This story is a joint effort. Idea by Courtney, embellished by me, embellished even more by Courtney. I'd like to thank Courtney for totally corrupting me- don't believe her if she says it was the other way around. Mainly I'd like to thank her for introducing me to the wonderful world of MAG. (Plus, Sherwood Schwartz is a genius and if I ever met him I would *die*.)
Story rated T for slight suggestiveness. Well..shirtless Gilligan. Wouldn't you?
# # # #
The first production meeting of the newly formed Castaways Pictures company was a raucous affair. The Professor did his best to keep order, but everyone was too excited about the washed up film equipment to let him get a word in edgeways.
The Howells couldn't contain their utter excitement at finding lost relics belonging to Lovey's silent screen idol Fifi LaFrance and her mustachioed husband Ricardo Laughingwell. Mr. Howell was adamant he should be the director of their first rescue film, and his constant loud braying successfully drowned out all of the Professor's anxious appeals for calm.
Ginger wanted main billing. Nothing less would do. Her girlish squeals of excitement interspersed with breathy Marilyn Monroe impressions made Gilligan cover his ears one minute and squirm awkwardly the next. The fact that she was jiggling her bosoms right next to him and breathing down his neck didn't help.
The Skipper just wanted to make a film that would get them rescued. He was having a hard time getting this simple point across.
Even Mary Ann was more worried about putting in a bad performance than making a semi documentary that would get their little island noticed.
As for Gilligan, he just wanted to play with the crazy costumes.
After over two hours of determined negotiating- against Mr. Howell, mainly- the beleaguered Professor was finally able to hand out rudimentary production schedules containing rough drafts of a rescue scene, a short explanation of events scene, a scene with a fierce native, and finally a scene where they would pinpoint on a chart exactly where their tiny island was located. This film should be self-explanatory, he said. No-one should be left in doubt as to who we are and where we are. Ladies and gentlemen, if we get this right, this could well be our ticket out of here.
The meeting came to an end. Gilligan and the Skipper picked up their sheaves of paper and wandered across the clearing. Gilligan buried his nose in the first page, his lips moving as he read aloud.
"Skipper, why do I have to be a native?" he complained.
"Because, little buddy, you look better in a skirt than I do," the Skipper chortled.
Gilligan looked at the Skipper with his best 'funny ha ha' expression. "It says here I have to be a cannibal. Cannibals eat people. I don't eat people."
"Gilligan, you're not going to be a cannibal, you're just going to act like one."
"Oh." Gilligan peered over his sheaf of papers at the Skipper's rather large frame. "I guess if I was gonna eat people, you'd make a pretty good first course. And second course- and third course. And there'd be plenty of leftovers, too."
"Oh, really?" the Skipper said, annoyed. "Well, at least I'd make a nice meal for somebody. You're so skinny you couldn't even make an appetizer. They'd use your ribs as toothpicks for the main meal!"
Gilligan was trying to think of a witty comeback that would shut the Skipper up when Mary Ann appeared, clutching her sheaf of papers to her chest.
"Isn't this exciting?" she said, her eyes sparkling. "A real movie, with a real movie star in it! Oh, but I'm so nervous, I've never acted in a real movie before. I mean, I've acted in school plays, but they were never filmed, with a camera and a director and everything like that. Oh, I'm, so excited!" Unaware that she was babbling and that Skipper and Gilligan were both staring at her, Mary Ann jumped up and down on the spot like a little girl, hugging her script and smiling from ear to ear.
"Mary Ann, you're in the Cannibal scene with me," said Gilligan. "It says I have to tie you to a steak. Where are we going to get steak? We don't have any steak."
"Stake, Gilligan. S-t-a-k-e. It's a pole in the ground."
"Oh. I thought we were gonna get steak. I've heard about movie catering. Sounds yummy."
The Skipper rolled his eyes like he did a thousand times a day when Gilligan was around. He turned to Mary Ann with a sweet smile. "Mary Ann, I wish you all the best. I can't even get him to act like a normal person, let alone a made up one!"
