Your Love Belongs To Me - Clappison
Haven't had ANY time - wrote this one on the bus to school a few weeks ago.
Title: Your Love Belongs to Me
Pairing: George Harrison / Eric Clapton
Rating: PG-13 (some sexy stuff)
Warning: If you don't know The Sheik of Araby then you probably won't get most of it. Also: UNBETA'D cuz I'm lazy, so if there are mistakes, please do point em out.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles, Eric Clapton, or the song "The Sheik of Araby," nor are any of my own creation. But the fic sure is.
Summary: George has insomnia so he finally wracks up the courage to do what he has wanted to do a thousand times. And, apparently, so does Eric.
Well I’m the Sheik of Araby
George had everything he could’ve possibly wanted. And yet he wanted something more, something he couldn’t have and wouldn’t ever be able to get.
Your love belongs to me.
The young man was perfect. Or so George thought. He had all the virtues of a professional musician with none of the insane cult followers.
He had exactly everything George was looking for. He just didn’t know it yet.
At night when you’re asleep
George rang the doorbell to Eric’s apartment. He waited several minutes, and then tried the door.
It was unlocked…
Into your tent I’ll creep
He closed the door gently, sighing to fill his lungs with the smell of Eric Clapton. He called the man’s name quietly, as if hoping not to wake him up. It was all a paradox, which was why he loved it so.
He crept into Eric’s room as softly as possible, but one of his sandals clunked on the floor as he slipped off his shoes. Clapton blearily raised his head.
“Ringo! I’ve been dreaming of you all night,” he quipped sleepily, smirking at George and beginning to sit up.
A grin slid across George’s face. “No, no, I’ll come to you, Mr. Beck,” George quipped, knowing that that would shut his friend up. “May I?” He gestured the bed.
Eric obeyed instantly, pushing to the other side of the bed, though his eyebrows displayed his confusion.
George dropped his pants and slid under the sheets. “Feels like a bloody desert in here,” he muttered as an excuse, though the room indeed seemed to grow increasingly warmer for both of them.
His bare leg grazed Clapton’s thigh. Eric’s breath hitched, but he covered it with a small cough. George gave him a curious look, seeing right through him as always.
They simply gazed at each other until Eric could not take it any longer.
“George?”
“Mmm?” He moved closer to Eric, ignoring that his friend’s eyes widened.
“Well, you see, I… I…” No words could come out. Damnit, George! “I…forgot what I was gonna…” He was breathing in George’s breath. Those dark eyes were inches-no, one inch-away. George was staring into his soul, acknowledging his darkest secrets, already knowing what he would say long before he’d say it.
George licked his lips out of habit. Clapton just stared.
“So it was true then?” George asked softly after a polite silence. Clapton simply blinked. “You really were waiting up for me. You were hoping I’d come.”
The words swirled around in Eric’s head, coming together in the various ways George might’ve meant them to, and all the while Eric shook his head. But there was no pretending any longer. George’s head was cocked in surprise.
“Yes,” Clapton said finally. “That was true.”
George was shaking on the inside. He needed to touch him, to be close enough to him to realize it wasn’t just a dream like all the other times.
His hand automatically reached for Eric’s chest, which he stroked softly, nervously, pausing above where Eric’s heart was pounding so he might sync his own to that rhythm.
“Sometimes I think about you, George.” Clapton paused to think. “Actually, I do quite often.” He propped himself up on his elbow. The fabric of his boxers was barely brushing George’s erection, but apart from letting a little pre-cum to leak out, George did his best to stay composed.
“I think about you every day,” George replied with grave honesty.
“But you don’t understand.” Eric lay on his back again. “You’ll never get what I mean. You can’t understand how much I want what you have. I want to be you. I want to hang out with you. I want to be with you always. I want you.” He closed his eyes in the pain of realizing he finally said all those thoughts out loud.
Astonished, George didn’t know what to do. But suddenly he was on top of him, he was letting Eric’s name roll off his tongue, he was forcing those eyes to look at him. His mouth was all over Eric’s. He didn’t mean to do any of it, it just… happened.
Their lips parted; Eric looked up at him incredulously.
“Well I hope you meant what you said,” George told him. “Otherwise I’m gonna be a bit embarrassed,” he joked nervously.
Eric reached for the back of his head and shoved his tongue inside his mouth.
George moaned, kissed him back, and lay against him, breathing him in. “Guess it’s true then.”
Clapton nodded. “Can I show you something? C’mere.” He looked away as George threw on his boxers, and then took him by the hand to the bedroom’s balcony.
The stars that shine above
will light our way to love.
“Every night,” Eric said, hesitating to wonder if he should be admitting it, “I stand here and look at the stars. See those two?” He indicated
two of the brightest lights in the sky, which were located right next to each other. “I always wonder if you see them too. One star could just as well be looking down at us and wondering if the other star sees you and I together.”
He blushed and pads back to his bed, George following close behind him.
George smirked. “It’s not all written in the stars, Eric. Our love can be whatever we want it to be.”
Eric beamed.
