For Courtney. For the late night emails that led to this story, for being a brilliant beta, and for the awesome phrase Manly Russian Urges, which I believe was the start of it all.
This story is loosely based on the events of the 3rd season episode Gilligan vs. Gilligan, where Gilligan's (hot) Russian Spy Double comes to the island.
All characters property of Sherwood Schwartz. Written for fun, not profit.
Rated M for adult situations.
Update:
I've reworked the second half of this story. I wasn't entirely happy with the first version, in which I had the Spy go a little too far with Mary Ann. I thought about it and realised I wanted to change it. I like Spy!Gilligan very much as a character, and I really didn't want him coming over as nothing but a giant sleazeball. (If you had already read it and are now reading this new version, I hope that you like it better than the old one!)
Lulu xx
Strastocvet (Passionflower)
"Remember, I am Gilligan. Remember, I am Gilligan." Soviet Agent 222 paced back and forth in the jungle just beyond the clearing, clutching his shiny gold pocketknife, aka Soviet communications device. (Standard issue, circa 1948.) Every now and again the pocketknife would whine shrilly and he'd have to clamp his hand over it so none of those crazy Americanskis would hear it. How was he supposed to spy efficiently with the Kommandant's constant interruptions? He needed time to think. Think, think.
He'd messed up spectacularly. He couldn't afford to keep messing up.
The pocketknife whined again. Clearly the Kommandant hadn't finished with him just yet. Agent 222 sighed heavily and pulled the spoon up into position. There was no point saying anything as the Kommandant was already in full flow.
"Idiotski. Idiotski, idiotski!"
"Kommandant, please, in Americanski," Agent 222 muttered.
"Imbecile! Moron! Knucklehead!"
Agent 222 winced repeatedly while the Kommandant hurled every insult in the book at him.
"You study film of Gilligan, no? You vere not sleeping in movie theatre?"
"Da, Kommandant, I mean, nyet, Kommandant. I vatch film. I study. I just forget, I am sorry. I thought I vas doing right thing."
"Right thing, wrong girl," the Kommandant said with a definite sneer in his voice. "You are fool, 222. You cannot contain 'manly Russian urges'. You study film, you vill know. This Gilligan vould not approach this girl. He like other girl. You did not vatch film. Vot you vere doing, reading comic book like Gilligan?"
"Nyet, Kommandant. I am sorry. I vatch film. I vill do better next time."
"That's vot you say every time. In Algiers, you mess up. In Tripoli, you mess up. In Bali Bali you mess up twice. In Casablanca you could not even put your lips together and blow. You are dompeski. You are drinking in last chance saloon. Vy ponimayete?"
"Da. I understand."
"Eto horosho. Good. You do better, or you are kaput. Siberia, express ticket, vun vay."
"There vill be no need for that."
"Do better. Or you vill be on that train. Remember. You are Gilligan. Being idiotski should be easy for you, da?"
Agent 222 stared glumly at his shiny gold pocketknife until he was sure the Kommandant had signed off. Then he blew the biggest razzie he could muster up. Phooey on you, Kommandant. But it didn't make him feel any better. The glamorous movie star had spurned his advances. It should have made him feel better knowing that to all intents and purposes she had spurned Gilligan, who would never have come on to her like that in a million years. But still. He was a Russian spy. He wasn't used to being turned down by glamorous women. It was one of the reasons he'd become a spy in the first place.
Mary Ann came out of the girls' hut carrying their laundry basket and immediately noticed the flash of red darting between the leaves as 'Gilligan' paced up and down. What on earth was he doing now? She sighed. She wished they hadn't made such a big deal about that missing pie. The guilt had obviously gotten to her friend and he was finding it difficult to cope with the accusation that he was not only a pie thief but a 'prevaricator' as well. Ever since admitting that he'd made up the whole story about seeing his double, he'd been acting so very strangely. 'Growing pains', Ginger had called it, but how much more growing did Gilligan need? He was twenty three years old, for goodness sakes.
Agent 222 turned to continue his pacing and caught sight of Mary Ann, who he realised was looking straight at him. He stopped in his tracks, almost fumbling the pocketknife. He quickly replaced it in his back pocket and wiped his hands on his jeans. I mustn't let nerves get the better of me, he thought, staring back at Mary Ann. Siberia is not a pleasant place at this time of the year- or any time of the year, come to that. He watched silently as the Kansas farm girl seemed to hesitate, possibly wondering whether she should say anything to him or not.
The moment seemed to stretch on forever. Then Mary Ann tore her gaze from his, looked down at the clothes in her basket and hurried away, intent on her chores but moving just a little too quickly.
Agent 222 closed his eyes and breathed out. He was going to have to pull himself together.
