-“

“You did what you had to, and once you said they called you ‘femininely sensitive.’” she reminded, “I suggest it’s a strength, if you have some womanly part of you, more than most men, then there’s not a man alive who can better handle what is going to be awaiting us in Memphis.”

Us. She had said us, and he realized she meant it. He didn’t recall the last time he belived someone when they’d referred to a union with him as a joining together. With Rosey, no contract, no obligation, no physical making of one flesh was required to make an “us”. It was a natural state for them.

“This dream of yours,” she went on and he saw her begin to waver for the first time since her righteous tirade began, “if, if it’s not me, that you want to marry before God, to share that night with -I’ll, I’ll try to be rational about that.”

He didn’t miss a beat before amusedly laughing at the absurdity of anyone else besides his Rosey having the power to make him wanna live through the next month. “It would be you,” he said, “it could only ever be you.”

“Really?” she sounded all of fifteen years old and scared as hell while her eyes lit up with a painful degree of hope.

He couldn’t take it, couldn’t take her fear or the fact he’d put it there. It made him lunge forward in the bath and sent the water splashing in his quest to lay atop her, smother her whole, remind her she was his. A language the both understood, this feeling of him dwarfing her beneath his weight, oppressing her with his desires and his madness, and the fucked little part of her that he knew even now took his obsession for love. Obsession was all he had for now, but he owed it to her. He kissed her and chased her lips fervently till her head slipped against the tub’s side and the force of his kiss sent her neck backwards. Down she went into the water beneath his mouth, and he followed atop her, plunging them both beneath the shallow depth, robbing them of air, mimicking a death, proving at the last minute that he chose life when he pulled them both up and out again, their tongues still intertwined.

“You’ll live?” she panted, begged, dug her nails into his cheeks.

“I’ll live.” he answered, like it was a revelation to him, like he was seeing something ahead that utterly surprised him.

“Then you must sleep.” she murmured, a very simple observation and that was his Rosey, asking the impossible but her demands were only for the first step in climbing the mountain to be taken.

“Mhmm.” he agreed, thinking about slipping further down in the tub, curling in on himself so he could lay his head on her bath warmed breasts again.

“Let me wash your hair.” she whispered, flicking at his nose to keep him alert, “Let me wash it then you can sleep.”

“Can’t for long, we gotta-“ he began to remind her as he dunked his head quickly to wet his hair.

“I know, I won’t let you oversleep.” she stated confidently and turned him by his shoulders till he was leaning forward in her arms, his broad back to her face and her little hands rubbing at his scalp with a lather that smelled painfully refreshing from such long neglect.

It was an amusingly sweet pastime bathing a grown man, Rosey thought as she worked the foaming suds through his black strands, watching as they spilled and slid down his pretty neck and onto the freckle specked shoulders and running, running, running gleefully down the willowy taper of his back to the water's edge. A path her tongue had longed to follow. Her finger traced the path instead and he shuddered between her legs, the moans her attentions brought from him turning her feral in protectiveness. There was something heady and potent about a man sitting naked and vulnerable between one’s thighs, it brought that strange combination of feelings back to her that his sitting on her lap first sparked. Her small legs bracketed the soft skin of his strong hips and his backside was flush against her in a pantomime of the usual way of things -he was soft like this, and she wished she knew how to make it happen more often. How to make him trust her with it.

Satisfied with her scrubbing the grease out she tapped his wet shoulder and whispered around the breadth of him that he could rinse it. He shook himself awake from his doze and finding very little room to do it in this configuration, merely folded his legs impossibly together and laid himself backwards down into the water, his head hitting the bottom of the tub with a dull thud. The gaslamp made Rosey’s quivering reflection haloed above him through the water, and tufts of her gown in his periphery wavered white and ethereal as it floated beside him down here, bracketed by her thighs, soap suds clouding his watery vision at times till she swiped them away. Humoring him as he lay beneath the water, but still trying to spare his eyes.

He could push her to madness he realized -finally there was someone who cared enough he could really, really destroy by his absence. His lungs began to burn.

I’m going to live, he reminded himself feebly.

I’m going to live, I want to live, he argued feebler each repetition, for his lungs were burning but the man wouldn’t stop -I want to live- but his face was still submerged inside the barrel and he was only let out long enough to catch a breath and hear a tirade that if the man wanted a painted tart he’d get a tart and then back into the water he went till his breath was gone and his face paint was gone and his will was gone and he was just a helpless boy again and suitably appealing to the man’s tastes and -I want to live, please just let me live. His lungs were burning and above him a orange glow and it wasn’t the gaslamp, it wasn’t Rosey that looked dark and forbidding above the surface, it was their ship, it was the hull of their beloved ship and the water was on fire, the whole Mediterranean it seemed, for every time he surfaced and tried to breathe, the flaming water singed his face and back down he was forced, trying to swim down and away from the burning mass of spilt oil that the sea had become -im going to live- he had seethed and kept pushing on as his vision blacked and his lungs collapsed and the ocean glowed orange above him -I’m going to live- he had been so vicious about it back then, God where was that vicious streak? he could use it -I’m going to live- his lungs were burning and his vision spotting and his throat felt a warm weight encircling it and was that how it felt to be hung? I want to live, he thought, I’m going to live, he promised. He gripped Rosey’s hand and held it there to his throat, let her feel his fucking fear and wild delight at tasting death, trying to show her how vehemently his heart wanted him alive for her with every overburnded pulse. Her hand squeezed cruelly and his lips parted to grin and she was hauling him out, landing him in her breasts like a sea deity throwing a mariner ashore.

“Enough.” was all she said, and held him insensible to her bosom till the water grew cold and the hour late and his rest had been taken as much as could be hoped for. He drifted away to the feeling of her gently swaying him like a babe on her chest, her hand cradling his sodden head and her soft voice singing an old delta refrain,

See the rising tide

Know it′s only a matter of time

See the rising tide

So blue

Oh if it's cold in the water

Am I better for it?

Oh I can learn from my mother

If this sinking ship goes down

He did not recall much proceeding the rest nor could he figure out for the life of him their position initially as she traced him awake by a finger along his features. It was much darker in the room and his neck was bent and the one eye not smashed to a breast saw gooseflesh on her arm and her nipple hardened to a chilled nub so prominent he could hand his coat from. It was animal instinct to raise his hand from the bath and cup the shivering little bud, squashing that beautiful pound of flesh in his palm and feeling the pink little thing poke him. “You’re awake.” she said above him in response to his stupid giggle and not the boyish mauling of her breast.

“I think I am.” he hummed, intent on kneading warmth back till the nipple flattened. He felt the one under his cheek poke him in defiance.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, entirely unsure of what his mood might be now he had slept, or what it had been before she hauled his face above water.

“I am.” he realized.

“Perhaps we should stop playing at Ophelia then, and get warm.” she teased, breathy and moist in his ear and he remembered then the burning oceans and the sea nymphs with strong arms and fragile hearts.

