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A Spelled Thanksgiving

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Story

Summary: Anya naked at the Thanksgiving-table?

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Stargate > Anya-Centered > Pairing: Jack O'NeillNorwegianneFR15116,01801920,38924 Oct 0512 Oct 06No

NOTE: This chapter is rated FR18

Chocolate sauce

“That was… great,” Anya grins, as she snuggles closer to Jack. “You’re very good at giving multiple orgasms.”

“Thank you.”

“Life is good. I have had orgasms. I have a boyfriend to snuggle with. Christmas is around the corner and I’m alive.”

“That’s a pretty good list,” Jack comments.

“Of course, I also have another list,” she gets out of bed, and walks over to her suitcase, as naked as she was the day she was resurrected. She opens the suitcase and, after taking out the chocolate sauce bottle, finds the piece of paper she is looking for. “Things Jack and I are going to do this weekend.”

“I was thinking of taking you to a game, tomorrow,” he comments briefly, as she sits back down in bed with her list.

“Can we have sex there?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t do sex in public. Also, hockey.”

“Yes,” Anya says as she turns around. “You mix things you love. Like foreplay with chocolate sauce.”

“I’m still not going to have sex with you at the hockey arena.”

“Prude.”

“I’m not. What else is on your list?”

“Oh, the hockey arena wasn’t on my list,” Anya says. “You didn’t let me know about it before I left, so I didn’t get a chance to write it on.”

“Thank God,” Jack mutters. He pulls her back for a quick hug. “I adore you, but sometimes when you say something, I feel like my heart stops.”

Anya chooses not to comment on it. Instead she saves it to a file in her brain called “Things to yell at Jack for in out next fight,” and settles for smiling serenely at him. They don’t have much actual orgasm time together, so why spoil it with a fight? Even if make-up sex would be nice.

“Can I see the list?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“If I’m going to be participating in a sexual marathon, I’m going to need to know it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

She looks at him. “Jack, I know I’m fairly outspoken. I’ve made no effort to hide it. You’ve known me since my resurrection. Whatever made you think that, when you invited me here, you wouldn’t be participating in a sexual marathon?”

“We talk.”

“Of course we do,” Anya says. “How else would you know to go faster, harder or slower?”

He sits up. “I meant that we have actual non-sexual conversations – wherein we both are clothed and the topic of our conversations isn’t orgasms or sex or any derivative thereof.”

Anya considers it. They’ve talked about their lives. They’ve talked about their friends. They’ve talked about The Simpsons and proper ways to invest money so that you’ll get the proper returns and have to pay a minimum in taxes. Up until this visit, she’d say that they’d talked too much and not spent enough times getting orgasms.

“If I concede that you do have a point,” Anya says as she tries to look innocent. “What will you give me?”

Jack looks at her for a second or two before he leans over and grabs her list. He glances on it. “In return for a concession speech, I believe I’m willing to do number three and four on your list.”

“What about one and two?” Anya asks. After all, she did bother to list them in a numerical order for a reason. She doesn’t get people who list things by numbers without having a reason for it. If you want to do something – of course it is on the top of the list.

“I’m old. My knee can’t take either number one or two.”

“That excuse will only get you so far, mister “I’m younger than my girlfriend by more than a millennium.” How about five and six, then? A geriatric in a wheelchair could do them. Come to think of it, why didn’t Giles bring wheelchairs with him out of Sunnydale? Think of all the fun we could’ve had.”

“No,” he says thoughtfully, and quite pointedly ignores the part about the wheelchairs. “I think that two items on the list are sufficient motivation for your concession speech.”

Anya rolls her eyes. It’s not like she would have asked him to do sexual things in the wheelchair. After all, it isn’t like she’s a sex-crazy nymphomaniac. Sex is not all she thinks about. There’s also money.

“Fine. I, Anyanka Jenkins, without all the crazy-assed middle-names this time around, formerly demon and currently very much human, concede that my boyfriend had a point regarding our mutual conversations, so that we can have sex.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Happy?” He had better be. She is not doing it again.

“Yeah. Time for food.”

And with that remark he gets out of bed, puts on some clothes and leave the room.

Anya splutters. She didn’t get her reward. How rude and inconsiderate that man is. It is just plain discourteous to not abide by the rules of an agreement. Especially when that agreement is with a former vengeance demon.

She wraps the sheet around herself, and follows him down to the kitchen. She is considering stomping down the hallway, but she knows from experience that doing so barefoot would hurt her feet.

When she gets down to the kitchen, there’s water boiling on the stove. Jack is in the middle of chopping vegetables, and when he looks up at her, he grins, quickly before returning to the chopping.

Anya decides that her reward can wait for later. After all, sex isn’t everything in their relationship.

The End?

You have reached the end of "A Spelled Thanksgiving" – so far. This story is incomplete and the last chapter was posted on 12 Oct 06.

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