He stopped pacing and came into the clearing, adopting Gilligan's easy gait and strolling nonchalantly across to the hut the first mate shared with his Kapitan. He walked straight in, found the place empty. He went over to the mirror and stared at his reflection. Or rather, Gilligan's reflection. It was still strange to see that unfamiliar face looking back at him. Those inquisitive eyes, and that dishevelled mop of black hair. And that hat! Although he had to admit it quite suited him- or rather, it suited Gilligan. In which case it suited him. Because he was Gilligan. All he had to do was remember that.
"Gilligan!"
The voice from behind made him jump out of his skin. He clutched his chest, breathing heavily. "Skipper, you scared me," he said in Gilligan's voice, thankful that he remembered not to swear out loud in Russian.
"Will you stop gazing at yourself in the mirror and go help Mary Ann with the laundry?" the Skipper said gruffly.
"Sorry, Skipper," he mumbled. He crossed the room and brushed past Skipper without daring to meet the big man's eyes. He darted out of the door and round the side of the hut, cursing himself under his breath. What kind of spy lets himself be caught unawares that easily? The Kommandant was right. He was an idiotski. In any language.
He hunched his shoulders, flexing and shaking his arms as he set off after Mary Ann. Maybe getting involved with a routine, mundane task would calm him down. He could make idle small talk and glean information that way. Mary Ann was charming and friendly and easy enough to talk to. She was also very pretty. Perhaps not as drop dead gorgeous as the movie star, but nevertheless, a cute and curvaceous little thing. No wonder Gilligan liked her. She was sweet and pretty and unassuming. The Kommandant was right again. He had let his 'manly Russian urges' dictate his actions and had aimed for the wrong target.
There would be no more of that.
Having reasserted himself and made up his mind to continue with his mission as planned, Agent 222 began to feel calm and relaxed and even began whistling as he approached the clearing where they did the laundry, loosely swinging his arms as he ambled along. As he came into the clearing however, the first thing he saw was Mary Ann bent right over to pick up a dropped clothespin from the ground, her smooth tanned legs and her pretty little backside presented to him like some sort of luscious, tantalising work of art. Not only that, she was wearing those tiny little shorts that had almost made him bite the spoon off his communicator the first time he'd seen her in them. The cheerful whistle died in his throat and he couldn't help but stand there, rooted to the spot, unable to stop staring.
"Oh, hi, Gilligan!" called Mary Ann, seeing him standing there. She retrieved the clothespin and stood up straight, smoothing down her blouse and tugging at her shorts. "Have you come to help or just say hello?"
"H-help," Agent 222 muttered, watching her adjust those shorts.
"Oh, good. Here, you can help me pin these clothes up and then we can empty the tub and pin up the rest."
Agent 222 waved his hand towards the tub. "Wouldn't it be better if you pinned and I emptied?"
Mary Ann tilted her head, a puzzled frown creasing her smooth forehead. "But Gilligan, we always work together. I hold up the clothes and you pin them on the line. Don't you want to do it that way anymore?"
Agent 222 swallowed. "Uh, sure Mary Ann, I just wondered if it wouldn't be quicker to do it the other way."
"Why?" the pretty farm girl laughed. "Are you in a rush? Do you have an important meeting to get to?"
"No, Mary Ann, I just...it's okay. It doesn't matter. I'm happy to do it the way we always do it." Feeling as though he'd already said quite enough, Agent 222 approached Mary Ann and took the bag of clothespins from her outstretched hand. Now he was just inches away from her. Close enough to touch. This would be a good time to get information. He gripped the bag of clothespins tightly in one hand, and fished in his back pocket for his communicator with the other. But Mary Ann was already holding up a piece of clothing to be pegged.
"I'm waiting, Gilligan," she said in a sing-song voice that was innocent and teasing at the same time, and caused an all-too-familiar stirring in the pit of his stomach.
Reluctantly, he left his communicator in his pocket. He took two clothespins out of the bag and obediently pinned the item of clothing to the line. It was only then that he saw it was one of the movie star's figure hugging gowns. He blinked and shook away the image of Ginger Grant reclining before him on a thick, bearskin rug in front of a roaring fire. You end up in Siberia, you will need all the bearskins you can get, he thought, in an attempt to focus his mind.
"So what were you doing in the bushes, Gilligan?" Mary Ann said, moving along the line. "Looking for a lost marble?"
"Um, just thinking," Agent 222 said. "You know, about why we're here, and...stuff."
"Why we're here? Here doing the laundry?"
"No. Here on the island."
"Gilligan, I'm worried about you." Mary Ann held up another item of clothing, this time a blue mini dress. Agent 222 attached two pins and tried not to think of Mary Ann wearing it with nothing underneath.
"Why?" he asked, glancing at her backside as she bent to get another piece of clothing from the basket.
"Because you know why we're here. We got shipwrecked. I don't know what else there is to think about."