“Per’aps.” he mumbled and kissed her chilled flesh beneath his cheek before raising himself up to his knees, and then unsteadily to his feet, towering over her in the tub, droplets from his body dripping down onto her face. “Gimme your hands.” and he hauled her out, pushing the sodden nightgown off both her shoulders and down over her shivering hips with some trouble, steadying her to step out of it.

“Ada came in and laid out the suit.” Rosey informed him as he picked her up in his arms and stepped out of the tub, taking care not to slip.

He tilted her towards the towel rack and she grabbed at two before throwing one over his shoulders and rubbing it into the chilled damp of his hair. He didn’t like the idea of Ada seeing them like that, but it couldn’t be helped he supposed, even though he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just gone to the bed for a nap. Then they wouldn’t be so cold now, but he figured one’s logic when one is drifting to sleep is very different from that when you’re rested.

Ah yes, I’m gonna marry you, he recalled, ‘cause I’m a heartless bastard.

He set her down on her feet and took the towel from her hands and rubbed her thoroughly with it, feeling penitent and grateful and wishing he wasn’t so rusty at the kinder, purer forms of love. No one had wanted those from him, not in a long while and the children didn’t count, he was never with them long enough to get in a habit. It was a performance of sorts to be his old self, and he knew if he had any wisdom in him he’d forgive Cricket for her similar struggle.

He’d almost lost her in this very washroom, first night he got her back. The memory of his own terror at that prospect and the feel of broken glass beneath his belly and her naked vulnerability held to his chest made him feel an ass now, quibbling about identities and shit. It’s her, he reminded himself, it’s always been her. And she loved him, strangely but she did, and she deserved better than what he had been dishing up recently.

I’m going to live, he reminded himself like a threat, and rose to his feet to kiss her forehead.

“Are you alright, daddy?” she asked the man who she’d seen lay unblinking beneath the bath water for nigh on four minutes.

“Yeah darlin’, nap did me wonders.” he assured her and thumbed at her frown till it smoothed, “Gonna make you sleep tonight if I have to sit on ya to do it.” he threatened playfully and she smiled, tired and warm, at the promise of his nearness.

She was so tired, he realized, he’d worn her clean out. That weren’t no way for a daddy to treat his baby.

“Ada said Jerry is back aboard.” Rosey murmured as she leaned against the dresser with her towel draped over her like a shawl, watching him pat himself dry with harsh swipes of his own that left pink rub burns in its wake. She didn’t know how he intended her to dress in the male clothing laid out, she figured she would wait for his direction.

He sniffed and huffed and rubbed and shook himself like a dog might and she thought she saw some of the old vitality back in him, he certainly carried himself with the usual, steadier, measured sort of grace as he rummaged through the drawers beside her for combs and pins and his bottle of beard oil.

“C’mere baby.” he motioned with two beckoning fingers and she stepped up close to him, curious as to his intentions. He tilted her to face the mirror and took a stand behind her. Handsome and tall with his dark hair combed back, she saw him lean and naked behind her as he began to section the wet curtain of her hair, elegant fingers dividing and smoothing till it was in thirds. Satisfied, he reached round her and uncorked the bottle, pouring a dime sized portion of the stuff in his palm and rubbing his hands together to spread it, the friction making its scent waft up to her nose and she recognized it from nuzzling his neck. He used it on his sideburns, too.

He started with the ends of her hair, first the back section working it up to the scalp, then he poured more oil and did the two other sections with the same patient thoroughness. The backs of his fingers rubbed her breasts as he glided the oil through, coaxing the curls to a defined shine she’d never bothered with on her own.

“Look a’my pretty baby.” he murmured to himself as he watched her hair respond to his primping, curling and coiling all down her front.

She sighed happily and leaned against him, dreamy eyed and pale as moonlight underneath his weathered hands in the mirror’s reflection.

Always content with so little, his Rosey.

“I’m sorry there’s so little of me left for ya.” he whispered soft into her ear as he kneaded her flesh, her silky hair running like black ink between his fingers, realizing his pride was hurt by the admission, but she deserved to know that he was aware he had her playing nymph and virgin, nurse and thief, a million things at once to satisfy him. And all she dreamed of was a companion. “But what’s left -it’s yours.”

She caught his hands from her body and brought them to her lips, pressing fervent kisses against those wicked hands of his as if they’d gain her years of eternal life. “Thank you.” he felt it said against his palm.

“Pour me more oil, lil one.” he instructed her and she spilt a few droplets into his open palm in obedience.

He rubbed his hands again but instead of taking it to her scalp his hands traveled downwards to the cradle between her thighs, raking through her wiry curls with that same sweet thoroughness he had given her hair. Rosey could have wept at feeling so cherished. He kissed her cheek soothingly as she whimpered in his arms and he rubbed as long as he dared, close to forgetting the outside world from the sight of her slumped against him, her eyes closed in pleasure and his hand engulfing the whole of that pretty dark patch that only he had ever tasted.

“Please.” she whispered so softly he might have missed it if his heart hadn’t been wishing it into existence at the same time. “Please daddy, I need you there.” She spoke right as his hand had begun to slow, “It won’t take long.” she predicted with a bashful little laugh before looking up at his reflection so worriedly her realized he’d made a right mess of promising her things and withholding them right after, “You said to always tell if when-“

“Yeah, I did.” he agreed with quiet vehemence before slipping his fingers from her mound to the slick and puffy folds between her legs, mouthing at her cheek and throat tenderly as she keened and went atiptoe to grind against his hand, her eyes transfixed by the mirror as his had been moments ago. For now he wanted to watch her face as it grew crimson in growing arousal and crumpled in pleasure. He stroked her through it, his fingers rough and fast but his kisses sweet and he kept at it till she thrashed in his arms. Politely timely, he thought in amusement as he gentled his fingers out from between her legs, laid his slick palm against her breastbone as she gasped out her relief. “There, there now, ya feel better?” he asked her softly as he brought his fingers over her shoulder and into his mouth, tasting the oil and her all at once.

“Yes.” she warbled satisfied, slumping entirely against him, a shudder shaking through her whenever she tried to stand and shifted her pulsing petals together. “Thank you.” she murmured, smelling herself in the hand he was licking clean.

The Captain squeezed her jaw in his hand and kissed her soundly before picking her up again to set her shaky limbed self on the bureau, the better to fix her appearance to his vision of Rosey as a boy. It was hard to concentrate for him, what with him stepping between her splayed legs to pin up her hair into a cropped bob of sorts, her eyes going cross eyed in euphoric exhaustion as she tried to study his face up close as he worked.

“Your left eye is larger than the right.” she pronounced in hushed awe after a thorough and heavy lidded inspection.

“And you have a hawk nose, you silly thing.” he teased her, some itch in the back of his mind telling him long ago he’d called her the same thing.