# # # #
Gilligan was still muttering about cannibals an hour later as he and Mary Ann stood in the girls' hut, surveying all the bits and pieces of the costume he was going to wear. Spread out on the table before them were brightly coloured beads, gemstones and feathers, chunky wooden necklaces adorned with native woodcarvings, a variety of shells, fake animal bones, a pair of fetching tribal earrings, a blue feathered headpiece consisting of a black wig adorned with two crossed tusks, and the piece de resistance, a long grass skirt. Then there were the pots of greasepaint salvaged from the crates of South Sea Film Productions. There was red, blue, white, black and yellow. Gilligan unscrewed the lid of one pot and sniffed its contents, wrinkling up his nose.
"I wanted to wear one of the outfits in the crate," he whined. "Like a spaceman, or a cowboy, or a circus ringmaster."
"Gilligan, it would look awfully silly if I was being tied to a stake by a spaceman. We don't want anyone thinking we're shipwrecked on the moon!"
"Don't be silly, Mary Ann, you can't be shipwrecked on the moon," Gilligan said, taking her literally. He fished among the ornaments on the table and picked up a small wooden skull carving. "Euch. Where'd you get this? It looks like voodoo."
"It's just a trinket," Mary Ann said. "Costume jewelry."
Gilligan looked at her dubiously. He put the skull ornament down and picked up a blue feathered head dress, peering at it from all angles. "What about you? What are you wearing?"
"Oh, just my red check dress and some cute little red shoes, and maybe a ribbon or two in my hair."
Gilligan groaned. "You mean all this stuff's just for me?" He dropped the head dress and hefted a great sigh. "Why do I get all the hard work?"
"Oh, Gilligan, it won't take long to get you all fixed up. I'll help!"
Gilligan grinned at the eager expression on his friend's face. "Thanks Mary Ann. You're the best."
"There's just one other thing, before you start putting on that skirt," Mary Ann smiled.
Gilligan, who was holding up the grass skirt and shaking it out ready to wear, stopped what he was doing and looked at her, puzzled. "Yeah?" he said. "Like what?"
# # # #
Gilligan, Mary Ann and the Professor were in the supply hut, or the Props Department, as everyone had started calling it. Gilligan was stirring a cauldron that was half filled with a thick brown liquid made from different dark coloured berries they had harvested from around the island. Brown berries, red berries and deep purple berries all combined to make a rich, velvet mahogany colour. Not only that, it filled the hut with a warm, sweet aroma that smelled like one of Mary Ann's famous fruit pies baking.
"Mmm, this stuff tastes great!" Gilligan slurped from the ladle yet again.
"Please, Gilligan, I strictly told you not to eat it!"
Gilligan put the ladle back into the simmering pot of dark brown berry juice and carried on stirring it slowly. "Sorry, Professor, I keep forgetting."
"That's your body dye, Gilligan," Mary Ann laughed. "If you eat too much of it, there'll only be enough to make you brown on one side. The inside!"
Gilligan grinned. "I don't care. It's delicious." When the Professor turned his back, the first mate stuck his hand into the mixture again and licked his fingers clean. "Mmmm!" Then, on noticing the Professor glancing sidelong at him, he added, "I mean...mmmm, this stuff should really make me nice and brown."
"Oh, it will," the Professor said. "And luckily it's not permanent, as I've also made it water soluble."
"Just so long as it washes off," said Gilligan.
The Professor sighed. He didn't even bother to reply to that one.
# # # #
After the mixture had boiled down and cooled into a paste, the Professor transferred it into a bowl and Mary Ann and Gilligan returned to the girls' hut to start applying it. Ginger had gone down to the beach to practise her lines for her upcoming scene with the Professor, and Mr. Howell and the Skipper were busy over at the Howells hut arguing over who was really in charge of this film and who was just acting like a tyrant.
"There's something I don't understand," Gilligan said, looking through his notes for the umpteenth time. "How come these scenes don't get filmed in order? It says our scene comes after Ginger and the Professor's scene, but our scene's getting filmed first."
