I kind of...blatantly stole this idea from "All The Queen's Horses," one of my absolute favorite episodes of Due South. If you haven't watched Due South, please give it a try. It's on youtube. I just...I just. You think Nathan Fillion is handsome? You need to see Paul Gross as Constable Fraser.

Anyway.

For the sake of this fic, when they got zapped by Agent Lyle Lovett or Agent K or whomever, Beckett had her hair pinned back, not down loose.

Chapter 55: Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind, 3x9

I wish it was a hickey.

Clark grouses, swearing under his breath as he fumbles with the unconscious detective's handcuffs. This would be so much easier if he'd done it before putting the two of them back into the car. The woman's very slim, but this guy is heavy. Damn. Buddy. You're killing me here.

Finally satisfied with his work, he leans back and permits himself a grin. Agent Westfield instructed him to put them back in the car. He didn't elaborate beyond that. And Clark has an unusually well-developed sense of humor for a CIA agent. So he decided to amuse himself.

He half-wishes he could stay and watch them wake up, but his phone's already buzzing. He pulls it out of his pocket. "This is Clark."

"You done?"

"Just about. Back in twenty."

He finishes his work. Not like Westfield will know, and even if he did, this isn't a real infraction. Besides. He's being responsible. He's just...being kind of a dick, which is not specifically off-limits. Neither of the unconscious figures here is wearing a wedding ring. And this woman is hot. Like, insanely hot. No way this guy hasn't thought about it.

He pats the big guy on the shoulder. "You're welcome, buddy."

Kate's first impression is warmth. Warmth, comfort. She's groggy but relaxed. Her limbs are tingling slightly, an odd taste in the back of her mouth.

Something's wrong.

She finally opens her heavy eyes to find exactly what's wrong: she's in Richard Castle's arms.

Her whole body tenses up as she sees his eyes slowly focusing on her, falling to her mouth. He looks as dazed as she feels, his face slack and unguarded, and as his breath warms her skin, Kate knows this is bad.

She instinctively tries to pull away but it doesn't work; she looks down to find their arms wrapped around each other, secured with handcuffs (they must have gotten hers, but did they use a second set?). Trapped. She and Castle are trapped together.

"Can you move?" he breathes into her, and she swallows, because she needs him not to do that. Really.

"No. You?"

"Nope. Handcuffs." She feels him tug his arms around her experimentally, probably meant to show her he's trying, but the flex of his muscles against her body is doing all kinds of things to her that it shouldn't.

In the dim light from the starry sky, here in their own private little prison, Kate has no idea what to do. She doesn't know where her phone is, or even if it'll work. No one is looking out here for them.

Castle shifts a little, accidentally pulling her closer against his broad chest, and she bites her lip. "Any ideas?"

"Not yet." She grits her teeth. Handcuffed to Richard Castle is not high on the list of situations she ever planned to be in.

"Actually." He pauses, looking her over, and in spite of herself, Kate feels her face get hot. She officially hates whatever CIA or FBI or MIB jackass who did this. "I have an idea. It's kind of dumb." He opens his mouth, shuts it, and seems to consider for a moment. "Can you pick a lock?"

"Maybe. If I had a kit."

"What about a bobby pin?"

"Um." She sees where he's going with this. "Maybe."

"Can't hurt to try, right?"

"Right. Okay."

He reaches for the pin in her hair, but winces. "Damn it." He tries again, but she can feel his arm catching, short of his goal. "I can't reach it. Can't bend that far."

"Any other ideas?"

Castle fixes her with a keen gaze, and it's a moment before Kate realizes: there's another option.

"You could use your mouth."

She feels the sudden tension that runs through his body, and even in the half-shadow, there's no mistaking the dark flash of his eyes, the way his body cants into hers, before he realizes what she really means. He swallows, and she watches, mesmerized, as his throat bobs.

This is a bad idea.

"Right. Good thinking."

He takes a breath and goes for her bobby pin, pulling her closer, and she's crushed against him, breathing in the scent of his cologne, her face pressed into his neck. Kate shuts her eyes, willing herself not to react, trying to keep herself calm. He'll get the bobby pin, they'll get out of these handcuffs and away from this godforsaken stretch of highway, and this will all be over.