Agent 222 pinned the next item to the line. Mary Ann's figure hugging jeans. Immediately, and without wanting to, he pictured her shapely thighs filling out each leg and the denim clinging tightly to the rounded curve of her rear. It was a very pleasing image altogether, and consequently he didn't realise that he'd drifted off and that Mary Ann was staring at him as though he'd grown two heads.
"Gilligan, what is the matter with you?" she asked. "You're not even on the same planet as the rest of us today!"
"I'm sorry, Mary Ann, I was just...admiring your jeans." Put on the spot like that, it was the only thing he could think of to say.
"My jeans? Gilligan, I've had those jeans for years! Why would you be admiring them now?" And why would you be admiring them at all? she thought to herself.
Agent 222 shrugged. "I've always liked them," he said. "They look nice on you."
Mary Ann studied him closely. "What's gotten into you, Gilligan?" she said. "You don't notice the way I look. Not unless I'm bringing you your dinner at the same time!"
"Nothing's gotten into me," the Russian replied, willing his eyes to remain on her face and not drift down to her bare, tanned legs. "Why can't I pay you a compliment if I feel like it?"
Mary Ann's eyes grew round. "A compliment? You?"
"Why not?"
"Why not? Well, I...I don't know why not. It's just that, well, you don't pay compliments. Not on the way I look. Maybe on my cooking, but not my clothes."
"It doesn't mean I don't notice them," Agent 222 said, his eyes drifting over the smooth skin of her neck and shoulders.
Is this what Ginger meant by growing pains? Mary Ann thought, becoming slightly disconcerted by his almost unblinking gaze. He was certainly looking at her differently. And how long had he been admiring her jeans? She thought back to all the times she wore them. Why, she wore them at least twice a week, sometimes more. They were comfortable, and they fit well.
And Gilligan had obviously noticed that they fit well, if his comments were anything to go by.
Wishing to change the subject, and quickly, Mary Ann resumed her work and began to talk about the latest episode of Old Doctor Young. This usually kept Gilligan mildly entertained as they worked, and she enjoyed recounting every minute little detail of Irene Frobisher's troubles. Gilligan never interrupted, preferring to let her do the talking for a change, and thankfully it was no different now. While she talked and worked and talked and worked she could ignore the fact that Gilligan was standing maybe just a little too close to her, but one thought did strike her, and that was that not once had he dropped a peg or tripped over his laces or caused her to spill any clothes into the sand. And that in itself was unusual, to say the least.
They finished pegging out the remainder of the clothes in the basket. When they were done, Mary Ann led the way to the tub, still chatting away about Irene Frobisher and her latest exploits. She dragged a small stool over to the tub and stood on it to lift the lid. While she babbled away she leaned over the edge of the tub to retrieve the damp, clean clothes inside, and once again Agent 222 was treated to the sight of her beautiful rear end balanced on those unbelievably shapely legs.
"Chyort voz'mi," he muttered. Then clamped his hand firmly over his mouth in case she heard him. Luckily, she was so engrossed in her crazy tales of American life that she was completely unaware of his outburst in Russian, and even if he'd said it in English, he doubted Gilligan ever used coarse language. Then again, he doubted if Gilligan had ever been knocked sideways by the sight of Mary Ann's ass bent over like that.
It wasn't a sight he was ever likely to forget.
As he stood there, dumbstruck and staring, Mary Ann leaned further and further into the washing tub and suddenly lost her footing on the stool altogether. "Gilligan!" she cried, before she almost toppled headlong into the open tub.
In a flash, Agent 222 was right behind her, reaching for those smooth, caramel coloured thighs as he attempted to pull her out of the tub while she squealed like a small animal in a trap, kicking her feet as he held on tight. "Don't struggle, Mary Ann," he told her, narrowly avoiding a kitten heel in the face. "I'll get you out in a jiffy!"
Mary Ann, upside down and with her head almost buried in a pile of laundry, pressed her hands up against the side of the tub as she felt both of his hands grab urgently at her upper thighs, his fingers pressing hard into her flesh. Then he was up on the stool and leaning over the tub, his arm under her stomach, lifting her out with ease. As she came out of the tub and landed upright on the stool next to him, his hand slid all the way up her thigh and over her backside, and his other arm wound its way around her waist, pulling her against him.
"Are you all right, Mary Ann?" he asked, his face serious, almost expressionless, except for those eyes which at this close distance, seemed to penetrate right into her soul.
"Y-yes, I'm fine, thank you, Gilligan," she murmured, acutely aware that his hand was still on her behind, and that her naked thighs were still tingling from the electric shock of his touch.
"You scared me," he said, his voice sounding deeper than normal. Huskier than normal.
"I didn't mean to," she said, although she didn't know why she said it. It wasn't as though she'd fallen in on purpose.
Agent 222 hopped down off the stool and gently lifted Mary Ann down with him. "Maybe I should hold onto you," he breathed, his hands now resting on the exposed skin at her waist. "In case you have any more accidents."
