Fic: "Bereft" (Vincent and Theo)
Dec. 15th, 2006 07:47 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rareslashTitle: Bereft
Fandom: Vincent and Theo
Rating. PG-13
Summary: It all comes to blood
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: incest (though nothing too explicit)
The sea so deep and blind/ the sun, the wild regret/ the club, the wheel, the mind,/ O love, aren't you tired yet? _ Leonard Cohen
He had always know that Vincent was special. There was something about him, that frightening intensity, that strangely enough never scared Theo on the least.
Theo himself wasn't special, but Vincent was, and they together were.
*
It had been almost without meaning it, that he'd started that first time.
Vincent had been looking at himself in the mirror with an stubborn expresion, trying to paint a self-portrait.
"I don't look like any of you," he'd said at last.
Theo had caressed his face, touching his cheek softly. "You look just fine. You look like my brother. My dearest brother."
Something had shifted in Theo's eyes then, something Vincent had only a moment to contemplate before Theo's soft lips were touching his.
Vincent had pulled his head back, violently, and looked at him with eyes so widened that, in any other moment, would have made Theo laugh. Instead he closed his, and waited for Vincent to run away. He didn't.
Theo never could bring himself to regret that. He knew Vincent did it for them both.
*
Vincent is in a foul mood. In fact he's been in a foul mood for some days, and the complete absence of any kind of visit doesn't seem to have any positive influence in that.
Theo thinks, in fact, that what is bothering him may be himself.
When he asks Vincent just looks away and bits his paintbrush. Theo understands, and says he'll go for a walk.
"You don't have to go anywhere. It's me who wanted to come." Vincent says.
Theo knows that, but he doesn't want Vincent to go away. Every time he does, it feels final, as if he may never come back and they will never be close, ever again. What scares him the most is the certainty that this ridiculous feeling would be proven true one day.
"Maybe," he answers, "But it was me who went to you the first time. It still counts,doesn't it?"
Vincent doesn't answer, for that is the kind of comment that will efectively shut him up every single time.
Theo knows Vincent has tried to forget it with all his might, and that he cannot get it out of his head at the same time, because it's the same for him.
Vincent is doing penance for all of it at any case, as if it was his fault and his alone.
*
Theo is touching his hand on Vincent's bloody imprint in the wall, feeling it and trying not to remember its taste on his lips.
The catch is, Theo knows, that all will come, and will end, in blood.
Vincent is an artist and will see it as fate, will find beauty in the shattering.
Theo is not that much of an artist, and also will be the one left behind (already is, always is), and can't, for the life of him, find the fate and the beauty in letting go.
Fandom: Vincent and Theo
Rating. PG-13
Summary: It all comes to blood
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: incest (though nothing too explicit)
The sea so deep and blind/ the sun, the wild regret/ the club, the wheel, the mind,/ O love, aren't you tired yet? _ Leonard Cohen
He had always know that Vincent was special. There was something about him, that frightening intensity, that strangely enough never scared Theo on the least.
Theo himself wasn't special, but Vincent was, and they together were.
*
It had been almost without meaning it, that he'd started that first time.
Vincent had been looking at himself in the mirror with an stubborn expresion, trying to paint a self-portrait.
"I don't look like any of you," he'd said at last.
Theo had caressed his face, touching his cheek softly. "You look just fine. You look like my brother. My dearest brother."
Something had shifted in Theo's eyes then, something Vincent had only a moment to contemplate before Theo's soft lips were touching his.
Vincent had pulled his head back, violently, and looked at him with eyes so widened that, in any other moment, would have made Theo laugh. Instead he closed his, and waited for Vincent to run away. He didn't.
Theo never could bring himself to regret that. He knew Vincent did it for them both.
*
Vincent is in a foul mood. In fact he's been in a foul mood for some days, and the complete absence of any kind of visit doesn't seem to have any positive influence in that.
Theo thinks, in fact, that what is bothering him may be himself.
When he asks Vincent just looks away and bits his paintbrush. Theo understands, and says he'll go for a walk.
"You don't have to go anywhere. It's me who wanted to come." Vincent says.
Theo knows that, but he doesn't want Vincent to go away. Every time he does, it feels final, as if he may never come back and they will never be close, ever again. What scares him the most is the certainty that this ridiculous feeling would be proven true one day.
"Maybe," he answers, "But it was me who went to you the first time. It still counts,doesn't it?"
Vincent doesn't answer, for that is the kind of comment that will efectively shut him up every single time.
Theo knows Vincent has tried to forget it with all his might, and that he cannot get it out of his head at the same time, because it's the same for him.
Vincent is doing penance for all of it at any case, as if it was his fault and his alone.
*
Theo is touching his hand on Vincent's bloody imprint in the wall, feeling it and trying not to remember its taste on his lips.
The catch is, Theo knows, that all will come, and will end, in blood.
Vincent is an artist and will see it as fate, will find beauty in the shattering.
Theo is not that much of an artist, and also will be the one left behind (already is, always is), and can't, for the life of him, find the fate and the beauty in letting go.
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