It was rather difficult to make a woman who, objectively he felt, was very pretty as a woman to resemble a boy in any convincing way. Maybe it was the flushed arousal still painting her lush features in maidenly hues but every trick of his was thwarted by the soft mouth and upturned eyes, the full cheeks and delicate throat. And beneath that throat were boney shoulders that all his good food had not as yet managed to soften, and below, hanging onto her slight frame with heavy abundance were those large, soft breasts that taunted him with every attempt he made to bind them flat with the wide cloth Ada had provided for the purpose.

The Captain could succeed at smashing the bell shaped bottoms of them only to have the milky soft tops spilling out, and when pressing the tops down the profuse flesh would bulge from the bottom of it. Again and again. And Rosey was of no help, her mind foggy and hazy from her pleasure and the sleepless night catching up with her, the feeling of his hands on her and his obvious fascination with his futile task. Propped up and leaning back on her elbows, she delighted too much in his pupil-dilated exasperation not to giggle as his tongue poked out between his teeth and his hands smoothed her like her breasts were wrinkles to be tamed.

“C’mon,” he growled at them softly, then turned coaxing, “be good for daddy, c’mon cooperate. Jus’ c’mon,’stay in there, fuck they’re so big and juicy and goddman what kinda god makes a woman like this? Horny fucker, ain’t no use for them but to -just, just come on, in ya go, just stay for me, stay, stay, that’s it it jus -dammnit. I don’t wanna hurt ya darlins, ain’t no fault to be found but y’all sure just…god help me. That’s it, there, there, there stay! That too tight for ya, honey?”

“I do suppose tight is the only way this will work.” She shrugged as he reached around her and cinched the cloth in back till they throbbed from the pressure, “It’s fine. We’ll be late.” She reminded him, playfully putting her feet on his naked hips to push him away from another attempt. “This will have to do.”

“What did Ada mean when she was talking about the rest of the ‘equipment’, Elvis?” Rosey asked with benign curiosity as he put his finishing touches to her cravat, making certain not to pinch her throat with the ring that still hung from the emerald ribbon. She was as complete a picture of a stylish young man of moderate means as could be hoped. Although the generous swell of the hips were slightly suspect, her overcoat would cover such a curve nicely.

It may have been a question benignly asked but the captain reared back and turned pink down to his nipples as soon as she uttered it and his quick, “Oh, nothin.” only served to light her imagination instead of douse it as intended.

“What’s she use this for?” Rosey pressed with a scholar's tenacity, thumbing at her waistcoat pockets and feeling a strange amount of security in the masculine garb, her assets smashed and her figure encouraged to stand wide, there was something about trousers and cravats that she found oddly emboldening.

“I said nothin.” he pleaded, backing away from her, presumably in search of something to clad the long, lean nakedness of himself in now she was entirely adorned herself and prowling towards him with mind numbing intensity. He couldn’t tell if it were how well the clothes suited her or if she suited the clothes or the very recent taste of her in his mouth but the way she stalked him round the bed and back again as he tried to find some article of clothing not yet moved out had an alarmingly…stimulative…effect on him.

“Oh come now.” she dipped her voice in conspiratorial beguiling, “It’s gotta be something naughty, I can tell as you are pink down to you belly.”

“Rosey!”

“You can tell me!” she sounded like a wheedling child, in fact he was pretty certain again he'd heard her use this same tone with him ages ago and while he didn’t object to that, he objected to being stalked around in his bedroom by a masculinized Cricket while he was in the buff. “What’s she use it for?”

“Disreputable things!” he hollered while throwing his hands up in exasperation and when they fell to his sides they smacked against his bare skin lewdly. He’d just have to wear his old outfit then, he concluded with the dresser bare.

“So it’s naughty?” Unlike Rosey, this womanly nymph in pinstripe trousers before him seemed excited by that revelation and surveyed her outfit anew as if she could find some secret hidden in the pockets or pleats.

“Rosey have ya lost your mind?” he hissed at her, although if he were an honest man he would acknowledge his vehemence stemmed from his alarming levels of interest in her interest. Captain Presley was not an honest man. Not about his own wants. And so he bent over and grabbed his trousers from off the floor with grave disapproval showing in his jerky movements.

“How’s it naughty?” she asked just as eager and circled round him to grab at his trousers herself.

“I-I-it’s,” he wondered where the blushing prude of last month had gone while at the same time seeing her, truly her, more than he ever had before in her curious eyes and tenacious hands, “it’s d-degenerate.” He replied primly, trying to yank his trousers from her, not about to discussing a woman pegging a man with his future wife.

Rosey won that tugging match and sank to her knees in front of him with the pants in hand, looking for all the world like some street urchin he’d hauled off the promenade and had made kneel for him and when she looked up it was Rosey yet not Rosey and that stern nose that usually marred her soft face suited the stiff confines of this playacted gender and his hand twitched to bury itself in her falsely cropped hair and push that nose into his crotc- oh, she’d gotten down there to help him put on his pants.

God, god, god he couldn’t handle himself today.

“It excites you.” she whispered as he stepped into the leg holes and she raised them up, his pink and pulsing interest mouth level with her and he saw her throat bobbing under the stiff collar and cravat, “It can’t be bad if it excites you.” she murmured again pleadingly, her hands splayed on his thighs and her breath wafting over him.

“It don’t excite me,” he replied very slow and measured, “but you might. You do.” he amended, a simple truth.

“Like this?” she asked a little breathless and he thought she meant on her knees, which he’d have thought they already established his liking of. But when he saw where her eyes had gone he got a sudden jolt of terror mixed with arousal so strong he wasn’t sure he’d felt that in years. She was looking at the mirror again, the one he’d just pleasured and primped her in front of but now his beautiful artifice was kneeling in front of him, a gorgeously crafted dolly with pinned hair and pale hands and a mouth inches from his wavering cock and -his Rosey looked like a boy kneeling there and his heart jolted from the sight. Pride in the skill of his manufacturing an image and interest in what he knew lay beneath her layers and the wrongness of ever again finding this compelling had him shaking like a leaf of a sudden. And just as suddenly her mischief died out and his trousers were hauled up the rest of the way and fastened with businesslike efficacy.

“Not- not like, well -maybe.” He concluded and she looked up at him as if surprised he had not shelved the topic entirely. “I don’t know.” he admitted honestly as he threw on the rest of his clothing with less finesse than usual, his girl helpfully retrieving the strewn items from the floor and he could fella from the way she carried herself she enjoyed the change, too, and that was enough to excite, “I really don’t know.” he continued to contemplate it despite himself and she held her tongue and watched him curiously, “We haven’t the time for it, have to…to think on it later. Hell of a lot to think on later. C’mon now, we’ll be late.”

Mr. Samuel Clemens had made a career out of watching folks and their dealings, learning the things they didn’t want learned, writing it down and sending it off to inform other folks when they read the newspapers. Journalism was little beyond respectable voyeurism, if one was being honest, and he considered himself an excellent voyeur. What distinguished a seasoned journalist or correspondent from an ameatuer was that the later approached the world with a series of questions regarding its happenings and badgered the worlds occupants till they answered him, such a method was bound to result in skewed narrative that either aligned with the views of the amateur himself or else the folks he was meant to be detachedly observing.