"I don't have accidents, you do," she said equally softly, wondering what on earth he was doing, and wondering why on earth she wasn't doing anything to stop him.
Agent 222 moved forward until he had Mary Ann pressed up against the side of the wash tub. "Well, then maybe you should hold onto me in case I have any more accidents," he smiled.
Mary Ann blinked in surprise. "Gilligan?" she said softly, her face a picture of puzzlement, concern, and...something else. Her chocolate brown eyes gazed directly into his, her long, dark eyelashes fluttering slightly, whether through fear or want, he couldn't tell.
They stood there together for one long, drawn out moment, the agent's hands on her bare midriff, her back pressed up against the wash tub, eyes locked, each willing the other to make some kind of first move, either to break away, or...
...or what?
Agent 222 had to remind himself once more who he was supposed to be. Control yourself, dompeski. Are you trying to get yourself banished? Never to see your dear mother again, never to listen to her crying over the fact that you never became a doctor? He blinked and shook his head. He ran his hands lightly, briefly over Mary Ann's hips and then he stepped back, breaking the tension with a low chuckle. "Sorry, Mary Ann. I didn't mean to...get up so close."
Mary Ann let out her breath, which she didn't even realise she'd been holding. Her hands went to her hair, pushing it out of her face and smoothing it down. She watched him standing there with that strange look in his eyes, as though he were fighting something deep inside. Not only that, she felt strangely disappointed that he'd moved away from her so soon. "It's all right, Gilligan," she said, brightly. "It's not every day that I fall into the wash tub, after all! You probably thought I was going to be smothered in miles and miles of Mrs. Howell's chiffon!"
Agent 222 laughed at that. He was relieved that he hadn't offended her. "Maybe I should empty the tub," he suggested, waving her aside. "I did offer to in the first place, remember?"
Mary Ann stepped back and let him start emptying the tub. She watched him curiously as he worked, pulling out handfuls of tangled clothes and painstakingly separating them before almost folding them carefully into the basket. She appreciated the care he was taking, but normally Gilligan just pulled everything out in a big ball and dropped half of it in the sand. He was certainly different today. Had Ginger been right? Was Gilligan growing up at last?
She looked down at herself. She could still feel where he'd touched her bare thighs. In fact, just thinking about where his fingers had been made her tremble slightly and feel a little giddy.
Those same fingers that had gripped her thighs so firmly were now painstakingly picking one of her tiny little vest tops out of one of the Skipper's giant blue polo shirts while he frowned in concentration, his mouth turned down at the corners and a look of very un-Gilligan-like irritation marring his otherwise boyish features.
"Vhy they say vashing is vomen's vork?" Agent 222 muttered quietly to himself. "Not even a zapazdyvayuschim osla vould do it."
"A what?" Mary Ann said, unsure of what she'd just heard. "Gilligan, what are you muttering about?"
Agent 222's head snapped round in surprise. He hadn't even realised she was still standing there. He rearranged his features quickly, widening his eyes into Gilligan's look of benign curiosity. "Washing is woman's work," he stuttered, hoping she hadn't heard his Russian accent. "I mean, it shouldn't just be classed as woman's work, not even um..." he couldn't say retarded donkey to her. "Not even a lower class manual labourer should be forced to do it all the time." He grinned at her, perhaps a little cheesily, but enough, he hoped, to throw her off the scent.
"A lower class manual labourer?" Mary Ann said, wide eyed. "Gilligan, are you calling me a lower class manual labourer?"
"No!" he protested. "What I'm saying is, we should all share our duties equally. You know, pull together for the common cause. Like washing. It shouldn't just be woman's work. Everyone should take their turn." He swallowed past the dry lump in his throat. Everything he said just dug him deeper into a hole.
"Well, that's a very sweet thought, Gilligan," Mary Ann smiled, putting her hand gently on his arm. "But it just happens that I'm better at certain domestic chores than any of the others, and it's actually something I take pride in."
Once again, she was close enough for him to study her perfect, heart-shaped little face. Her long, dark eyelashes, her perfectly smooth, unblemished cheeks, her little pink lips curved into a smile directed solely at him. His own lips began tingling with the urge to kiss her, an urge that was becoming unbearable.
"Too much pride is...um..." His eyes locked onto hers again, searching their depths for a sign of how she felt about him. Or rather, about Gilligan. But it was getting hard to stay focused. He could feel his communicator digging into his backside. He knew he was supposed to be gathering information from her, but all he could do was stand there and stare at her face and fight down his zhelanie. His desire.
His manly Russian urges.
"Too much pride is what, Gilligan?" Mary Ann said, her tone becoming teasing again. At the same time she leaned against his arm and he felt the pressure of her breast, soft and yielding against his bicep.
"Nezdorovyi," he uttered under his breath.
