A little short that popped into my head. Random and in no way connected to the previous two chapters. Rated M for lemon! Enjoy and review!


It starts with a touch. A little slide of skin against his bare arm that has him stuttering helplessly as she smiles at him and walks away, dress clinging desperately to her hips as she walks. His eyes linger, despite the Skipper calling for him across the clearing. It's only when the man closes the distance between them and thwacks him on the head with his hat that he snaps to attention. "Pay attention!" The older man barks and he manages to mutter out an apology. Then at dinner, she leans lower, closer as she hands him his plate of finely seasoned lobster on a bed of greens. And though it smells absolutely heavenly, it's nothing compared to the light hint of her perfume as it wafts across his nose. He tilts his chin towards her, following as she straightens, walks past him, fingers trailing across his shoulders as she passes.

Nobody's caught on to the little game she's playing, all of them talking animatedly around the table as he grips his utensils with a death grip and shakes his head to dislodge the fog that has suddenly clouded his thoughts. He doesn't miss the secretive little smile that lingers on her lips as she eats, or the coy way she shoots her eyes at him every few minutes. His stomach rolls pleasantly and he keeps his eyes glued to his plate.

She knows how to play and she plays it well. Sometimes, she doesn't interact like this with him for days, confuses him, makes him stew, makes him think on his toes. Then she's back again, touching, teasing, smiling. It's driving him insane, this game of hers. She makes it so that his every thought is of her and when his mind wanders, she comes back to trap it in her grip once more. She's always there and yet he hardly ever sees her.

In the past week alone, he's smashed two fingers, hit his head more times than he can remember, bruised his shin, banged his shoulder, messed up three of the Professor's experiments, destroyed the Skipper's attempt at building a new table and almost shot Mr. Howell. He winces thinking of that last one. He'd been cleaning the rifle when she'd walked by, wearing those short little skin lover's she calls shorts and a tied bikini top. He imagined she was heading to the Lagoon for a swim, but when she'd caught his eye, winked at him and sashayed off with a new bounce in her step, his hand slipped. The man had been sitting at the table, calmly drinking a tall, cool glass of pineapple juice when the glass exploded with a bang, spraying juice all down his face.

His jaw is still sore from where he'd hit him. And he's not allowed to clean the guns anymore, at least, not with anyone around. She stops a little after that. Dabs at his black and blue jawline with a cold cloth as she sighs pitifully. He crosses his arms. Good. She should feel bad, this is all her fault. The little siren.

But then she giggles and his eyes shoot to the corner to watch her, still with a somewhat grumpy expression. "Got a little carried away with cleaning, huh?" His mouth gapes at her, reminiscent of a fish. He practically growls at her, "What! You…"

She presses a light kiss to his jaw, her fingers brushing under his chin, ghost-like. The retort dies in his throat as he stiffens and she pulls away, pressing another feather light kiss to his temple. "Be careful next time, okay?"

He can only nod mutely as she leaves.

That night, to his immense surprise, Mr. Howell comes to his hut to apologize profusely for his actions. But there's something strange about it, he keeps glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting someone to come in and thwack him if he doesn't do it right.

At lunch the next day she presents him with his own, special baked pie. Coconut crème with hunks of various fruits scattered inside. She realizes she forgot the utensils but it smells so good and looks so good that by the time she returns, he's licking the plate clean with a satisfied little grin.

"Gilligan, you ate it all? How could you?"

He blushes sweetly and sets the tin in his lap. "Sorry, Mary Ann. I didn't know you wanted some too, or I'd have saved you a slice." He placates. She crosses her arms, cocks her hips and pushes her lips out in a cute little pout. He gulps, when she gives a little grin. His eyes cross as she leans over him, and though he backs as far away as he can, his back hits a tree and he closes his eyes, his hands fidgeting helplessly in front of him. And…nothing happens.

She giggles. "Gilligan, what are you doing?"

He cracks his eyes open. She's just standing there, watching him curiously. So with a sigh of relief, he relaxes. "Uh, I just thought…um…nothing." He stutters. "Ooohhh…" She breathes in understanding. "You did huh? Gilligan, you cheeky devil." The teasing way she says it makes him blush, makes his insides quiver, makes his legs shake slightly. Then she just…there. Her nose brushes his, her hooded eyes watch his surprised blue ones as she doesn't kiss him. Ho no, far from it. That pert, pink little tongue shoots out, darts over the corner of his mouth, warm and wet and smooth. Pulling away, he sees a little dot of crème disappear between her lips and she gins cat-like at him.