Now if Mr. Clemens were an amateur, he would have badgered a waiting Mr. Binder about all sorts of things as they sat beside each other in the reception seats of the St. Louis courthouse. Lined up at this late hour against the wall facing the Judge’s empty desk like criminals awaiting a firing squad, Clemens and his shifty companion had spent a good half hour, both waiting for unnamed parties. Now because Mr. Clemens didn’t ask questions, he watched and he listened instead, he got a narrative outta people that not even they would admit to being true, save that once printed there was never a dash or comma or word they could deny having been done or said or achieved. And so, by watching and listening and waiting, Mr. Binder had told him more about the new Waterways Commision and Captain Presley’s hopeful induction to it than Mr. Clemens coulda hoped to have gained were he to ask the questions point blank. Shocking how free folks are with information when they think it ain’t wanted.

When asked what he himself was there for, Mr. Clemens honestly replied he needed his correspondent papers validated by the captain of the boat he meant to take tomorrow morning. Mr. Bidner hadn’t as much interest in boats as he did their captains and as a result the line of questioning was dropped.

So it was that when the impressive and unmistakable figure of Captain Presley entered the building with a modest entourage of young men behind him, Mr. Binder was so comfortable with his companion of thirty minutes of chit-chat that he rose without a single furtive glance backwards at the journalist and greeted the captain with a fervor stemming from proclaimed interest in finalizing their apparent alliance.

“W-where’s Miss Beaumont?” Binder asked the Captain at an entirely indelicate decibel that suggested to Mr. Clemens that the presence of the decadently apparelled young companion of the Captain’s he had noticed last evening at the gala was of the utmost importance.

The Captain’s head cocked to the side in a delicately subtle gesture that were Clemens not so invested in his observations may have gone unnoticed. Instead, however, Clemens noticed the slight young boy beside the captain give an aborted wave to Mr. Binder who after repeated double takes took to peering under the youth’s wide brimmed hat with comedic amounts of confusion.

“God, you're handsome as a boy, miss.” Mr. Binder ruled in her favor at last with fervent admiration that Mr. Clemens took note, too.

“Where’s this judge at?” Their sandy haired companion who preferred workman’s clothes even in a judicial building slammed his hand on the waiting bell that neither Bidner nor Clemens had need to ring as their parties had not arrived before.

Captain Presley alone carried himself with a respectable amount of furtive discretion and took to observing his marbled surroundings with admirable suspicion before those brilliantly vibrant eyes landed on the seated correspondent who was so conveniently privy to all of his business.

“Mr. Clemens.” he greeted the man in a tone that was neither warm nor cold, threatening or ingratiating. It’s careful neutrality promised an impressive tipping either way and Mr. Clemens smiled back at the talented fellow with a natural smile of interest at seeing him up close.

“Captain Presley I presume? An honor to make your acquaintance and just the man I was waiting for.” He stated his purpose up front so as not to be turned away with only small talk having passed between them.

“What can I do for you?” Captain Presley looked rather eager to be made use of, an odd thing in most folks nowadays who saw a favor as an unsupportable thing. Clemens hoped that the bright young man whose exploits he had once written so glowingly of still remained inside this more guarded, coiled version of himself. “I’ve not forgotten you know,”he added and this time there was some warmth in his rich voice, “that article of yours. At times I was confused as to whether you were complimenting a crocodile or a man but either way it was most gracious comin’ from a man of such experience. Reckon we should hail ya as a Riverboat Connoisseur.”

“Oh you read that piece?” Mr. Clemens was not entirely surprised but few captains remained so unabashedly appreciative of their critics.

“Well, I read the one Mark Twain wrote.” The captain bantered with his tongue poking out in a strangely endearing mannerism of teasing.

“Mark Twain?” the Captain’s sandy haired companion left off his juvenile smashing of the untended bell to watch the interaction with sudden interest.

“That’s Mr. Clemens’ pen name, Schilling.” The captain educated him not unkindly.

“Good lord, damnation this is a treat.” Schilling didn’t hold back. “He the one who wrote that article you’re always quotin-“

“Jerrah-“

“Bout you havin’ the pride of a king in your-“

“I like all his writings!” Captain Presley chose the sweet route of effusion instead of feigned disinterest to shush his companion and Mr. Clemens thought perhaps it wasn’t so bad to meet one’s heroes after all, not if a rough and tumble riverboat Captain had the heart of a tender boy inside him.

“Presley is a true pilot,” Binder quoted in revenant, dulcet tones fitted for recitation hour in a drawing room soirée “who when piloting, cares nothing about anything on earth but the river, and his pride in his occupation surpasses the pride of kings. Lethal only to those uneducated with the river and her currency, he is the nurturer of its capricious nature and the guardian of its generous splendor, a man suited best to its majesty and vastness for he neither tames nor fights it, but joins to it like a lover who means to take only what he also gives."

An awkward silence followed this poetic outburst where Mr. Schilling grunted in agreement with a five year old sentiment about his boss while the author and his subject gave themselves a bashful moment of mutual appreciation and the hermaphroditical creature at the captain’s elbow stifled a gasp of appreciation, wether for the prose or the skill was entirely unknown to anyone.

“I-it was t-t-the quote that cemented my admiration for him, Mr. Clemens.” Bidner defended his memorization of an ancient news clipping and Captain Presley patted the fellow on the back as if his inordinate admiration were a slight congealing of the chest fluids.

Mr. Binder spooked worse from that touch alone than if a shot had rung out in the empty chambers of this marble mausoleum of a building.

“What can I do for you Mr. Clemens?” Presley repeated and this time his voice was even kindly.

“The notary has my documents” Mr. Clemens answered, “but I need your signature for the validation of my correspondence pass to board your vessel on the morrow. I imagine with the loading of horses and the men and such there will be no great rush to be off, but I don’t intend to be left with my britches round my ankles cause I didn’t foresee some expediency.”

“My boat?” The Captain repeated that solitary line.

“Yessir, gonna write a column on the welfare of our ventures out west.”

“We’re goin’ north.” The captain corrected.

“Are ya now?”

“Yes. St. Paul. Droppin’ the troops off there then comin’ right back. Not much to write about.”

“Uhuh,” Clemens stroked his mustache contemplatively and peered at Mr. Binder who added his own emphatic declarations as to the destination. “You got your full orders already? And they’re for Saint Paul’s?”

“Well, no, I ain’t met the general yet.” Captain Presley conceded and shifted his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. “In fact all I’ve got is a letter of requisition for army transport, Mr. Clemens, I wouldn’t bank on no great adventure. Aww hell what, what do you know?” something seemed to dawn on the Captain and he pressed Clemens with all his attention centered on him, “Come now sir, it’ll only serve to aid me in preparin’ and get you that damn signature. I ain’t givin’ it until you tell me, even a suspicion of what you’re thinkin’ will do. I needn’t tell you how easily the army will throw you off the transport without my backing.”