"What? Gilligan, why do you keep saying these strange words?"
"Unhealthy," he corrected swiftly. "Too much pride is...unhealthy."
Mary Ann peered closely at his face. "Gilligan, please tell me what's wrong," she said, her voice full of worry and concern. "You're just not yourself today. Is it because of the missing pie? You know I don't mind you eating my pie, in fact you're more than welcome to eat my pies whenever I make them. I didn't know the Skipper was going to get as mad as he did. It would have been easy to make another one. You didn't have to go to all the trouble of trying to convince us you didn't do it. I would have forgiven you, even if the Skipper didn't." She reached up and swept the hair away from his eyes, her fingers trailing gently across his forehead. "You know how fond I am of you, Gilligan. You can be honest with me. If you're feeling ill or there's something wrong, then I want you to know you can tell me, and I won't tell anyone else. I promise."
How about this then, Agent 222 thought as he stared at her face, drinking in every minute detail of her gentle, concerned expression. I'm here on your beautiful little island paradise to interrogate you all and then, on the Kommandant's orders, kill you without mercy for your troubles. How would you like it if I told you that my humble pocketknife contains a deadly laser beam that will cut your pretty little body in half, right down the middle? How would you feel then? Would you still like me if you knew who I really was?
No. Because nobody liked him much when they knew who he really was. Not even his own mother.
"I want to kiss you," he blurted. Then immediately clamped his hand over his mouth. Idiotski! You are not behaving like Gilligan at all!
"What?" Mary Ann stared at him, shocked.
"Oh my gosh," he said, quickly. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry!"
Mary Ann found herself gripping the edge of the wash tub, staring into its laundry filled depths as she processed what Gilligan had just told her. He wanted to kiss her? Gilligan wanted to kiss her? Gilligan had never, ever expressed such a desire, even in the early days when she had all those feelings that his lack of interest had forced her to dampen down as the years went by. And now here he was, declaring that he wanted to kiss her. Finally, at last. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. She gripped a piece of skin on her arm and squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger.
"What are you doing?" Agent 222 asked curiously.
"Pinching myself to see if I'm dreaming," she replied, lifting her big brown eyes and looking straight into his blue ones.
Agent 222 swallowed again, hard. People only pinched themselves when something was happening that they couldn't believe was true. Did this mean she wanted it too? She wanted 'Gilligan' to kiss her? He dropped the washing he was holding into the basket at their feet. He reached out his arms, tentatively, still half expecting her to shout at him and run away, screaming for help as she went, finally exposing him for the enemy infiltrator that he was. The spy who had captured the real Gilligan, her loyal friend who was right now lying helplessly gagged and bound inside a cave two miles away.
I'm not your friend, Mary Ann. I have never been your friend, I never will be your friend, and yet I intend to kiss you passionately like a lover. What do you think of that, moya horoshen'kaya...my pretty one?
Blind to who he really was, ignorant of his deliberate deception, Mary Ann stepped forward willingly into Agent 222's embrace.
Agent 222 put his hands on her bare midriff once more. His fingers flexed and pressed gently into her flesh, pulling her closer.
Ne speshite, he told himself. No rush. Remember, you are Gilligan. Control your urges. "I shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, then realised he'd said it out loud. Luckily, in Americanski.
"No-one's looking," said Mary Ann. "I don't mind if you kiss me, Gilligan, really I don't. I mean, it beats talking about the laundry, and Old Doctor Young, and manual workers and whatever the common cause is that you're so fond of mentioning, and..."
"Shh," said Agent 222, lifting his finger to her mouth. "No more talk." He moved his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his palm, stroking his thumb over her lower lip. And then with her head held firmly in his hand, he lowered his head and he kissed her.
Mary Ann closed her eyes as his lips descended. When they touched hers at last she let out an involuntary whimper, clutching his shoulders tightly, holding on for dear life. His kiss was gentle, his lips soft and supple, just as she'd imagined in so many dreams where she went to sleep holding her pillow and wishing it was him. She returned the kiss eagerly, breathing him in, her eyelashes dusting his cheek, her arms wound around his neck, pulling him even closer, pressing her whole body up against his.
It was a long, slow kiss, gentle yet firm, tender, yet surprisingly insistent. She vaguely wondered where on earth Gilligan had learned to kiss so well, so skilfully, so erotically, but her curiosity was quashed under her growing desire, a heat that built up like a fire in her belly, stoked further by the movement of his hands on her bare skin, sliding up her back under her top, caressing her spine in slow, sensuous strokes, descending to her hips and slipping over her backside, cupping her buttocks and kneading gently, even, dare she admit it, expertly. He seemed to know exactly how much time to spend on each caress, turning her on like a flame and leaving her in no doubt as to how much he wanted her too.
This couldn't be Gilligan. Could it?
"I saw him. The guy. The guy who took the pie. And you want to know something funny? He looked exactly like me..."