Mary Ann shrugged. "Maybe it's because Ginger needs lots of time to rehearse," she said. "She is a move star, after all. Not like us, we're just regular people."
"Don't we get to rehearse?" Gilligan's blue eyes widened.
"Well, I guess if we have time?" Mary Ann pursed her lips and thought about it.
"I'm just saying," said Gilligan. "Because I don't know how to be a cannibal. I think it's something I might need to rehearse. Jut so long as I don't have to eat anyone," he added with a grimace.
"Well, come on then, why don't we get into costume, and then we can go and find somewhere to rehearse?" Mary Ann suggested. "After all, if it's good enough for Ginger, right?"
"Yeah," agreed Gilligan. He put his finger into the berry paste and licked it clean. "Yummy."
Mary Ann swatted at his hand. "Gilligan, stop that! There's not enough for your body and your stomach."
"But it's just so delicious," Gilligan said. "I can't help it!"
"I can see I'm going to have to stay here and apply it for you," Mary Ann tutted. "Otherwise there won't be any left. Now, come on. Take your shirt off."
"What?" Gilligan stopped licking his fingers and stared at her. Then he looked around to see if there was another Gilligan in the room that she might be talking to, but there was only him.
"Your shirt, Gilligan. I can't put this on until you take that off."
"But, Mary Ann!" Gilligan looked shocked and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Gilligan, this is no time for modesty. Besides, I've seen you with your shirt off plenty of times, like when we go swimming."
"That's different!"
"It's no different. Come on, Gilligan, off with it."
Reluctantly, Gilligan pulled his rugby shirt over his head and draped it over a chair.
"And the t-shirt."
Reluctantly, Gilligan pulled his t-shirt over his head and draped it over his rugby shirt. He straightened his hat and stood barechested in the middle of the girls' hut. "I hope you're not gonna ask me to take my pants off, too," he muttered.
"I might," said Mary Ann mischievously, trying not to stare at him too hard.
Gilligan panicked and made as if to bolt like a sprinter from the starting blocks, but Mary Ann put her hand on his arm and stopped him in the nick of time.
"Gilligan, this is no time to go missing. People in the movies get undressed in front of each other all the time!" She looked askance then, pondering what she'd just said. "At least, that's what Ginger told me," she finished, then shrugged. "Anyway, it would help if you put on the skirt so we can do your legs, too. I promise I won't look while you do it."
Gilligan hung his head and pouted. "Okay, but turn around."
Mary Ann turned around, and listened quietly to the sounds of Gilligan removing his jeans and putting on the rustling, swishing grass skirt. "I still don't see why I have to be the cannibal," he complained. "Skipper's the one who eats everything in sight."
Mary Ann giggled. "Maybe the Professor couldn't make enough dye for the Skipper." She covered her mouth, feeling immediately guilty at making a fat joke about the Skipper, but she was thrilled at the sound of Gilligan's delighted laughter behind her.
"Yeah," he said. "If we made enough dye for Skipper's whole body, there'd be no more berries left on the whole island." He adjusted the grass skirt around his slim waist, brushed it down and gave it a fluff and a shake. "Okay, Mary Ann," he announced, standing up straight and pulling his shoulders back. "I'm all ready."
Mary Ann turned around and promptly burst into giggles at the sight of Gilligan standing there in nothing but a knee length grass skirt and the white hat that was permanently fixed to his head. His bare, slender legs emerged from the dried fronds and his long toes wiggled on the sandy floor.
"What?" Gilligan looked down at himself. "Can you see my underwear?"
"No," Mary Ann grinned, wiping a tear from her eye. "It's just that I've never seen such a pale, undernourished cannibal before!"
She picked up the bowl of berry paste and approached him shyly. He was right about one thing- being bare chested while swimming out in the open with other people around was markedly different to being bare chested in the girls' hut with only him and her there. Oh well, it was too late to back out now. Besides, someone needed to do his back, didn't they?