Mr. Clemens just smiled placidly and beckoned him closer which the captain complied with and the two men, about evenly matched in their height put their heads together and he spoke lowly, “You heard about anythin’ a’stirrin in the Dakotas, Captain?”

“I’ve heard there’s been unrest.”

“Heap of unrest to require so many soldiers, hmm?” Clemens pointed out.

“That thought had occurred to me. Whole lotta fuss, what is it you know?”

“I was down at the Amy headquarters before last night's gala,” Mr. Clemens reminisced and if he had been just another loquacious story teller Elvis would cut him off but as it was he held his peace, “and what I saw there was a sweet little telegraph operator takin’ down a message and sobbing over it. And when I offered her my handkerchief I was let in on the information that she couldn’t believe that “he” was dead.”

“Who the hell is he?” Elvis growled.

“Well, see, that takes some puzzling together,” Clemens admitted, “and my conclusion may yet be faulty but what I do know is I heard her weeping of gallantry and golden curls and custard.”

Elvis squinted for half a second before his eyebrow raised in shrewd surmising and Clemens nodded significantly. “You think the natives got General Custer?” he said.

“Fits the description.” Clemens could not be made to state an outright opinion he did not hold outright, “And it would warrant a reinforcing presence in the territories such as we’ve seen flood this city from eastern train cars in the last twenty four hours.”

“Goddamn.”

“Indeed.”

“Still don’t mean I gotta go west.”

“Hmm, no, don’t gotta mean it.”

“Aw hell.” Elvis pinched the bridge of his nose as the likelihood settled and tried to quiet his thoughts. “Goddamn it all to hell.” he repeated again and Clemens nodded in commiseration before looking a little callously hopeful. “Yes, yes you’ll get your signature.” Elvis grumbled before turning to the opening doors out of which the judge and Mr. Moore issued forth.

“Oh, EP, you’re here, good.” Mr. Moore gave a smile of relief at his friend’s timeliness and Rosey noticed the way Mr. Clemens abruptly stepped back from their circle and sat himself down again, as if eager to be forgotten in the bustle of the judge taking his seat and Moore dumping various documents out on the desk like an orderly belching of paper from his briefcase.

“Right, we’ve multiple articles and statements here that have been notarized.” The judge took his seat and called to order the tiny group with a backwater lack of discretion in the volume of his voice, “Now just needing your signature, Captain. More importantly though, I heard there was to be a marriage. I see no woman.”

Captain Presley’s smile was brittle with nervousness and he glanced first at Rosey by his side and then over to Mr Clemens as if gauging wether that fellow was far enough away for the echoes to distort their private business. “She’s right here, your honor,” he patted his grips shoulder as he spoke in a whisper, “didn’t wanna attract attention comin’ in, ya see so-“

“Take your hat off.” The judge barked and Rosey doffed the floppy brimmed haberdashery with scared alacrity while the judge eyed her up and down dubiously. “Name?” and he consulted the paper Mr. Moore had previously provided.

Rosey panicked a little, looking at him in some fretful concern as to which he gave. “I-“

“Miss Beaumont-“ Binder prodded helpfully and she realized with some relief that Elvis didn’t want to marry Savannah, he wanted to marry her, and his entire belittling of this evening's events suddenly felt a little less harsh. Savannah would be marrying today, not her.

“Savannah Hortencia Beaumont.” she recited politely.

“That’s not what this paper says.” The Judge stared down at the parchment Scotty had provided even as that worthy fellow winced.

“If-if we’re gonna have this legal and all-“ Mr. Moore began and with the Captain’s exasperated grunt came to a finish, “then it will need to be in her right name. No one’s going to see it anyway unless this whole plan goes to hell in which case they’ll know her anyway. And it’s best her funds not get frozen for impersonation.”

The Judge listened to this dubious legal council with bored disnintetest that Jerry was certain had been paid for. Generously. Mr. Binder held his breath for fear he’d ask it himself despite his business sense that told him to remain quiet.

“Right right, your real name then, Cricket.” Elvis decided with a gentle pat to her back.

“Yes, certainly, uh, I-“ it had been absolute ages since she had so much as thought of her real name, having woken up every morning for the last decade reciting a personhood to herself in the mirror that was entirely false until it became true. The judge was waiting, eyes intently glaring at her overtop the document, “Lorena Marie Hodgkins.” she confessed in a small voice.

“Lorena?” Captain Presley objected to the name vehemently by volume alone, “Whadda ya mean by that? Your name’s Lorrie! Only name you ‘ever been called ‘cept for what I gave ya.”

“That was a shortening,” She swallowed hard, “shortened from Lorena.”

“I’ll be damned-“ he swore, “you ‘ever been called by a real name in all your life?”

“My father was fond of calling me Lorena.” she answered coldly and he felt that stirring in his belly to tuck her safely into his pocket for all eternity. Instead he nodded to the judge to get on with it while craning his neck behind him to address Mr. Clemens:

“I said I’d sign the thing for ya.” he reminded the fellow, in great impatience not to have an actual reporter witness his faux marriage contract.

“Most kind of you,” the older gentleman acknowledged in a loud voice from his distance a few seats down from the desk, “I’ll bring it to you when the notary is done.”

“Ah.” The captain smiled easily at his excuse before turning back to the desk with a mumbled “Shit.” that Rosey soothed away with a squeeze of his thigh beneath the desk.

The documents for this agreement, arrangement, trade, convenenant, whatever the hell this marriage was, remained quite stark. Before being allowed to sign it, the Judge asked with mumbling disinterest if the Captain would take her for wife and getting a hissed “yes” proceeded to ask if the woman would take him for a husband and getting a wobbly “yes” scanned his eyes across a few more qualifications for marriage and asked if anyone here knew a reason why they should not be wedded.

Crowding behind them at the desk Mr. Moore sniffled and shook his head while Jerry admanely grunted “nope.” Mr. Clemens discreetly pretended to be too far removed to overhear any of the proceedings.

“You swear to invest her with all your worldly goods?” the judge ticked the box with his quil before Elvis had even replied but it was just as well, the Captain never wavered and Rosey found herself oddly grateful for that.

“I do.”

“Are there any other vows you would like to incorporate?” The magistrate droned in such a way as to suggest he didn’t want to hear more but Elvis had paid good money for his little debacle and the notion of Mr. Clemens being right and a trip to the edge of the known world imminent made a fella start to think.

“Maybe add a lil honor and obey.” he decided and coulda sworn he heard Jerry snicker crudely behind him.

Rosey stared at him with an expression of arch disbelief but when asked if she promised to honor and obey huffed out “I do.” quite readily.

“If that is all then I pronounce-“

“I have an addition.” she piped up sweetly and Elvis’ neck popped in his sudden motion to stare at her in return.

