A/N: This chapter is for Meg, whose friendship is the icing on the already delicious cake of writing for this fandom.
Love Shack
Chapter Two
"Are you sure this is the right way?" Castle asks. "It looks kinda ominous to me."
The moon hangs low and yellow in the sky. It's close to midnight and inching towards Halloween, and he'd be enjoying the spookiness of it all if he wasn't so damn nervous. His mouth is dry and he's been popping extra strong mints for the whole hour that they've been in the car. The taste reminds him of first kisses and listening to Guns n' Roses and being sixteen. Kate's scent wraps around him in the obnoxiously small sports car they've been given and damn, he really hopes he can control himself tonight. Hopes he's not pushing her too far, too soon.
"Yes, I'm sure," Kate sighs, smoothing the map over her bare thighs, covering the skin that her indecently short dress doesn't. She runs one blood-red fingernail along the edge of the paper and stares out into the blackness beyond the car window. They're in a rented Aston Martin Vanquish, on a road with no streetlights, headed into the middle of nowhere. She hasn't had to use a proper map in years, but Jordan wanted them completely off the grid tonight. In their briefing, they'd been warned that their electronic devices would be collected the door to prevent any photo or video leaks. Jordan had given them two burner cells to replace their iPhones - it would look odd if they showed up without anything to leave at the coat check - but the phones aren't charged and the SIM cards are still in New York.
They're going in blind, without backup, without a panic button. It's a preliminary recon mission and they're not in any immediate danger, so there's no need for earpieces or microphones. Dionysus might not even be at the party tonight. Years ago, Castle heard a rumor that the infamous host only attends on special occasions, smaller gatherings with handpicked couples. Jordan thinks tonight's party will be significantly busier.
At any rate, Kate's thankful for the radio silence. She doesn't need a bunch of Feds hunched over in a white van listening to her relationship issues.
She switches on the overhead light for a second to check the map. "We're coming up to the turn off, I think."
Castle slows down, looking for an intersection. "Um, you mean that really creepy gravel lane?"
"Must be. There's only one road on the map."
Castle's hands dwarf the steering wheel as he makes the turn. Kate bites her lip as she watches the muscles in his forearms flex, his fingers curling tight around the wheel. It's been so, so long since she's touched him. She'd barely been able to sleep last night - there had been too many tempting scenarios floating around in her head, images of what they might get up to at this party.
She'd wanted to reach for him in the dark of their bedroom, to guide his hand to the ache between her legs, but instead she'd shoved an extra pillow between her thighs and forced herself to think about work. Baseball. Anything but the man beside her and the things they've done together, the things she wants to do with him all over again.
She's not even sure what's holding her back. Fear of rejection? Fear that it won't live up to her expectations? Those are familiar worries. She thinks back to their very first night together, to when she'd been feeling the same things. She'd been brave that night, and she hopes some of that courage will find her tonight. She doesn't have the immediacy of hanging off a roof to push her that little rest of the way into him.
It would crush her if she comes onto him and he tells her he's not ready. He'd hesitated that first night. She'd craned her neck to kiss him, desperate to feel the soft heat of his lips on hers again, and he'd caught her wrist and held her away from him. Will that happen tonight? If he thinks he never left her - and she believes him - is choosing to believe him - then why hasn't he been pawing at her like he's always done?
She swallows down the hard knot of doubt that's been plaguing her for months, the thought that maybe he'd backed out of their wedding because he simply didn't want to be with her anymore.
One of her coping mechanisms was to remember the expression on Martha's face when she'd asked if Castle had any misgivings about their marriage. She repeats his mother's words like a mantra: he couldn't wait to be married to you.
He never wanted to miss their wedding. He didn't want any of this.
They have even more proof of that now, after he'd stupidly flown up to Montreal on his own. After he'd shown her the video that had broken her heart even as it mended it.
Besides, he was the one that had been adamant about taking this case. He must know that a bit of making out isn't going to help them blend in at this party. He's going to have to touch her. Her hand comes up to her mouth involuntarily, her teeth closing on her thumb. She crosses her legs and looks out the window again.
The road they've turned onto is narrow and dark. There's a canopy of leaves above them, and their headlights are garishly white against the thick underbrush lining the road.
"I'm really not in the mood to do the Time Warp tonight," Castle mumbles, and Kate smiles behind her hand.
They swing around a bend and she swallows hard at the sight of the imposing mansion that suddenly looms in front of them. The curtained windows are glowing with different shades of purple and red. Two rows of outlandishly expensive vehicles lead up to the house, and there's a huge LED- lit fountain in front of the mansion. It's all so completely over the top, and Castle looks like a little boy in a candy shop.
They find a spot next to an electric blue Ferrari and Castle kill the engine. Everything is still for a moment, and Kate feels like she's been tossed back in time to before she'd let him in. They'd spent hours in cars together, driving all over New York, chasing down leads and parked on stake-outs, all before she knew what he felt like underneath her.
They've come so far, and yet they're right back at the beginning again.
