Harem Scare ‘em

‘You should be careful how many of those you drink,’ whispered Elvis, now close again. ‘I might have to take care of you.’ He winked.

Donnie downed the alcohol in a single gulp and threw the glass over his shoulder with a smile.

Another waiter leapt up and picked the glass from the air on the downward part of its arc.

‘Nice catch,’ said Elvis, and then to Donnie, in a particularly spine-tingling drawl, ‘You’ve got a cute ass.’

Elvis took a grope.

‘Mister Presley,’ said Donnie, who stood up straighter than before.

He reached back to push Presley’s hands away from his posterior, realising in a moment that his dual life had prepared him for the manner in which one reacted to male advances of the physical kind, especially when they’re the kind that one would desire to have.

‘I think you have entirely the wrong idea,’ said Donnie in a voice that indicated otherwise.

‘Do I,’ The King smiled.

Donnie’s spine tingled again. This was getting complicated.

The sound of gunfire stopped Donnie’s train of thought midway between the dance-floor and the bed he was envisioning he and the King occupying within the next half-hour.

The band stopped in catastrophic fashion, partly because of the noise and partly because the hail of misdirected bullets, intended only for effect, had hit one of their members.

The musician fell to the floor and onto his cymbals, causing even more noise.

Everyone’s attention was focussed now on Panix, who had returned with some of his henchmen. He had a bandage on his nose.

He strode up to Elvis, gave him a look that was calculated to cause discomfort and fear, but which provoked neither, and grabbed Donnie’s arm.

‘Thids is mide,’ he said, and yanked so hard that Donnie fell over.

‘Hey! Careful!’

Wallop.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14