“I already promised ‘all my worldly goods I thee endow’, and all that shit!” he reminded.

“You had me swearing two vows.” she reasoned very steadily and Mr. Clemens would have likened her to a seasoned fishmonger haggling a price at market -if he had been listening in, which he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t. “Honor and obey.” she pressed on, “I have worldly goods but what else?”

“I-I-“ Elvis floundered trying to recall any damning specifics of genuine marriage vows before shrugging, “-alright, add what ya like.”

“With my body I thee worship.” she requested demurely of the judge, who, for the first time during this entire proceeding, showed some sliver of interest.

Peering over his spectacles at a blushing Captain the judge asked dully, “Do you Elvis Aaron Presley vow to worship your bride with your body and all your worldly good endow her with?”

“I do.” tumbled out of his spit wet lips as he stared back at her, calculation and business quite forgotten at the prospect he’d just contractually promised her the ownership of his flesh and blood. Strangely, despite her awakened and ravening appetite, he felt safer than he ever had before in all his life.

“In that case,” the judge groaned, “no objection having been raised and the persons here qualified and willing to bind themselves thus, I pronounce you man and wife.”

The happy couple remained sat with not a trace of change in their features, and finding no kiss forthcoming, the judge proceeded to unearth the next document from the pile. The next hour was spent divvying up assets and insurance policies and signing retainers for the waterway commission, signing for Mr. Clemens and putting in an order to wire money. And Rosey sat through it with straight backed deference, newly minted as Mrs. Presley with both his ring digging into the hollow of her throat and the bindings biting into her chest.

Once aboard there was still no break to be had. Mr. Moore was to leave by the midnight train and the last hours of the night were spent huddled over Jerry’s desk plotting provisions for Vernon’s trial while Jerry himself oversaw the deafening racket below of knocking down the stable walls.

The light on the desk was blazing brightly but the rest of the room was pitch dark and Rosey saw Elvis keep putting on his glasses and taking them off as if his headache were permanent. Rosey found herself breathing shallow as the bindings cut her flesh the longer she’d stayed in them and she thought Mr. Moore was inordinately frazzled with the details of bail and habeas corpus.

“Elvis!- it’s Judge Weston!” Scotty pressed for the fourth time that night as if who was presiding over Vernon’s trial held greater weight than just -that.

“That supposed to mean somethin’ to me?” Elvis finally asked the question Rosey harbored.

“Yes!” Scotty spluttered, seemingly bamboozled by Elvis’ placidity, “If the Colonel can’t get that one to relent then we’re toast! I suppose blackmail’s got a ten year expiration in the judicial realm.”

“Any idea what the Colonel’s got on him?” Elvis inquired, pinching his lip between his fingers, “Binder was askin and I couldn’t guess.”

“Y-y-you’re -you’re kidding aren’t you?” Scotty faltered and paled to such a degree Rosey got the swooping feeling he wasn’t being prudish in his fluster, “Stop kiddin about it E, I can’t take it. Stop kiddin about all of it.”

“The hell you on about?” the Captain asked angrily and with an edge of demand in his voice, “You’re always shrinkin’ and fussin’ over past shit -and for the life of me I can’t see why you don’t move the hell on! Come on, man! let it go!” his tone turned pleading, and he even reached his hand across the table with its papers and fountain pins and weights, clasping Scotty’s where it lay innervated. “What’s this got to do with the Judge? Come on Scotty, grow some balls and talk to me.”

“H-have you really forgotten?” Scotty let out in a horrified whisper.

“Mr Moore, I’ll thank ya to start talkin in full, or else hush up.”

Scotty’s eyes were wide as saucers and shimmering so startlingly in the feeble gaslamp light he looked possessed, and his frame and hand began to shake beneath his friend’s. He opened his mouth a few times and shut it repeatedly, finally in a very grave voice he began, “I hadn’t imagined for a single moment that you might not recall the events that lead to- not understand my animosity against Parker-“

“-don’t bring him up again, I asked ya about Weston-“

“-I thought we’d just agreed not to-to speak of it.” His eyes darted from Elvis’ aggravated face to yours, “And if it’s to come out, I think perhaps, perhaps it would be best if we were alone for it, E.”

“Scotty,” Elvis' voice was so steady and commanding it startled her when it disturbed the hush of the room, “either you can unburden yourself or ya can help me with the judge, and if those two things go together for whatever reason, then let’s have it out. Come on man, Rosey’s no stranger to judicial corruption.” and he laughed as he patted his new wife on the back.

“God, E-“ Scotty began to rip at his cravat as if in dire need of more air, “please, uh, trust me this ain’t for a lady’s ears.”

“Rosey’s got a right to know my business.” He replied simply.

“All of it?” Scotty implied and suddenly Elvis seemed to catch the drift she had already noticed underlying Mr Moore’s discomfiture.

“Scotty, what the hell you on about?” he asked urgently, his chair screeching as he jerked and leaned forward.

“You don’t recall any dealings with Judge Weston?” Scotty asked, and if a corpse had a voice it would sound no less hollow.

“None.” Elvis cried, “Look, you remember I got sick and I don’t remember much of anything from that last week in Memphis.”

“And ya never bothered to ask?” Scotty cried despairingly.

“Colonel told me we cut some good deals,” Elvis insisted, “and it was obvious we did! We had a boat by the end of it and a reprieve. Terms were that I couldn’t set foot in Memphis. Which was a bitter condition, I admit, but considering what we were up against…and that’s why I haven’t come to see ya, man, I ain’t allowed there.”

“You didn’t get sick, Elvis.” Scotty said simply, his whole face slack with grief, “Or, no more than we all were from hunger and the cold.” he amended.

“You gonna tell me?” Elvis asked, leaning forward even more and clasping both hands to Scotty’s, nearly tipping out his own chair. “You gotta tell me what I’m up against, man, c’mon. Gives you more grief than it does me to dwell on it, just a clean cut, say it and be done.”

“Alright, alright uh…” Scotty gripped his hand and looked up to the ceiling for either devine help or a less distracting spur to his memories than Elvis’ intense gaze. “You remember goin to a dinner party at that fella’s place?”

“What fella?”

“The judge.”

“Judge Weston?”

“Yes, dammnit yes, Weston.”

“Vaguely.” Elvis replied, shortly, “I recall feelin sicker than a dog all evenin, no matter what you say that i weren’t any worse than y’all.”

“Oh you were worse!” Scotty gave a trembling laugh of pure nervousness, “That evening you were worse, i couldn’t make sense of it, till Bill told me Colonel had gotten Ada to give ya somethin to loosen ya up -you weren’t sleepin much then, you recall that? Yeah, well so he’d given ya somethin and you were loopy, and I couldn't figure why he’d risk you lollin’ around in your chair at a Judge’s dinner party where you were meant to plead your case. -You weren’t bein intolerable!” Scotty assured him as he could see Elvis began to look wary, “You were just, out of it and and and actin like your brains got wiped, turned ya into a child. Made ya real docile which was probably the point to prove you weren’t no murderer but-. Oh god.” Moore snatched his hand away from the Captain’s comforting grip and hid his face, as if he needed to block out his small audience to keep going.

