The flashlight blinked on, illuminating the confined space in its glow. Beckett swept it downwards where it brought Castle's face out of the darkness. She quirked her eyebrow.

"Castle?" she whispered. His face was screwed up into a grimace, his hands clenched into fists by his head. It was almost adorable. "Castle, what are you doing?" His eyes opened slightly, flicking towards her.

"Bracing myself to shield you from a hail of bullets," he explained as it if were obvious, tensing his face again.

"Yeah, well that's very gallant of you but you can stop bracing. I think he left," she smirked, glancing around the trunk's interior.

"Ah. My life was passing before my eyes, I think I lost track of time," he relaxed slowly.

"What do you know about trunk latches?" she was already looking for a way to escape. If it were up to Castle they'd be there all day. He was reaching behind him, shifting his body against hers. She tried to focus on what he was saying.

"Ummm… Well, the bad news is, this one is not designed to open from the inside…" he sighed, fiddling with said latch.

"And the good news?" she queried hopefully.

"At least this time we're not handcuffed together." She glanced away in the pretext of examining their surroundings some more, trying not to smile as she remembered those maddening hours in that cellar.

"It's surprisingly roomy in here," he noted, shifting some more against her as he surveyed the area. Her stomach clenched a little. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, his breath gusting her cheek as he turned his head her way.

"Well it's not that roomy… sooner or later we're gonna run out of air. Gotta get out of here," she renewed her search for a means of escape. Her worries about the amount of air in the trunk were not her only concern.

"Well maybe someone will find us," he suggested.

"Castle, we are locked in the trunk of a car, in long term parking. It's gonna be hours before anyone realises we're missing," she tells him, exasperated by his optimism, "who do you think is gonna find us?"

"I just feel in situations like this, it's important to have faith…" he murmurs vaguely. She narrows her eyes and lifts her head to glare at him as she realises.

"You pressed the panic button didn't you?" she accuses.

"Well if their were ever a time to panic I think this is it," he protests, glancing around pointedly.

"I am…" she begins angrily, lifting her head further, furious now, desperate to put space between them.

"You should be thanking me!" he cuts her off.

"Oh I am not going to be rescued by your girlfriend," she bites out at him, shifting and squirming as she searches.

"Move Castle," she snaps, shoving her hand under his butt, groping for the crowbar she glimpses. She tries not to think about it right then, desperate only to get them out of there. He of course takes it the wrong way, letting out a series of surprised noises. "Just gotta get under there," she mutters, feeling her fingers clasp around the cool metal, the back of her hand rubbing against his jeans. She grunts a few times, instantly regretting it.

"What are you doing?" he demands as her hand continues to squirm under him.

"I got it," she grins triumphantly, finally drawing her hand out.

"What?"

"This!" she holds the crowbar up in the torchlight, "here." She reaches over him, slotting the bar into the latch and rotating it, trying to get it in properly so she can pop it open.

"Is it in?" she asks, trying to peer over him.

"To the left," he advises her. She's thankful he isn't calling her out on the innuendo. She's pissed off as it is.

"Scoot down," she orders him, using his firm stomach as a rest for her arm as she struggles.

"Push," he tells her and she does but nothing happens. After a few more tries she growls indignantly and tosses the bar to her side. They sit in the eerie glow of the flashlight for a few moments. Castle breaks the tense silence. "Looks like we'll have to wait for Sophia after all." He hears the angry puff of air she exhales.

"What's the big deal anyway?" he questions, a little confused by her seeming disdain for Sophia.

"There is no big deal," she snaps, crossing her arms tightly across her body. He sighs.

"Ok… and she's not my girlfriend. Nor has she ever been," he tells her matter-of-factly.

"Could have fooled me," she mutters.

He turns his head towards her, smirking a little now as it dawns on him.

"You're jealous."

"I am not!" she exclaims, her cheeks flushed with anger as she turns her head to shoot daggers at him. He's still grinning smugly and she's struck by the proximity of his face and his sweet, coffee-flavoured breath tickling her lips. She needs to get out of there. Now.

"Woah!" he exclaims, squeaking in surprise as she rolls herself on top of him, keeping her face firmly turned away as she examines the latch, crowbar back in her hand. "What are you doing?" Castle cries as she slots the bar into position again, desperately trying to get it right.

"Just stay still," she hisses as he squirms beneath her. There's silence as he stills and she continues to fiddle with the latch. Her position is awkward and she can't bend her arm much so she shifts again, her hips rolling over his.

His gasp is loud, echoing around the trunk as his large hands clamp down on her hips, holding her still.

"Stop moving," Castle demands, his voice hoarse.

"Castle, let go of me," she grumbles, trying to shift again. This time he lets out a soft moan and as her pelvis grazes roughly against his she realises exactly what his problem is. She's so thankful for the dim lighting because she's blushing and this is awkward. So awkward. "Oh…" she breathes out.

"Don't say anything," Castle mumbles, his eyes screwed shut, "this is embarrassing as it is." She would smirk, she would laugh, rub this in. Except her heart is beating fast and she's feeling a little breathless and she's a little preoccupied with his broad chest pressed against hers, his fingers digging into her hips and oh god something else digging into her lower stomach.

"Do you want me to get off?" she whispers after a few seconds of silence.

"I think movement would not help at all right now," he grits, eyes still shut, his face screwed into a look of apparent pain, "besides Sophia will be here in a moment." She scrunches her nose in anger, memory of why she was desperate enough to get out that she rolled on top of him coming back. Oh is she pissed and she's going to get him back for putting her in the mercy of his girlfriend. She rolls her hips rough and hard against his yet again and he chokes on his groan. His eyes snap open and their usual bright blue has deepened, his lids heavy. She knows that look and her breath catches in her throat. His hand releases her hip and curls into the hair at the back of her head. Before she can make a sound he's pulling her head down to his and his lips are capturing hers in a searing, biting kiss that makes her dizzy and mindless.

It wasn't supposed to lead to this. It had been a joke, a cruel one maybe. A way of getting back at him. This wasn't supposed to be happening. His tongue shouldn't be sweeping over hers and oh god she wasn't supposed to be sucking his lower lip between her teeth and nipping down on it as her hands tangle in his hair. His lips graze down her jaw and neck to her throat, kissing, sucking, and biting as she moans in a way she'll cringe about later. But right then she doesn't care. She lifts her head, giving him better access as she grinds her pelvis down on his. He raises his head again, searching for, locating her mouth, recapturing it with his and sucking her tongue into his mouth. Her fingers grip his collar tightly, trying to pull him closer. His own, large yet gentle fingers skim under her jacket and top, brushing up the smooth, feverish skin, following the curve of her waist. She should be stopping him, but she isn't. She's just kissing him harder, urging him on with her mouth and tongue.

The sound of the latch popping tears into their fevered reverie. Beckett is whipping herself off of him and thumping back onto the trunk floor just as the lid rises and light floods in. They blink at the figure above them. The stern-faced, nameless agent who had 'escorted' them to the CIA headquarters. His stony façade is unchanged as he observes them flustered and dishevelled, breathing heavily as they squint at him. Without a word he holds up two black hoods. Beckett sits up and scowls, recovering first.

"Really?" she snaps, snatching one from him. Castle sits up too, looking dumbstruck, taking his own hood mutely. She sneaks a glance at him just before she pulls the hood down. Their eyes meet and she bites her lip, electricity running between them. Then there's blackness.