Entry tags:

fandom: historical, rating: r, slash/yaoi

In Arles: Historical Ficlet
Author: Bitterfig
Title: In Arles
Fandom: Historical
Pairing: Vincent Van Gogh/Paul Gauguin
Summary: Paul came to Arles hoping for a bohemian life rich in passion and drama. He got what he wanted and more.
Beta Reader: Fedink
Word Count: 385
Rating: R
Warning: Sexuality, alcohol abuse, rampant historical inaccuracy, excessive clinginess, implied ear amputation and the crazy.
Author’s Note: Written for Oxoniensis: Porn Battle VIII for the prompt “Passion”.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Any illegal acts taking place within that fiction are NOT condoned by the author. Depictions of any questionable, illegal, or potentially illegal activity in said fiction does not mean that I condone, promote, support, participate in, or approve of said activity. I grasp the distinction between fiction and reality and trust that readers will do the same. I do not profit from the fan fiction I write, and all rights to the characters remain firmly in the hands of their creator.

In Arles

Paul came to Arles hoping for a bohemian life rich in passion and drama. Anything had to be better than the dullness and frustration of his previous existence.

He came knowing there was something between him and Vincent. Their friendship had come on fast and strong. There was a lightning flash to it, an intensity that wasn’t normal. That was good. Normal was what he wanted to escape.

Vincent greeted him with sunflowers; painting of sunflowers, vases of sunflowers. A greeting as overwhelming as it was thoughtful. It was the first hint that Vincent might be too much for Paul.

Still, for a while things seemed to be going well. They both produced some fine paintings between tumbles in the sunlit fields and kisses in the bright kitchen. At night in the smoky cafes they would hire women to share. Both erotically and artistically, all Paul’s hopes seemed to be on the verge of coming true.

Except that something was not right with Vincent.

Because Paul had let down some boundaries with him, Vincent seemed to think that there should be no closed doors between them, no privacy, no separation of any kind. It was as though he wanted them to share the same skin as they shared the same house. Vincent would burst in on him in the privy rambling excitedly about the angle of light or an idea for a painting. Paul might go to bed alone but he would wake to find Vincent curled up beside him.

He couldn’t breathe.

They argued. At first Vincent was able to smooth things over with sex. Paul found it difficult to demand his space with a hand around his cock. Yet soon enough even sex became suffocating and Vincent’s advances became repulsive to him.

Vincent’s passion threatened to consume him.

Tension mounted between them. Both were drinking heavily, neither painting. Vincent grew increasingly incoherent and violent. Paul would go to sleep with his door barricaded and wake to Vincent frantically sucking his cock, weeping, calling him Theo….

Then finally he woke with a razor to his throat, frantic blue eyes, a splash of blood that was not his but Vincent’s.

That was when Paul fled, abandoning the very passion and drama he’d yearned for, hoping dull normalcy would have him back at least for a time.