"Turn around," she instructed.
Gilligan turned around with a sigh.
"You must come from a tribe of skinny cannibals who ran out of people to eat," Mary Ann laughed, digging her fingers into the paste and extracting a sizeable lump.
"Hey, maybe they turned vegetarian and starved to death." Gilligan giggled at his own joke.
"That's funny, Gilligan."
Gilligan beamed happily. "I know-ooo-oOOW!" He went up on his toes as Mary Ann put the lump of berry paste on his back and ran it down his spine. "Mary Aaaann!"
"What's wrong, Gilligan?" Mary Ann was puzzled. "It's not cold!" She felt the berry paste between her fingers. If anything, it was slightly warm.
"I know, but...that tickled!"
"I'm sorry, I should've warned you I was about to start." Mary Ann returned her fingers to his spine and began to rub the paste over his skin. "Is that better?"
"Yeah. Just don't surprise me like that again, Mary Ann."
"I'll try not to."
Gilligan went quiet. He stood patiently while Mary Ann's hands glided over his back, applying the paste in an even layer over his skin. Every now and again she scooped another lump from the bowl, rubbed it between her palms, and smoothed another coat over his lean shoulderblades and down his slender back to his waist. He had a nice back, she had to admit. His muscles might be lean, but they felt nice. He might be on the skinny side, but what there was of him was very finely tuned.
"Lucky you," she said, rubbing the dye carefully into the small of his back. "You're getting a massage as well."
"A massage? Oh, boy! A massage!" Gilligan perked up, then peered over his shoulder, puzzled. "What's a massage?"
"A back rub," Mary Ann grinned.
"Oh, yeah, a back rub." Gilligan went quiet again, then he gasped. "A back rub? That's what Skipper says you get from the girls in Honolulu! Mary Ann, you better stop!"
Mary Ann laughed at Gilligan's naivete. "Gilligan! How could you think such a thing about me? There are back rubs, and there are back rubs. This is just a nice, innocent back rub. Don't you feel relaxed?"
"I was," Gilligan said, his face a picture of worry. "Until you mentioned back rubs."
"That's why I used the word 'massage'," Mary Ann laughed playfully. "People pay good money for massages in top health clubs, I'll have you know. Ginger told me."
"People pay good money for back rubs in Honolulu, too," Gilligan countered. "Skipper told me."
Mary Ann ran both hands up his back and curled her fingers over his shoulders. "Your back's done, anyway. Would you turn around please, sir?"
Gilligan turned around. His chest looked awfully white in comparison to his newly bronzed back. Mary Ann scooped paste into her hands and started dabbing it on his neck.
"Aren't you glad I'm here to help you with this?" Mary Ann asked. "Even if you didn't eat it all, I don't think you'd be able to reach everywhere by yourself." She rubbed the dye into his neck and throat, and then began applying it to his face. He stood very still so that she didn't get any of it into his eyes. Her fingers moved deftly over his cheeks and nose. She moved his hair gently aside and rubbed the dye across his forehead. He stood there with his eyes closed allowing her to admire his eyelashes, marvelling at how long and dark they were. Many a girl would kill for eyelashes like those, she thought. Me included.
When she told Gilligan his face was done, he opened his eyes and blinked. His twin turquoise orbs focused and met with her brown ones. His pupils dilated. Suddenly Mary Ann realised how close she was to him. She gulped nervously and stepped back.
"How do I look?" he asked, blinking again.
"Half baked," Mary Ann told him, her breath catching slightly in her throat. "There's your chest and your arms to do yet." Steeling herself, she stepped forward again. Don't be silly Mary Ann, she told herself. This is what makeup artists do all the time. You're just applying makeup to a human body.
A very nice human body...