But this kiss. There was no stopping it, no stopping the feelings he was bringing to the surface, like an eruption of thick, molten lava bubbling up inside her, scorching her from head to toe, setting all her nerve endings alight, consuming her like no other feeling she'd ever experienced. She was helpless in his arms, controlled by the caress of his mouth pressed hard against hers, his tongue that conquered hers, exploring the inside of her mouth as though claiming new territory for himself.
If these were growing pains, then God help her when he finally reached adulthood.
Agent 222 broke the kiss at last, pulling back only slightly to gaze at her through hazy, heavy-lidded eyes. He was breathing hard, his arms around her almost shaking. Mary Ann was reminded of the bulls on the farm back in Kansas, their power and strength barely constrained as they waited for their turn at the cows. She let out a nervous giggle.
"Wow," she whispered.
"Wow?" he repeated, his mouth tipping into a lopsided smile.
"That was...quite a kiss, Gilligan," she said, suddenly unsure of herself.
"You liked it?" he asked, his smile growing wider.
"It was...unexpected," she murmured. Realising he was about to kiss her again, trembling with renewed anticipation, Mary Ann opened her mouth before he'd even moved his head, and hearing his soft laugh, knew that her desire for him was obvious.
"You like surprises, Mary Ann?" he chuckled, but there was no time for her to answer before he swept her into another scorching kiss, this one even hungrier than the first.
It was all Mary Ann could do to stay on her feet as once again he pressed her firmly against the wash tub, crushing his mouth against hers, pulling her hips against his, pushing up hard against her, so hard that the wash tub wobbled, and then tipped sideways, throwing them both off balance.
"Gilligan!" Mary Ann breathed, dragging her lips away from his. "Gilligan, be careful!"
Agent 222 staggered briefly before he caught her and regained his footing, unable and unwilling to release her from his clutches. He continued kissing her all over her face. Her cheeks, her eyelids, her neck, her throat, then over her shoulders, little butterfly kisses landing all over her tingling skin. "Strastocvet," he murmured, correcting himself quickly. "Passionflower." He brought his mouth back to hers and really went for it this time. He didn't want this one to get away like the last. He was determined not to go home a complete failure. Especially when it looked increasingly likely that he was going to be spending the rest of his life in Siberia.
"Passionflower?" Mary Ann whispered, stars dancing before her eyes as his hands roved everywhere, stroking over every available inch of bare flesh he could find.
"Moya sladkaya," he uttered hoarsely, burying his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her freshly washed hair.
"Gilligan, please...you're not making sense!" Mary Ann said, clutching his shoulders, her head tipped back, eyes shut, lost in the feel of his mouth on her throat, kissing, licking, nibbling.
"Since when did love ever make sense?" Agent 222 murmured, cupping her buttocks and pulling her hips hard against his, grinding himself into her, so desperate to make love to her he thought he would explode if he didn't get the chance soon.
"Love? Oh Gilligan, stop, this is too much," Mary Ann cried. But it wasn't. It wasn't too much. It was mad and crazy and impulsive and dangerous and she wanted it, she wanted Gilligan, and she pulled off his hat so that she could wind her fingers in his hair and hold his head firmly against her neck while he chewed on her clavicles and breathed hotly into her ear, murmuring mysterious, exotic sounding words that baffled yet aroused her with their urgency.
"Come with me," he murmured, pulling her towards the jungle. "Come with me, please...I implore you..."
Mary Ann let him pull her, she let him hurry her into the foliage beyond the clearing, no longer able to think clearly, no longer able to think of anything but Gilligan's need for her, and her need for him, and the excitement of being led into the jungle by a man she thought she knew, who was behaving like a complete but wildly exciting stranger.
Because surely there was only one Gilligan. There could only be one Gilligan. How likely was it that another Gilligan would show up on their island? It was impossible, wasn't it? But then, stranger things had certainly happened.
And Gilligan wasn't a liar.
His words kept coming back to haunt her.
"I saw the guy. The guy who took the pie. And you want to know something funny? He looked exactly like me..."
Now that they were deep into the bushes and well hidden from view, Agent 222 made no attempt to hide what he was after. His hands worked frantically, feverishly tugging at her clothes while his ragged breath hit her in scorching blasts, searing her face, burning her neck, driving her wild with a burning need for whatever it was he was intent on doing to her. He was a whirlwind, and her arms went up in the air to allow him to remove her top, exposing her brassiere, the little lacy white one with the small satin bow between her breasts, which he actually took a moment to admire with a glint in his eye and a big smile on his face before pushing and pulling her towards the ground, mumbling those strange words over and over again.
Flat out on the ground now, with the weight of Agent 222 pressed down on top of her, his mouth on hers and his hands everywhere, Mary Ann suddenly became panicky. "No," she insisted, breaking free of his kiss, but his mouth found hers again almost immediately, and she didn't want it to stop, this searing heat, his lips and tongue and his hands all over her, stroking and caressing and exploring.
