A/N: Helloooo! Briefly (yeah, right), for those of you who have read my longer fic, 'I Do, I Do, I Do', this is really just a ficlet set early on in the MAG marriage while they are getting used to the fact that they're married and well...'doing it'.

I had planned some time ago to write a follow-up to I Do because of all the positive reader response it received. (Thank you so, so much). I'm thinking that a series of self-contained one-shots might be the way to do it. That way, I can skip back and forth- I can write about Gilligan and Mary Ann, or I can write about Molly Rebecca, or I can even explore the feelings of the other castaways in relation to the altered dynamics of the group. We shall see. For now, it's just this little ficlet right here.

It's a start, right? Okay, yes, it's also a good excuse to write about Gilligan and Mary Ann having sex. :D

Afterglow

Mary Ann awakes. It is still the middle of the night, and he is awake, too. She can see the blinking of his eyes. The small, rapid swish of his eyelashes, long and black, darker than the night itself. Her own eyes adjust to the gloom and his profile sharpens. The hair over his forehead, the slope of his nose, his lips, his rounded chin. He is lying next to her in the bed that they share together, and even though they've been married several weeks, she still can't quite believe it.

"Gilligan," she whispers. "Are you awake?"

His profile disappears as he turns his head towards her on the pillow.

"Yeah," he says, softly. His voice is low, lower than she's ever heard it. She thinks he has changed already. He is not a boy any more.

Mary Ann snuggles closer. "Can't you sleep?"

He shifts slightly to accommodate her as she slips in under his arm. "Not really."

"Didn't I wear you out enough?" Mary Ann's voice is light, teasing, but already he is having an effect on her and the warmth of him, the smell of him, is taking over.

He doesn't always respond to teasing or jokes, and this time is no exception. "I was just thinking. About...you know. Being married." He laughs briefly, although it's less of a sound and more of a quick tremor through his body accompanied by a puff of air from his nose and mouth.

"That's funny," she replies, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I was thinking the same thing."

"I was thinking how I used to be so against it."

Mary Ann runs her fingers through his small patch of chest hair. He is as naked as the day he was born, and so is she. This is another thing she still can't quite believe. She burrows into him and breathes in the scent of his skin. She can smell herself on him; the subtle fragrance of her perfume still clings to him from the last time they made love.

"You're not having second thoughts already, are you?" she smiles.

"Second thoughts?" he brushes his lips through her hair. "Only that I should have asked you sooner."

His words give her an unexpected thrill, a surge of warmth that makes her tingle everywhere.

"Really? You really think that?" she asks.

He shifts over onto his side. The bed creaks and adjusts to the sudden movement. Even the air itself seems startled, lifting away from him before settling down again, conforming to the shape of his smoothly rising shoulder.

"I really do," he says, seriously.

Mary Ann presses closer still, and then she kisses him. At first softly, almost shyly, her lips tugging gently at his. And then deeper, emboldened by the blanket of darkness and his arms wound protectively around her.

The kiss ends and he nuzzles her under her chin. His cheeks are vaguely scratchy. He presses his lips against the softest part of her throat. She has never felt anything so good.

Gilligan moves again, this time easing over her until she is underneath him. Now his beautiful eyes are above her, two shimmering orbs in the darkness.

"Well, hello there!" she laughs.

"Hi," he murmurs, grinning.

Again, they kiss deeply. Mary Ann murmurs her approval. She cups his neck and strokes the hair behind his ear. She can feel his lips stretching as he smiles through the kiss.

When the kiss ends, he rubs their noses together like an Eskimo greeting. She tickles his eyelashes with her lips.

"I love that you've become so bold," she giggles.

Gilligan presses her into the mattress with the whole of his body. She feels every contour of him, every lean muscle, every nub of bone, every warm expanse of skin, all the way down. The hairs on his thighs are prickly; they make her own thighs twitch. He is unmistakeably aroused; he seeks entrance. They have been making energetic love almost non-stop since their wedding night, including twice tonight, and they are still desperate for each other's touch.

"You think?" Gilligan buries his face in her neck.

"Mmmmm," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around him, drawing him down.

"I'm scared out of my mind," he admits, laughing into her hair.

"I confess, I'm terrified, too."

Gilligan begins to kiss her neck and shoulders, his lips gliding along her collarbones. "You taste like French vanilla," he says.

"So that's why you like kissing me," she smiles.