Applying makeup to Gilligan's front was very different from applying it to his back. For one thing, he could watch her, and he was. He was watching her intently. Gilligan looked at people the way children did, before they were taught not to stare. Gilligan's startlingly blue eyes could pin you down if you weren't careful. Gilligan would always make you look away first, as though you had something to hide. Mary Ann was finding it difficult to smooth the dye as carefully over his chest and stomach as she had done with his back. For one thing, there were his nipples. She didn't know what to do about them. Think makeup artist, she told herself. You're a Hollywood makeup artist, this means nothing to you. Nipples are nothing. Just do it and get it over with.
She swallowed hard and ran both hands very quickly over both of his nipples. She didn't think he'd react or even notice, but his sudden sharp intake of breath told her otherwise. You didn't hear that, she said inwardly. You didn't hear him gasp, you didn't feel his muscles contract. Keep going.
She smoothed dye over his stomach. He gave the same sharp reaction when her finger accidentally dipped into his navel. The muscles of his ribcage twitched when she applied the dye along his sides. Gilligan squirmed and said it was ticklish. When she looked up at his face, she saw a look in his eyes that was hard to define. He looked confused, unsure of himself. The realisation hit her that that was exactly how she was beginning to feel, too.
"Mary Ann, I can do my arms," he said in a strange voice. He reached for the bowl.
"Did I do something wrong, Gilligan" Mary Ann asked, feeling dismayed. Had she offended him? Didn't he want her to touch him any more? Gilligan possessed the innocence of a young boy in the enticingly developed body of a 22 year old man. There had been plenty, plenty of times when she had wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was like a coiled spring ready to fly at the slightest hint of a female approach. She watched him as he proceeded to spread the dye carefully down his own arms. He looked like he was concentrating very hard. She wondered what to do next, then hit upon an idea.
"I'll draw some native markings on you, if you like," she said, brightening. The pots of greasepaint positively beckoned to her. She could make all kinds of aboriginal type markings on him. It would be a perfect excuse to touch him without him suspecting her of trying any female stuff. "How about a scary face on your back?"
"Sure!" Gilligan said, surprising her by instantly agreeing. "As long as it's on my back where I can't see it!"
Mary Ann opened all the pots of greasepaint and thought about what she would draw. She stood behind him with the black pot and made S shaped swirls, dots and circles. It didn't seem to bother him one bit. He was busy working dye into his knobby elbows, his tongue poking out boyishly between his lips.
"I hope you're not licking that dye off your face," she smiled, watching him in amusement.
"No, but I sure am gonna lick the bowl after I've finished," he grinned, holding both his skinny arms out and inspecting them closely.
"I've given you a nice scary face and some swirly things and some little circles," Mary Ann told him. "It's what all the best dressed cannibals are wearing this year."
"That's great Mary Ann. I guess even cannibals like to look good." He glanced down at himself. Then a thought struck him. "What about my legs?"
"Oh, we really should put some of that dye on them," Mary Ann said quickly. "You can't be a two tone cannibal, even in a black and white film! Here, put your foot up on this chair."
Gilligan looked at her a little suspiciously. "Are you sure?"
"Come on, Gilligan, just to give them a bit of colour. It'll only take a minute." Mary Ann picked up the bowl, waiting for him to put his foot on the chair. He was still watching her with that curious look in his eyes. Finally, he lifted his right foot and put it on the chair. The grass fronds parted and exposed his thigh almost to his groin. He was wearing boxer shorts, but still. Gilligan did not readily expose his legs to anyone. Mary Ann had only a small window of opportunity in which to work. She grasped it, so to speak.
She covered her palms in dye and put both hands on his leg, just above the knee. His leg was bristly, not too hairy, but not completely smooth, either. The tendons behind his knee felt springy. He had runner's legs. He ought to, by now, with all the sprinting into the jungle he did. She swallowed past a dry lump in her throat. She flexed her fingers gently and began rubbing in the dye.
"I wonder how the others are getting along?" she said, deciding small talk was the best way to distract both of them from what she was doing.
"I don't know. Maybe the Skipper and Mr. Howell are still fighting over who gets to be in charge." Gilligan's toes wiggled on the chair.
"They're both being silly," Mary Ann said. "everyone knows the Professor's in charge."