“Go on, man, go on.” Elvis commanded him and out of instinct, sensing a coming horror, Rosey laid her little hand on his lower back, rubbing soothing circles into the space where his vest rode up from his trousers.

“The invitation had stated a late time for dinner.” Scotty remarked, “I remember balking over who ate their supper at half past ten at night. Parker told me that Judge’s did, since the rest of their day was taken up with the common welfare. Parker always had an answer to every one of my protests, every one, but to this day I never have gone to another judge’s house for an intimate dinner that close to midnight.”

Sweat was gathering in the dip of Elvis' back, she could feel it beneath his shirt and she herself felt as if she dared not breathe until Scotty finished this faintly worrisome narrative of unremarkable happenings.

“God forgive me, I got sick of the chatter and the deals and the way they were talking about bribes and shit at a Judge’s table.” Scotty moaned into his hands, behind him the inky black darkness of the room suddenly seemed sinister to you, “Made me sick and I got all- you know how I get- got all self righteous about it and said I had enough and told the judge he was a disgrace to justice and-and he told me to get outta his house and I said I would, happily. And I got up, I got up and I left. I went back to our lodging above the tavern. Bill was out, he’d been lodging above the stables most nights anyway.” Scotty let out a long groan into his hands before taking them away from his face, the solitary lamp casting it in a tear streaked demented orange glow, “I left E! I swear I asked if you were comin and you said yeah and then the Colonel told ya to sit yourself down, that this wasn’t over. And you obeyed meek as a child and…and fed up I left. -I left you there.”

Elvis’ leg was jimmying so hard beneath the table at this point that the ink pots were sloshing from it. “Scotty, I need ya ya tell me what you know.” he said, deathly calm.

“I don’t know what happened!” Scotty gave a scream, gratefully tempered by his snot hoarse throat. “But what I do know is-by dawn you weren’t back, and I went downstairs to find you and Parker and was just in time to meet a hackney coach pulling up to the curb and one of the Judge’s lackeys unloaded you into my arms like a wet sack of grain.” he met Elvis eyes then, anger giving him fuel to conquer shame or grief, “I shoulda taken you to hospital, I shoulda waved down that hackney coach down again the minute I saw the state you were in and I shoulda charged the Judge for the drive to a doctor. But I couldn’t do that, could I?” he yelled, “Cause if I had, then you’d not only be half dead, you’d be imprisoned for the cause of your wounds.” Unnerving as Elvis’ motionless acceptance of this speech was it gave Mr Moore the freedom to conclude, “So,” his voice had lost its venom and gone soft and sad again, “so I spent that morning cleaning blood and filth from you and when Parker cared to come check on his merchandise he had the audacity to act as if he was appalled and scandalized by the Judge’s —behavior. And he promised you that you’d be taken care of, never have to take it like that again, that you had earned your pardons. In hindsight i see he played you like a goddamn fiddle and I- forgive me but I was so young and stupid and angry at it all. When you shoved me away and took to huddlin under his wing, I shouldn’t have blamed ya, you were drugged and wrecked and not thinking straight but I- I was worn out too, E. You wouldn’t listen to me when I told ya he’d sold you, and I didn’t have the fight in me to try to keep ya from him when you didn’t wanna be kept away. I thought you knew he’d traded you that night, and I thought you didn’t care, that I’d really lost ya, that you’d lost yourself tryin to get us home. So I left ya, to follow your own road. You didn’t need me anyhow, Parker got ya Dr Nick who’s fuckin potions could do more than me holdin ya and- and you got your riverboat. Now you’re the envy of the Mississippi, so it ain’t no sob story.” he puffed out a snotty breath as if he’d just put down a burden he’d been hauling for years. Rosey knew that feeling intimately.

They both were nervous to look to Elvis but when she did it was as if he had heard nothing of this, or that it was of no consequence, so still was his expression. Like a rattled veteran who can’t be roused from stupor after battle, finding some peace in a dimension undetectable to the rest.

“Say something, E, for god’s sake, say you forgive me for leavin ya.” Scotty began to blabber and she aimed a vicious kick at his shin under the table.

“This isn’t about you, Mr Moore.” Rosey hissed but not even her venomous rebuke could rouse Elvis from his inspection of the table's grained surface.

“Do you really not recall any of it?” Mr Moore switched his avenue of lamentation, unable to be quiet under the weight of guilt that all this time his snide remarks about Elvis being without principles had been directed at a friend who never knew he had once been robbed of them. “You’d swore to me that once we got to Memphis you wouldn’t take to it again, no matter how bad it got and then- oh god, I thought, I thought you changed your mind, thought that’s why you got so mad at me for bringing it up after and- I had to unlace ya outuvva Goddamn corset, E!”

“Mr Moore!” she seethed and he shut his mouth mechanically at the way Elvis’ stormy eyes suggested he was indeed beginning to recall some of it at long last. His hand left the table and fluttered to his stomach in that way she recognized at trying to quell some sick.

Elvis rose abruptly, knocking her hand from its place on his back and went to the side table, rummaging in the dark space before pouring a glass of water shakily, his face turned from the table. “Scotty,” he said in a neutral tone, “Mr Binder is headed to Memphis to investigate these suspected judges, the ones taking bribes and such,” he gave a long pause as the ambiguous “such” now had a brutal, personal definition, “is there any chance that such investigations might…backfire?”

“What do you mean?” Mr Moore asked, his whole bearing so exhausted from the ordeal of confessing.

“I mean is there reason to believe there’s any -evidence…that would tie him to me, besides money, of course. The money proof is there, Binder knows that.”

“Well I-“ Mr. Moore floundered until Elvis turned back around and looked at him with commanding expectancy, “I can’t imagine there would be? Unless the driver…I’m sure those house servants are used to being discreet about such things. I can’t say for certain but- he wouldn’t risk any evidence and, it’s not like the check would read-“ he trailed off.

Elvis had the demented bravery to laugh. “To Mr. Elvis Presley,” he mimicked the motions of writing a check, “for the usage of his a-“

“Don’t don’t don’t don’t don’t!” Scotty cried hoarsely, “-it was a crime! Elvis! A crime against you and God Almighty!” Scotty broke down in tears brought on by guilt and frustration.

“I know!” Elvis screamed right back and threw the now empty glass right past their heads in emphasis, shattering it against the opposite wall. “You’re actin’ like it was you got passed around by a man you trusted.” he spit, “You’ve sat on this story like a goddamn prude cause you can’t so much as talk about these things without whinin and now you’re asking me to what -what do you want me to do to make you feel better about me finally knowing, hmmm? Cry? Kill myself? What would be a reaction that would make you feel better, Scotty Moore? What do any of you folks want me to do to make ya feel heard?”

