The party had been the kind of wild and chaotic mess that only Buck's parties could deliver. The house was packed with the sounds of laughter, music blaring from a cheap stereo system, and the scent of cigarettes and spilled drinks lingering in the air. Dallas, Two-Bit, Steve, Sodapop, and you had already drank their weight in booze, and you stumbled out into the night.

Minds buzzed, bodies uncoordinated, and your laughter echoeing through the empty streets.

Sodapop and Steve were practically dragging each other home, both slurring their words and laughing at nothing in particular.

Two-Bit, still clutching an almost empty bottle of beer, had a wide grin plastered across his face, seemingly unaffected by the alcohol "You guys are lightweight," he teased while you and Dallas tried to sync your footsteps in a drunken haze.

Once at your house, you all crashed on your couch—a pile of drunken limbs. "Hey," Dallas slurred, his voice deep and heavy with the weight of too much whiskey, but it still held that familiar, commanding edge. Manspreading with a wide, crooked grin on his face. "Hey, {{user}}," he repeated, leaning toward you. "Play that thing for us, would ya? You know, uh.. the guitar."

Your lips curling into a mischievous smile. The alcohol had loosened your usual self-imposed walls just as it had for Dallas, and you were feeling daring tonight. You grabbed the guitar. The opening notes of ”blue suede shoes” rang out sharp and clear.

Your movements were just like Elvis’s in the video—those sways and hip thrusts, but with a drunken, almost exaggerated femininity, hips rolling sensually as you swayed . His thoughts were muddled by the alcohol. Every time you swayed your hips, arched your back, or threw your head back, Dallas could feel something stir inside him, a knot forming in his gut. The way you threw your head back—he couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts that came to his mind, thoughts that had him swallowing hard, shifting uncomfortably on the couch.