"I can't believe we're doing this," she murmurs.
"I know, right? It's totally awesome."
She raises her eyebrow and he backpedals.
"I mean - you know - it's awesome that we're helping to bring down another villainous murderer for the FBI."
"So," she purrs, "it has nothing to do with being able to make out with me while I'm wearing a slutty outfit?"
Castle sputters, then finds solid ground, leveling that sincere gaze of his on her that she finds so impossibly sexy.
"It has everything to do with making out with you, Beckett. And for the record, I think your outfit is very classy."
His words are a spark. The first innuendo since he came home. It feels so good, so warm and familiar as it rushes through her veins.
Enough, she thinks.
It's time to let go. To stop being so careful with herself, with him. She wants them back, and the only way to do it is to jump in and hope that he catches her.
So Kate reaches down to the bag by her feet and pulls out a pair of black thigh-high stockings. The moonlight glosses over her bare legs as she slips her feet out of her black velvet pumps. Then she props a foot up on the glove compartment and starts to roll one stocking up her leg. She knows exactly what she's doing to Castle, and isn't disappointed when she tosses him a daring little look. His jaw is slack, his eyes wide and dark.
"Okay. Might have to revise that statement," Castle says, his voice a whole octave lower. "That is definitely not a classy outfit."
There's a gap between the bottom of her dress and the top of the stockings, and he looks like he wants to lean over and lick the golden glow of skin that's still exposed.
But she's not finished.
She inches the skirt of her dress up just a little bit, keeping her eyes trained on his face. She'd almost forgotten how fun it is to tease him.
She finds the small strips of elastic that are attached to the garter belt at her waist and stretches them down so she can attach them to her stockings.
He makes a strangled gurgling noise.
"Something wrong, Castle?" she asks innocently.
"No. Uh - no. Nothing wrong." His eyes are glued to her lap, watching her nimble fingers do up the last of the suspenders.
"Just want to blend in," she says. "You said candles and lingerie, right?" She finishes doing up her stockings and still he doesn't move. "You gonna be a gentleman and get the door for me?"
"Yeah. Uh, yes. One second." Castle tears his eyes from her and opens the door, stumbling a little as he unfolds himself from the low seat. He comes around to her side of the car and opens the door.
"Milady?" he says, extending a hand.
"How chivalrous of you," she grins.
Her hand fits perfectly into the warmth of his larger one, just like it always has.
They make their way up to the house. She hesitates once, only slightly, but he feels it when his hand presses just a little more firmly into the small of her back as she slows.
His words are warm on her shoulder, barely a whisper, and they give her the strength she needs. "I've got your back, Kate."
She struts the rest of the way to the door, hips swaying, and she can feel the sweep of his eyes over the curve of her ass in the tight black dress, over the garters and the stockings and her calves and down to her three-inch heels. She smiles.
The heavy oak door swings open before she can knock. They exchange a look, then Castle wraps an arm around her waist and they go inside together. The room is small, just an antechamber, really, and the walls are upholstered in a deep maroon velvet. There's an elaborate crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
"Loving the gothic revival," he whispers out of the side of his mouth.
Castle's not entirely convinced that this isn't some joke, some hoax that the boys dreamed up. It would be the cockblock of the century if it turns out that they're actually at a haunted house or something. But it's all a bit too elaborate, and he doesn't think Jordan Shaw would bend the rules quite so far to participate in a little prank.
The door on the other side of the antechamber swings open, and any doubt in his mind is washed away when he catches a glimpse of what's going on in the next room. There's a lot of skin. A lot of naked skin.
A tall, thin man glides through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Only the pulsing bass line of the trance-like music makes it through the thick walls. The man is wearing a coppery mask that covers his whole face, and his eyes glint from behind the eyeholes.
"Welcome to the Mansion of Dionysus, Mr. and Mrs…?"
"Alexander," Castle says smoothly.
"Ah, yes." The man speaks with a buttery English accent. "We're delighted to have you with us this evening. As it's your first time with us, we'll need you to look over the house rules."
The man hands them something that looks like a leather-bound menu from a fancy restaurant.
"Please, take a seat if you wish," he says, gesturing to a plush velvet bench along the wall. "But first, may I take your electronic devices to the coatroom?" His questions are clearly orders, even though they're delivered in the politest of tones. He takes their phones and excuses himself, leaving them alone in the room. They sink down onto the bench to read.
"This place is insane," Castle whispers excitedly. "Do you think that guy's accent is real?"
Kate shrugs, skimming over the rules typed out on the heavy paper. No photos or videos, no drugs, no food or alcohol from outside, party ends strictly at 3am, no touching other couples unless specifically invited, etc. Nothing they can't handle. It actually sounds like a pretty safe and well-organized party.
The thin man returns with two black silk eye masks and two flutes of champagne.
"Each room will provide you with a different atmosphere. Our attendants will escort you between them for a tailored erotic journey; let them know if you require anything. Enjoy your experience," he says.
Then he opens the doors, and the house swallows them whole.