"Xanthippe," Methos muttered as he glared from the couch at his host, "nagged less."
"You can't expect me to believe you knew Socrates' wife, Methos," Duncan informed him bluntly, a bunch of feathers in one hand and a broom in the other. "Zion coming down right now wouldn't get you out of this, either."
"And where did you get the idea that I do housework?" the older immortal growled, never moving from his comfortable sprawl in which book, iced tea, and remote control were all within easy reach.
"Because you've survived five thousand years and 67 -- no, 68 -- wives? Come on, old man, get your ass off that couch and grab a broom," the Scot ordered him again, wanting to get the spring cleaning over with and be out into the day.
"Dueling brooms," and Methos' mouth quirked into an abrupt grin as he considered the possibility of getting out of work. "Every student wants to do that at least once I think."
"Forget it. Get over it." Hastily Mac backed away, his absurdly small feather duster held defensively in front of his chest and the broom held behind him so that Methos wouldn't get any more weapons than he already had. "I am not your student! Just think how hard Connor would laugh over that one!"
Keeping that ominous look on his face was getting more difficult for Methos as he tried not to crack up as Mac's face reflected his rapidly shifting emotions, first flushing and then paling. Looks like some of my stories about how I train students finally sunk in on the Boy Scout. Murder, mayhem, and torture are vastly overrated, MacLeod, especially where you're concerned. Now, personally, I think a good mindfuck is much, much more fun.
"On your knees," Methos purred, ideas pouring through his mind and waiting for consideration before spinning on downstream to let the next one bob up. Pointing at the floor in front of himself, he considered his options while watching Mac approach as slowly and warily as if Methos might bite.
"Quid pro quo, MacLeod; you know the phrase?" Restraint, Methos griped to himself, is always such a bitch around him, and I would love to see what he'd do if I.... Sometimes I wonder what Gods are laughing that a man this gorgeous can be so damn narrow-minded. The world could come to an end, every woman on it dead -- and wouldn't that be a damn waste -- and Mac would never even think about sex with another man, he concluded.
Until the Scot smiled at him, a sultry look usually reserved for his date of the week, and in a husky growl said, "Something for something, huh, Methos?" Vocal skills gone temporarily, Methos could only stare in surprise as Mac knelt between his legs, arms braced on long thighs as if to keep him from running, and licked his lips. "Where do you think I should start cleaning you, then?" he chuckled, and all their earlier missed signals were, finally, received.