As if this wild tirade of hurt and accusations had finally burned him out, Rosey saw the Captain’s tall form sway and he clutched at the side board, the tray which held the glasses and decanter sliding from his blind clutch and crashing to the floor. She was by him in an instant, a hand on the back of his neck and her discarded hat in front of him as he was sick, letting him crush her hand in his clammy one. He stayed leaning over the side board for a few moments, breathing raggedly and staring at the wall in front of him.

“Ya know this means he never meant for daddy to walk free.” was the first thing the Captain said after getting his voice back, addressing Scotty who was still sat behind him, weeping at the injustice of it all. “Colonel either has lost his grip entirely or won’t use it for this, he don’t want me to even have my own father.” and the next shudder through him was less a heaving of his stomach and more a sob. “Reckon this whole lil insurrection was perfectly timed.” he mumbled and leaned into her attentions as Rosey took off her own cravat and dabbed at his sweaty face. “While I’m gone Scotty,” he finally turned round to face his old friend and Scotty looked up with devoted eagerness, his face shimmering with tears in the gas lamp’s glow, “I’m gonna count on you to see they don’t just eliminate my daddy, ya hear? I’d rather it get out that I played lover to a judge than anything happen to him, do you hear me? Don’t spare my name, it’s lost already -Colonel’s gonna see to that. You just see to it justice is done for my daddy, alright? I’m countin’ on ya, Scotty! You’re like a bother to me.” And he wept himself.

Scotty was out of his chair and embracing him moments later, an angry sort of affection that wishes time could be gotten back and ills erased, “Might not come to all that.” he muttered soothingly as he rocked the Captain like a child in his embrace, a steadying hand on the back of that glossy bowed head. Rosey had never seen the Captain so gently intimate with another man and there was a obvious history to this embrace, a well worn ritual of Scotty lying and shushing, and Elvis believing just long enough to get the wind back in his sails. It made her eyes burn.

“You know it will.” Elvus muttered back into Scotty’s neck and got his head patted more fervently for it.

“I’ll be here for ya this time.” Scotty swore, and got the breath squeezed out of him by Elvis’ arms again.

“I’m going to sleep.” Elvis announced after pulling away, his eyes downcast and the shadow of his lashes heavy on his cheeks from the gloom, “God speed ya, man.” He commissioned his friend with a kiss to the cheek before a solitary finger snagged Rosey’s wrist and tugged her towards the doorway, “Jerry’s got orders to see ya to the train.”

They did not return to their room, for it was no longer their room, and when he took her down, ever downwards, into the bowels of his little kingdom and opened first one door that held a sleeping Charlie and Cal then a next, she felt it fitting that their first night ended somewhere new. A squalid little honeymoon, even if there were to be no intimacy. He creaked open the next door, slightly farther removed from the main stable area by the harness racks and grain storage, and in it she saw that it had a singular cot of dubious plushness, next to that a washstand, a mirror above that and a rickety chair shoved in a corner that it really couldn’t afford to take up as the door only opened half way with its bulk blocking it.

The room was wooden bare and stark of beauty but he was right, she was no fine lady.

Their goods already piled on the chair and heaped on what little floor space they had, no sooner had he kicked the door shut behind then than he dropped her hand to begin rummaging through one of the trunks.

She watched him attentively as she began to shuck her masculine layers, not even her worry for the state of his mind able to take her own off the searing bite of the bindings anymore. He was pulling out little bottles from a chest and when he caught sight of her expression he assured, not without kindness,

“Jus’ herbs baby.”

She heard him uncork then and the tink tink tink of drops hitting a spoon as she wrestled her shirt over her head.

By the time her vision was clear he was stripping too, his dose already taken and she helped steady him as they worked in silence, it felt oddly comfortable and she feared a misplaced condolence regarding his recent enlightenment might tip the balance unfavorably. So she held her tongue and helped him strip and kissed at his skin as they did. When they had succeeded in undressing him he thumbed at her mouth and placed a kiss there after a moment of thought.

“Ya need some water, girl, your lip’s chapped.” he said, and brought her a glass he must’ve filled with water from the washstand and used to take his tonic.

The water was terribly bitter and she grimaced. “These bindings are hurting me.” she managed to mutter even as the world suddenly got very hazy and her own feet seemed to stumble towards him. He caught her and sat her on the edge of the bed and propped her up against his leg as he worked to undo the knot with fretful urgency.

Round and round he unwound the cloth and at last she could suck in a full breath. It made her world foggier still, the wall wavering as she rested her cheek against his thigh and slumped, her tongue heavy in her mouth and that bitter tang cloying to the roof of her mouth.

Gently he tipped her into the bed and she fell back amongst the sheets naked as the day she was born and strangely uninhibited by that as his eyes burned up every inch of her. Her consciousness seemed to be fading and some tiny spark of panic helped swim to the surface, recalling that he had untrusted her with keeping them chaste. It seemed very hard to do with the world dim and her legs so heavy they spread of their own accord, a hot and slick mess of her insides seemingly spilling out. She felt spilled out on the sheets and it was bizarre and unsettling and so very natural all the same.

She heard him suck in a noisy breath of his own and lament, “God, what’ve I done to ya?”

And she very much thought the same -what have you done to my little head, Captain? it is spinning.

He was speaking of her breasts, however, which she could not see. But in the light of the swinging lantern above them he could see the welts and bruises that had already begun to show on her pale skin, the soft, vulnerable things accusing him cruelly with each angry mark. “Poor, poor things.” he muttered, his tongue heavy and the taste of the tonic bitter.

He lowered himself down to lay above her, gently, and pulling the sheet over them brought his mouth to her. First one breast, then the other, laving away the damage he’d caused and chasing out the bitterness of his mouth with the salty plushness of her skin. “Daddy’s sorry, daddy didn’t mean to hurt ya none, didn’t mean to at all, poor widdle fings….”

She could barely make out the words as he mumbled around mouthfuls of her flesh and his nuzzling sucks and kneading was strangely effective, she held his head to her just as Scotty had done, a soothing pressure to the back of his skull and anchored him to her as he rooted around, the sweet weight of him naked and pliant on top of her again -just as it should be she thought. His sideburns scratched her wet perked nipples and she hissed in delight, tugging at his hair to repeat the motion and his moan shook the whole length of her. She thought she managed to trap one of his thighs between her own and wiggled against it, but maybe not.

The cot was much too small, she realized suddenly, they had to be atop each other or else fall off. She held into him tighter and he nuzzled her contentedly, his own world going foggy.

They must be together or they would fall off, she kept thinking, but she didn’t know if she could hold him with the way her limbs were melting. Her mouth tasted so bitter.

What did you do to me, Captain? she wanted to ask but his mouth was sweet and warm and her breasts sore.

“I’m glad I’ve got you, Lorrie Darlin’.” she heard him whisper before she succumbed to the weight of his head on her breast and sank into dreamless rest.

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