A/N: Here goes... my first semi-smut fic. I don't know what to expect! Will there be flamers? Lovers? Favorites?
... okay, maybe not lovers, but favorites? Definitely.
"Annabeth, I'm home!" yelled Percy from the foyer, setting his briefcase down by the stairs. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie, ready for a leisurely Friday night of pizza and movies under the New-Release section of On-Demand.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Annabeth Chase-Jackson was just taking the lasagna out of the oven and popping a bottle of champagne.
It seemed that the two adults had very different ideas of what would be going on that night.
Percy strode into the kitchen with his nose in the air. "What is that sme—" He paused, looking at his wife. "Annabeth, you're wearing an apron." This was, truthfully, a very rare occurrence.
But not entirely true. Annabeth had spent the evening straightening her hair and putting this freaky glossy stuff that Rachel gave her in it, applying a shitload of fancy makeup, and waxing her legs. It hurt like #!*% , but she did it for Percy. She looked very upper-crust and well-to-do, except for one little detail she appeared to have forgotten.
She was wearing an apron.
This was not the cause of Percy's surprise.
She was wearing an apron…
And nothing else.
Well, then.
Percy stuttered, blushing furiously. Annabeth patiently set the bottle of champagne on the table and in one seductive move, pulled the strings of the apron and let it fall to the floor. She was, as one can now infer, fully displaying her definitely-not-a-little-girl-anymore breasts and body, gazing at Percy invitingly.
"Well," she said, "what are you waiting for?"
Miraculously, Percy recovered from the pleasant shock and advanced towards her, tackling her and pinning her on the ground. She giggled.
They did it on the dining room table.