And Ryan and Esposito will never know it happened.

"Ha!"

Castle huffs triumphantly as she feels a lock of her hair fall loose against her cheek. Great. Step one.

He sits back, her bobby pin tucked between his teeth, hesitation in his eyes. Heat floods her cheeks again, because she's just gotten to the same problem: she's the one who can use the pin. Which means she needs to get it in her hands. She can't reach his mouth with her hands.

She can reach his mouth with her mouth, though.

He leans forward, the question in his eyes, and she lets out a breath. May as well get this over with.

Kate leans into him, turning her head, and in any other situation, this is a kiss, this is everything she thinks about doing but doesn't, because she has self-control. She just needs to get the bobby pin. That's all.

But the brush of his mouth on hers sends a shock through her, and in spite of herself, she flinches, her teeth closing around his lower lip (oh God). She feels the sharp breath he takes in, even as the bobby pin slips free from their mouths and drops down the front of her shirt.

Shit.

Castle freezes, meeting her eyes with a mortified expression. The silence ticks by, uncomfortable, heated, but she knows there's no other way for him to get it.

"Get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Just do it."

He goes for her chest, and she'd really had good intentions about staying objective and professional and something to that effect, but then his mouth is on her chest, right at the top of her shirt, and she realizes that this is a terrible, terrible idea.

She can feel the shirt give way as the button slips out of the buttonhole. Castle's face is pressed against her chest, his stubble rasping against her skin. She shuts her eyes, willing away the unbearable heat that's burning through her blood. So wrong. Stupid.

His teeth scrape at her skin, pinching just above the lacy edge of her bra, and even shutting her eyes was a mistake, because this feels identical to the kind of sexual encounter he spent the entire first year of their partnership trying to goad her into. He's undoing her shirt. With his teeth. Nipping at her breast.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and she means to say It's okay but her voice isn't working, because her whole body is tight and she needs to stop imagining things, right -

Knock knock knock

Kate freezes, momentarily blinded. Were the CIA agents back again?

"All right, you two. Cut it out in there."

A state trooper is peering in through the car windows, shining a flashlight in their eyes; Kate recognizes the shape of his hat.

Oh. Right. He thinks he just walked up on -

Oh.

"Officer - Officer, I'm Detective Kate Beckett, NYPD. We were detained by - by someone, and we're stuck. Can you please help?"

The guy clearly has a hard time believing a word - Kate can't blame him - but eventually helps them free, sees her badge, and obligingly helps her start up the car again.

"You two stay alert, all right? I'd hate to see you stuck again."

Kate smiles faintly, watching him trot back to his car, and tucks her hair behind her ear. Well. That was a nightmare.

"Um, Beckett?"

Stop talking. "What?"

"You might want to button up your shirt."

She fumbles to fix it, her face burning, and for the thousandth time, she wonders why she lets Castle join her on road trips. Ever.

Montgomery is suitably incensed over the entire incident - the part Kate tells him about, not the solution she and Castle attempted. His reaction settles her a bit. At least the kind-hearted state trooper didn't mention the part where he thought he was walking up on grabby, shameless car sex.

The mark on her neck still stings a bit, though the drugs are out of her system, and of course that's what Espo focuses on. "Hmm. Abducted by government agents, huh?" He peers at the red spot of Castle's neck. "Come on. What were you two really doing?"

She settles on a suitably disdainful look before responding as calmly as she can. "It's not a hickey, Esposito."

"You both have one."

And of course Castle opens his stupid mouth. "I wish it was a hickey." Kate stares at him. Stop. Talking. "It's from the injectors."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

She's had enough of this, because she's morbidly afraid Castle's going to slip and mention just how much his mouth was all over her in their attempt to get out, so she does her level best to steer the conversation back the right direction. The case. The actual reason for all of this.

Ryan appears. She assumes Kevin Ryan, stalwart, faithful detective, will maintain the gravity of their investigation.

He squints. "Those hickeys?"

"Yes."

"No."

"I wish."

Ryan shrugs. "Okay."

It wasn't a kiss. They're not hickeys.

None of this is her fault.

That night, as she undresses, Kate finds the bobby pin, stuck inside her bra.

And a little purple mark on the swell of her breast, where Castle accidentally bit her.