"Mmm," he agrees. "French vanilla and hot, buttery popcorn." He reaches her breasts and takes a taut, perky nipple into his mouth. Mary Ann gasps in delight then closes her eyes, her small, white teeth pulling at her lower lip. She marvels at the surprising skill with which his hands and mouth move over her, silencing all rational thought.

For a moment, Mary Ann's thoughts drift. Her mind still sometimes struggles to equate the man who is now making love to her with the boy who still careens around the island in his sailor hat, rugby shirt and jeans. But Gilligan is no longer quite the naïve man-child that he was. In appearance he hasn't changed all that much; he is still as slender as a reed, as endearingly goofy and awkward as a colt, his blue-green eyes bright with enthusiasm and happiness. But these days there is a certain knowledge behind those eyes, and you don't have to look too hard to see it.

Gilligan is finally growing up.

Mary Ann presses her head back into the pillow, moaning ever so softly. She holds the back of his head, threading her fingers through his hair. He is latched onto her breast like a newborn, sucking and nibbling and making her squirm with pleasure. She shifts beneath him and brings her legs up on either side of his waist. He releases her nipple and takes his cue.

Mary Ann now knows all the secrets that lie beneath Gilligan's rumpled rugby shirt and faded jeans. The secrets that have always been there, like treasure waiting to be discovered. It's as if she has developed x-ray vision. While Gilligan goes about his daily chores she sees all the minute movements of his muscles under his clothes. His slim, compact shoulders; the ones she is clinging to now. The lean muscles of his lower back; the ones that drive his hips forward, as they are doing now. His firm butt muscles; the ones she likes to grab when they're at the huts, pressing herself, giggling, against his back, making him blush in case anyone spots them 'making out in public'. And his leg muscles; slender but amazingly sturdy, packed with stamina and endurance, those legs that take him to the top of a coconut tree and are now keeping him steady while he glides into her, again and again and again, bringing her steadily to a crescendo.

Which brings her to that muscle he's using now. The one she likes best of all; the beautiful specimen of manhood that he's kept hidden from her all these years. She wonders if his discovery of the joys this muscle brings to them both is the reason why he wishes he had asked her to marry him sooner.

The bed rocks and creaks. Gilligan breathes hard above her, barely making any noise apart from the odd involuntary grunt of exertion. Mary Ann finds it very endearing that the only time he is silent, ironically, is when he is fully engaged in sex. It's as if he needs to concentrate completely so that he doesn't get it wrong, doesn't give her cause to doubt his ability as a husband.

But there is no cause to doubt. Gilligan is adapting to sex the way he has adapted to every other new thing in his life. With a little caution at first, but with a willingness to learn, and with the knowledge that he is bound to make a few mistakes but ultimately he will triumph.

And triumph he does. Mary Ann shudders in ecstacy, her satisfaction complete. Gilligan continues for a few moments then he shudders too, trembling in Mary Ann's embrace as his efforts reach their natural conclusion.

Afterwards they lie in each others arms, breathing hard. Two people joined as one, every muscle singing beneath the skin. A joyous feeling, like a wonder drug, a cure for all ills. Their blood buzzes with it, the air is positively charged. Wrapped in Gilligan's warm embrace, Mary Ann's mind wanders. Idly, she thinks that the energy they create when they make love could power a thousand lightbulbs, bringing electricity to their island home at last.

Finally Gilligan laughs. He has a tendency to giggle after sex, as if he can't quite believe what he's done. He laughs, and the whole bed shakes. Mary Ann laughs too.

If she could bottle this feeling and sell it, she'd be richer than even the Howells.

She rises up to prop herself on his chest, now damp with fresh sweat. She looks down into his happy face, just inches away from hers. His eyes are twinkling. He is giving her his biggest, smuggest grin, because he knows how much she loves it, knows how much it makes her laugh, even though she pretends it drives her crazy.

"I love you," she murmurs, tracing her finger across his lips.

"I love you too," he replies, kissing her fingertip.

All the sheets are bunched up and rumpled at the bottom of the bed, kicked there by Gilligan's big clumsy feet. Mary Ann reaches down and pulls them up over both of their heads. They snuggle down deep, buried in their warm cocoon of bedsheets and love. Gilligan and Mary Ann, united.

"So, how did I do?" Gilligan asks, innocently.

Mary Ann erupts into giggles. She can't see his face in the darkness, but she knows that one eyebrow will be arched, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, his lips curved in a deliberate smile of smugness personified. She pretends to humour him. It's become their little game. She gives him the answer he is expecting. And while she says it jokingly, she knows that he knows there is absolute truth in every word that she utters.

"Oh, Gilligan," she sighs. "You were wonderful!"