"No!" she said again, urgently this time, but his lips went to her neck and he kissed her throat and murmured against her skin.
"Just this once, Mary Ann, please. Just this once. It'll feel good, I promise. You trust me, don't you? Don't you, Mary Ann? You trust me?"
Strastocvet, my passionflower, please don't be scared...
"I trust...Gilligan..." Mary Ann could hardly get her words out. Blinded by passion, thrilled yet scared by what he was doing to her, she clutched Agent 222's head to her neck as he moved his hand to the front of her shorts, fumbling to unhook the button. She couldn't believe what he was doing. When did Gilligan become so forward- so bold? Should she even be letting him do this? Because there was no denying it. She was letting him do it, and she knew deep down that her protests were just feeble attempts to make herself look less eager.
Agent 222 squeezed his eyes shut, his lips pressed against her neck, tongue moving in slow circles over her skin as she squirmed beneath him and made soft little sounds in the back of her throat. Always please the lady first, he reminded himself. Make her happy, and she is yours- and then you can get all the information you need.
In theory, this piece of Spy lore always worked well. In practise, it was hard not to get carried away with desire and completely forget his orders when the lady was making such pleasurable, sweet little noises beneath him.
Mary Ann clung to him, knowing she shouldn't be allowing this, but unable, unwilling to make him stop. And then he was kissing her mouth again, bruising her lips, his tongue pushing roughly inside. And her tongue met with his, and his fingers unfastened the button at last, and then he moved his whole body on top of her and pressed her further into the grass, where small stones and twigs grated uncomfortably against the bones of her spine.
"Mary Ann," he breathed into her mouth. "It's so good to get you alone at last. I have waited for this moment, my passionflower. To feel you in my arms, to kiss you, to love you like no-one has ever loved you before..."
Mary Ann wriggled under him, blinded by desire and fear and the realisation that he intended to have his way with her completely. His hands moved urgently over her torso, hips and thighs, his mouth returning frantically to hers again and again and again. But suddenly through the haze of lust his words hit her like a blow to the heart.
"To love you like no-one has ever loved you before..."
"No-one has ever loved me before," she whispered softly, her mouth pressed up against his ear. She clung to his shirt with her fingers wound around handfuls of the red fabric. Her entire body trembled and shook. Gilligan knows I've never had a boyfriend. Not a real one. Not one who would have loved me like this. He knew my so-called relationship with Horace Higgenbotham was just a fabrication. So why would he say something like that?
But if he wasn't Gilligan, then who was he? And if he wasn't Gilligan, or if Gilligan had somehow become someone else or was suffering amnesia through some sort of psychological disorder, why in heaven's name was she lying in his arms in the middle of the jungle letting him have his way with her?
Her skin turned icy. There was something not right about this. Something not right at all.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly, staring up over his shoulder at the leaves waving gently above their heads. "Who are you?"
Agent 222 stopped kissing her and froze. He literally froze and went motionless, like a statue, and it would have been funny if it hadn't been so serious. "I am Gilligan," he said, then realised that he'd said it like a robot, the same way he'd recited it over and over to the Kommandant. Idiotski!
"You're not behaving like Gilligan," she said softly, holding herself as still as he was, hardly even able to breathe.
"Mary Ann, I am. I'm Gilligan," he said, desperate to calm her fears, scared now that she really might start yelling. His hand moved away from her thigh and slowly towards his back pocket, hovering over his communicator, which surprisingly hadn't fallen out in his haste to get Mary Ann on her back. Please don't make me resort to Phase 4 already. Not you, Mary Ann. I can't kill you. Not after this. Please don't make me carry out my orders.
Strastocvet. Passionflower.
"Are you the guy who took the pie?" Mary Ann asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm Gilligan," Agent 222 said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Really. I know I've been having some problems lately, but..."
"Please get off me," Mary Ann said, as calmly as she could.
Without a single word of protest, Agent 222 lifted himself off Mary Ann and eased himself up onto his knees, his hand still hovering near his back pocket. His hair hung in his eyes, he brushed it back with an impatient swipe of his hand. He didn't take his eyes off her, watching and waiting for one false move. The Death Ray would finish her in a millisecond, but he didn't want to do it. He really, really didn't. She was sweet, and loving, and far too trusting for her own good. He wasn't an animal. He wasn't a cold blooded killer. Phase 4 had made him anxious from the very beginning of this assignment. He didn't join the Soviet Spy Agency to slaughter innocent people.
My mother was right all along. I should have been a doctor. To save lives, not to take them.
