A/N: I dunno if you're familiar with "Mills and Boon," but this drabble was supposed to be a very short interpretation of one of those cheesy romantic harlequin-esque novels. Pretty tame here...just for fun.

Ripped as she was from her life as an executive assistant, Jane Foster was pleased to finally be at the shore, reveling in the waves beating the coast in constant motion.

Ripped, torn, rent…whatever.

She walked along, barefooted and sanguine with her alabaster skin too exposed in the sun's blaze. She loathed her job.

She had been walking for a spell, when she spotted a dark-haired person approaching her from the opposite direction.

Man.

Long black hair.

Tall…

Jane had left her tedious boyfriend back in New York along with her job. No harm in some innocent flirtation.

He was very near now, and she blanched a bit (if that was possible, she was already stark in the heated environment). Don't lose your resolve, now, Jane. Speak with him.

"Hey," Jane said with a smile. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"It is," replied the man, stopping.

She nodded, and then kept walking, suddenly aware of what she was doing and who she was.

"It is a shame," she heard him saying, and she turned. "That we should enjoy this endless beauty by ourselves," and as Jane turned, he was smiling at her. There was a devilish grin that was both captivating and intimidating smeared across his face.

She shrugged and followed. "I'm Jane."

"Loki."

"Odd name."

"Yours isn't."

She looked with a hint of a blush. "No. It isn't. Boring parents."

He laughed at that. "Well, since that is the litmus test, I can tell you that my parents are decidedly not boring."

"You're British?" she smiled.

"I am, yes."

And they continued on like this…

And before long they were holding hands.

Jane thought that this was decidedly his doing, but didn't mind.

"Are you attached?" he asked as they stopped to admire the vast sea before them…the sun slowly slipping down to the crest of the horizon, screaming its hues in the process.

"I was …But it didn't work out."

"Shame, that."

"Sorta. He wasn't…" Jane looked at Loki. "Wasn't terribly exciting."

"Dull?" he looked at her mouth.

"Mmmhmm," she looked at his.

And he took her in his arms there, pulling her onto the sand with him, kissing her with ferocity, and Jane returned it willfully.

The shore was being beat steadily with the tide, and the pair moved in tandem with the waves, his hands all over her, caressing her breasts, slipping under her skirt…

Jane cried out, pleasure laced in every cry, spied along her features…

"Here, Loki?" she panted.

"Here. Now," he commanded.

The night was falling, as was his caress, and Jane looked to the canopy of stars as he continued his ministrations…

…no matter what she thought of herself or this man she had known but a few hours, it can not be said that either of them were boring.

At least not now.