"Is that why he's hiding in the supply hut?"
Mary Ann looked up from her ministrations and smiled at the mischievous twinkle in Gilligan's eyes. "He was looking rather strained when we saw him, wasn't he?"
Gilligan puffed up his newly bronzed chest, stuck out his chin, and launched into his best impersonation of Mr. Howell. "Fire that man and bring me some people I can work with!" he articulated through clenched teeth.
Mary Ann laughed. "Gilligan, you sound more like Mr. Howell than he does!"
"Ooh! What you said! Lovey, where are my pills!" Gilligan's hands flew to his mouth at his own use of Mrs. Howell's first name, or rather, the affectionate name that Mr. Howell called her. None of the castaways ever called the millionaires 'Thurston' and 'Lovey', except the Professor, who got away with it once because the Professor usually got away with everything, even being wrong.
Mary Ann laughed even more, and they giggled and shushed each other with elbow nudges and comic frowns.
While they were joking around, Mary Ann's fingers worked their way slightly higher up his thigh. She applied another small scoop of berry paste and continued stroking gently over his skin. The roughness of his leg hairs reminded her that she actually had her hands around a grown man's leg. Maybe this sort of thing wouldn't bother Ginger, but it was making Mary Ann feel very daring.
When Gilligan had got over his giggling fit, he carried on watching Mary Ann's hands working over his leg. "Mary Ann, the scene says I have to tie you to a stake. I hope you don't mind me doing that. You know you're my friend and everything. I wouldn't really tie you to a stake."
"I know that, Gilligan." Mary Ann's face was beginning to feel a little warm. It struck her that she was taking an awful long time over one leg when she had done his whole back in less than five minutes. Her fingers inched higher. She really had no idea what she was trying to do now. His upper thighs would be completely covered by the grass skirt. If anything, she ought to be working on the area below the knee, not above it.
There was also the small matter of his proximity. He was so close she could feel his breath ruffling her pigtails and smell the sweet berry dye that coated him all over. Why, she could probably even lean forward and lick him if she wanted to.
Quickly brushing that thought away, Mary Ann scooped one more lump of dye out of the almost empty bowl and replaced her hand on Gilligan's leg. Her hovering fingers wove their way gently through the grass fronds and around to his inner thigh. She swallowed nervously at the discovery that his skin was much softer and smoother there. It felt almost silky, like a fine garment of Mrs. Howell's. It was also warmer- a lot warmer. The warmth entered through her fingertips, travelled swiftly up her arm and landed straight in her cheeks which immediately flushed a deep pink colour. She blinked in confusion and her nerves got the better of her.
Her fingers accidentally squeezed him.
There was a split second of realisation that hit them both at the same time. Their eyes simultaneously met and widened. Gilligan stopped chatting about cannibals, panicked and let out a strangled squawk. He leapt back. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands rubbing frantically at his leg as though trying to get rid of the evidence that Mary Ann had almost touched him some place that she shouldn't have.
Really shouldn't have.
Mary Ann was desperate to make amends. Her dye coated hands flapped wildly in mid air and her voice came out high pitched and shaky like a little girl's. "Gilligan, I didn't mean to do that! I really didn't! I'm sorry! Please don't leave!"
Gilligan's face was a picture of surprise and despair, much like Mary Ann imagined hers was. "Where am I gonna go dressed like this?" he blustered.
Mary Ann's nerves made her giggle with embarrassment. "I don't know! Just don't run out on me. I won't do it again. It was an accident, please believe me."
Gilligan rubbed once more at his leg. He shook his head in an exasperated way, but Gilligan exasperation wasn't like other peoples' exasperation. He was quick to forgive, especially Mary Ann.
"Don't worry. Mary Ann," he said, rearranging the grass skirt modestly over both his legs. "I believe you. It was an accident. But I think..." he edged forward warily and grabbed his jeans off the back of the chair, "...I'm gonna be a cannibal who wears pants from now on."
# # # #