His hat was lying on the ground a few feet away. He groped for it without taking his eyes away from her. He found it, shook the leaves off it and replaced it on his head. With the hat on, he felt more like Gilligan, and he offered her a typical Gilligan grin, although the last thing he felt like doing was smiling. "I'm sorry, Mary Ann," he said, hesitantly. "I don't know what came over me. I can understand why you're angry. I shouldn't have done it."
"I'm not angry," Mary Ann said, although she was, and she was scared, too. "I just want to know who you are."
Agent 222 found Mary Ann's top amongst the bushes and handed it to her almost apologetically. "I'm Gilligan," he said again, watching her pull herself into a kneeling position and get dressed, reaching out gently to help brush leaves and twigs from her hair and shoulders. "And I got carried away, and I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. Her passion had run out. Once again he'd messed up. Once again he had failed to do his research. It didn't matter whether he targeted Ginger Grant or Mary Ann Summers. Gilligan just wasn't a seducer of women. Gilligan would never appreciate their warm, accomodating bodies the way he, Agent 222, did. Their musical laughter, their sighs and moans of joy as he conquered and made love to them. He sighed and ran his hands over his face. This is what you get for forgetting your mission, dompeski. You had orders to follow and you disobeyed almost every one. You deserve to be sent to Siberia. In fact, even Siberia is too good for you.
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry." Mne ochen zhal...
Mary Ann didn't know what to think any more. She sat there allowing him to brush the debris from her shoulders and arms. Apart from the fact that his face was deathly pale and set into an eerie, expressionless mask, he looked like Gilligan. He sounded like Gilligan, except for the odd word here and there that seemed like he'd made it up. But he wasn't behaving like Gilligan. He definitely wasn't behaving like Gilligan. Oh, but if only Gilligan would behave like that, and that she could believe without a shadow of a doubt that it was really him!
"You know I'd never do anything to hurt you," said Agent 222, knowing that the device which would kill her dead was sitting right there in the back pocket of his jeans, but that there was no way he could ever use it on someone so small and defenceless. He would kill himself first, and then that pig of a Kommandant who had sent him here with such ridiculous orders in the first place.
"I know," Mary Ann said softly. "Because Gilligan doesn't lie."
Agent 222 felt something stir in his chest. He realised he hadn't felt like this since he'd broken the heart of his childhood sweetheart, Natalia Petrenko, by telling her he couldn't see her any more and then running off in the dead of night to join the Soviet Spy Agency and revoking his former life altogether.
Gilligan doesn't lie, my passionflower, he thought with a sadness he hadn't felt in years. But I do.
Mary Ann and Agent 222 continued to stare at each other, with unspoken words like broken shards of glass between them, pieces of a whole that had been irrevocably shattered. And then Agent 222 sprang to his feet like a bullet from a gun and fled, moving so fast that he had to hold onto his hat to prevent it falling off. Which is just what Gilligan does, thought Mary Ann. Gilligan always holds onto his hat when he runs.
When she was sure that he'd gone and wasn't coming back, Mary Ann got up off the ground and straightened her clothing, embarrassment flooding through her like a heatwave. What would the rest of the castaways say if they knew what she'd been out here doing? Ginger would be mortified, and Mrs. Howell would have an apoplectic fit. I can't talk about this to anyone, she decided. I'll have to give Gilligan the benefit of the doubt. After all, he's displayed strange behaviour before, and he always comes back to himself. He'll come back again this time. Won't he?
Mary Ann cast a final look back into the jungle, hoping he hadn't disappeared entirely but seeing no sign of him anywhere. Cautiously, and looking out for her fellow castaways, she went back to her washing, as innocently and as nonchalantly as possible, which under the circumstances wasn't easy. She knew she'd be wondering about Gilligan all day. She had never known him so out of character. So bold and assertive, so flirtatious, dare she say it, so unpredictable and sexy. Whatever was wrong with him, whether he was actually suffering from whatever the Professor had called it, Ego Image Displacement, or some sort of split personality syndrome, she hoped they'd find a cure for it soon. Maybe he was just going through a growth spurt. Maybe he was as confused by his feelings as she was by hers. She couldn't believe that there really were two Gilligans on the island.
But Gilligan didn't lie.
"I saw the guy. The guy who took the pie. And you want to know something funny? He looked exactly like me."
Still unsure, but unwilling to believe it wasn't Gilligan, Mary Ann picked up the washing basket and carried it back to the line. As she began pegging up the clothes by herself, she found that she was missing his company already. Maybe he was as embarrassed by his behaviour as she was, in which case she knew she wouldn't be seeing him for a while as he'd probably start trying to avoid her. But one thing was for sure. Even if Gilligan completely returned to normal and forgot everything that had happened between them, Mary Ann wasn't going to forget what he'd done for her that day, the heat and the lust he had stirred up within her, and she certainly wasn't going to forget the affectionate name he'd called her. The only term of endearment he had ever given her in all the years they'd been here, shipwrecked on this lonely desert isle.
Passionflower.