Author:
linoresearchArtist:
azrastielFandom/Genre: Victorian Gothic/Supernatural AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, (established) Sam/Jessica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 95,000
Warnings: brief violence, references to child abuse, references to mental illness.
Summary: In 1843 Castiel Milton leaves his life of quiet faith and duty to take up employment as tutor to the young ward of one Mr Dean Winchester, at Blackthorn Hall. Set deep among the Yorkshire moors Blackthorn is a place of mysteries - a wild place with an odd history, where faces appear at the windows and mad women laugh in the night. Castiel is drawn to the enigmatic Master of Blackthorn and they form a strong attachment neither of them expected. But there are secrets hidden behind Blackthorns thick stone walls that threaten to destroy their happiness, they are forced to confront the ghosts of their past.
“It’s a Pomegranate?” Castiel looked to Dean for confirmation.
He had never seen a real one, only pictures in the black and white print of books, and one poor rendering in an old painting of Persephone that had hung in the Headmasters lounge at St Ethelwold’s. He had no idea that such a drab looking thing would reveal such glorious colour when it was cut open.
Dean gave Castiel a curious look, watching as he poked about at the red encased seeds.
“Have you tried it before?”
“No, never,” Castiel replied dragging his eyes away from the beautiful little rubies that held him in thrall.
“Go ahead,” Dean said gesturing towards the little dish. “How will you know if you like your gift if you don’t try it?”
“That’s still not quite right,” Dean said with a small shake of his head. His face looked oddly flushed and he swallowed nervously, making his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. “Here like this.” Castiel stood up and looked down at the green baize, waiting for Dean to appear at his side to give further instruction. Instead Castiel’s breath stuck suddenly in his throat as he felt Dean press close behind him. Castiel tried to focus on the cue in his hands, on the way the candlelight reflected on the polished wood of the table, the way the fire snapped and crackled in the background, he tried to focus on anything but the way Dean’s chest was flush against his back, and the sudden spike of heat that it caused low in his belly.
“Like this,” Dean said, his voice gone low and quiet, so quiet that Castiel could hear the hiss as a candle burned out, the flame drowned in a pool of melted wax. Dean stretched his arms out alongside Castiel’s and there was pressure from Dean’s fingers as he worked to adjusted Castiel’s grip on the cue. Their fingers entwined for a moment and Castiel felt Dean freeze at the burst of something hot at the contact. Castiel thought perhaps he should pull away and there was a strained moment as Castiel realised he was trapped in the small space between Dean and the table, the cue acting as a barrier on the other side.
“Cas?” was all Dean said. It was breathed more than spoken and it fell on Castiel’s cheek like a caress. It was a question and a statement all in one.
read on . . .
LIVEJOURNAL |
AO3 |
TUMBLR