You rule this world with me
I’m the Sheik of Araby.
Title: Your Love Belongs to Me
Pairing: George Harrison / Eric Clapton
Rating: PG-13 (some sexy stuff)
Warning: If you don't know The Sheik of Araby then you probably won't get most of it. Also: UNBETA'D cuz I'm lazy, so if there are mistakes, please do point em out.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles, Eric Clapton, or the song "The Sheik of Araby," nor are any of my own creation. But the fic sure is.
Summary: George has insomnia so he finally wracks up the courage to do what he has wanted to do a thousand times. And, apparently, so does Eric.
Well I’m the Sheik of Araby
George had everything he could’ve possibly wanted. And yet he wanted something more, something he couldn’t have and wouldn’t ever be able to get.
Your love belongs to me.
The young man was perfect. Or so George thought. He had all the virtues of a professional musician with none of the insane cult followers.
He had exactly everything George was looking for. He just didn’t know it yet.
At night when you’re asleep
George rang the doorbell to Eric’s apartment. He waited several minutes, and then tried the door.
It was unlocked…
Into your tent I’ll creep
He closed the door gently, sighing to fill his lungs with the smell of Eric Clapton. He called the man’s name quietly, as if hoping not to wake him up. It was all a paradox, which was why he loved it so.
He crept into Eric’s room as softly as possible, but one of his sandals clunked on the floor as he slipped off his shoes. Clapton blearily raised his head.
“Ringo! I’ve been dreaming of you all night,” he quipped sleepily, smirking at George and beginning to sit up.
A grin slid across George’s face. “No, no, I’ll come to you, Mr. Beck,” George quipped, knowing that that would shut his friend up. “May I?” He gestured the bed.
Eric obeyed instantly, pushing to the other side of the bed, though his eyebrows displayed his confusion.
George dropped his pants and slid under the sheets. “Feels like a bloody desert in here,” he muttered as an excuse, though the room indeed seemed to grow increasingly warmer for both of them.
His bare leg grazed Clapton’s thigh. Eric’s breath hitched, but he covered it with a small cough. George gave him a curious look, seeing right through him as always.
They simply gazed at each other until Eric could not take it any longer.
“George?”
“Mmm?” He moved closer to Eric, ignoring that his friend’s eyes widened.
“Well, you see, I… I…” No words could come out. Damnit, George! “I…forgot what I was gonna…” He was breathing in George’s breath. Those dark eyes were inches-no, one inch-away. George was staring into his soul, acknowledging his darkest secrets, already knowing what he would say long before he’d say it.
George licked his lips out of habit. Clapton just stared.
“So it was true then?” George asked softly after a polite silence. Clapton simply blinked. “You really were waiting up for me. You were hoping I’d come.”
The words swirled around in Eric’s head, coming together in the various ways George might’ve meant them to, and all the while Eric shook his head. But there was no pretending any longer. George’s head was cocked in surprise.
“Yes,” Clapton said finally. “That was true.”
George was shaking on the inside. He needed to touch him, to be close enough to him to realize it wasn’t just a dream like all the other times.
His hand automatically reached for Eric’s chest, which he stroked softly, nervously, pausing above where Eric’s heart was pounding so he might sync his own to that rhythm.
“Sometimes I think about you, George.” Clapton paused to think. “Actually, I do quite often.” He propped himself up on his elbow. The fabric of his boxers was barely brushing George’s erection, but apart from letting a little pre-cum to leak out, George did his best to stay composed.
“I think about you every day,” George replied with grave honesty.
“But you don’t understand.” Eric lay on his back again. “You’ll never get what I mean. You can’t understand how much I want what you have. I want to be you. I want to hang out with you. I want to be with you always. I want you.” He closed his eyes in the pain of realizing he finally said all those thoughts out loud.
Astonished, George didn’t know what to do. But suddenly he was on top of him, he was letting Eric’s name roll off his tongue, he was forcing those eyes to look at him. His mouth was all over Eric’s. He didn’t mean to do any of it, it just… happened.
Their lips parted; Eric looked up at him incredulously.
“Well I hope you meant what you said,” George told him. “Otherwise I’m gonna be a bit embarrassed,” he joked nervously.
Eric reached for the back of his head and shoved his tongue inside his mouth.
George moaned, kissed him back, and lay against him, breathing him in. “Guess it’s true then.”
Clapton nodded. “Can I show you something? C’mere.” He looked away as George threw on his boxers, and then took him by the hand to the bedroom’s balcony.
The stars that shine above
will light our way to love.
“Every night,” Eric said, hesitating to wonder if he should be admitting it, “I stand here and look at the stars. See those two?” He indicated
two of the brightest lights in the sky, which were located right next to each other. “I always wonder if you see them too. One star could just as well be looking down at us and wondering if the other star sees you and I together.”
He blushed and pads back to his bed, George following close behind him.
George smirked. “It’s not all written in the stars, Eric. Our love can be whatever we want it to be.”
Eric beamed.
You rule this world with me
I’m the Sheik of Araby.