He closes his eyes, his fist clench at his sides and a heavy breath blows through his nose. His heart hammers, his lungs constrict, his stomach flutters as if he's swallowed a thousand butterflies at once.

No. He thinks. No, no, no, NO!

Then with a disappointed little sigh, she starts to walk away. His eyes shoot open in surprise, drops his head back with a pained groan and it thuds against the tree. Oh, the hell with it! His arm shoots out, yanks her back with a surprised little squeak; crashes his mouth to hers; sighs when she returns it with equal ferocity.

"Your cruel, you know that?" He pants pulling away as she runs her hands beneath his shirt, sends shivers up and down his spine. "No." Kisses his jaw, bites his earlobe. "You're just too damn stubborn."

Lifts her up, feels her legs clamp around his waist, feels her fingers in his hair, buries his own under the smooth cotton of her shirt. No time. Nowhere to go.

He stops, looks desperately around. It's dark, rain clouds litter the sky. No one's around. His foggy mind accepts this, doesn't think further than that as he drops her into the soft sand; reaches back, pulls his suddenly too hot, too confining shirt up and over his head with a little growl of impatience; sends his white hat flying. Too many layers. He tosses it behind him.

Thunder rumbles above them, rain dents the sand in the scarce beginning of a storm around them. His long fingers work diligently at the knots of her own blouse as his hips roll against her; groaning as she rises eagerly to meet him.

Hungry lips find hungry lips and they roll in the sand. Whatever he was hoping for, she knows he's shocked when he finds himself straddled and pinned beneath her. Surprised by her own aggression, but too thrilled by the rush of power to care, she slams him down by his shoulders and ravages his mouth, her fingers clawing at his clothing to reach bare flesh. She jerks the shirt over his head, runs over the smooth planes, through the little patch of soft black hair in the center. Her need rages out of control, and if he's feeling even a fraction of the desire she is, she knows their coupling will be frantic and brief. She doesn't care about that either. She needs him now.

She rips the zipper of his jeans as he hikes up her skirt. The shirt she's wearing gapes in the front, half hangs off her shoulders and his fingers latch onto her breasts and she rolls against him. The warmth of him, the aching need for him only grows with the pulse of him inside her. He arches his back with a throaty groan; fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her closer, harder against him.

She pushes, he pulls; she screams, he gasps, moans, growls! The sounds elicited from him drive her crazy, makes her want him more! They roll again, and hazy eyes alight on the pale muscles rippling beneath the skin of his shoulders, his arms as she leans over her, rolling into her. Sparkling drops of rain decorate his skin, slide over it and she licks them away, the salt of his skin tingling on her tongue. She locks long legs around him, hands grasp at his arms, his hair, his face; drop the sand, clenches fistfuls as the raging heat roars and fights and coils inside, begging for release.

He clenches his teeth, a little muscle in his jaw jumps. "Gilligan!" She breaths into his kiss.

More, tighter, hotter, faster, harder, more!

"Mary…Ma…Mary A…Ah!" Her name's too long, too hard to get out quick enough! Something snaps, his stomach drops, warmth envelopes him and she gives a satisfying little squeal beneath him. He falls, bracing himself before he crushes her; rolls to the side; tries to catch his breath as she leans over him. She pushes her hair over her head as she smiles at him. Her fingers dance across his collar.

"Well, that was fun." She teases. "I'll have to remember that recipe. It's a keeper for sure."

With chest heaving, he gapes at her, then glares, then laughs. "You've been around Ginger too much." He says, tangling his fingers into her hair. She holds up her hand, the pointer and thumb fingers almost touching as she grins. "Maybe a little."

The rain comes down harder and he sighs. "We should get out of this." She props her chin in her hand and lets out a sad little purr. "Oh, alright."

He grins cheekily and locks and arm around her neck as she tries to pull away. "Luckily, my hidey-cave is just through those trees over there."

She grins. "It is, isn't it?" She kisses his nose. "Give me a head start?"

He buttons his jeans and crosses his arms behind his head teasingly. "You've got until I can feel my legs again, which I might add isn't long as I can already wiggle my toes." She looks down; sure enough the tips of his shoes are tapping away. She grins. Stands and takes off. Before she's even cleared the tree line, he jumps up with a laugh and (after scooping up his shirts and hat) takes off after her.