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“Could I ask you for a bit of advice?”
It wasn’t the sort of question Amanda expected during the aftermath of intimacy, particularly not from Duncan, who usually preferred silence in these moments. He tended to cling, wordless, his head resting against her chest, listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat.
So this was new. And interesting.
He tensed almost immediately after speaking, as if the words had slipped out unguarded. Amanda felt the shift—muscle tightening, movement hesitating. A crack in the armor. Rare, and therefore far too interesting to waste.
Naturally, she smiled.
“Why, darling,” she purred, languid and amused, “have you finally remembered who’s the experienced one in this relationship? Tell Auntie Amanda all your troubles.”
The defenses snapped back into place with nearly audible force.
“Actually, it’s not that important. Forget it.”
He started to turn away. She didn’t let him.
Amanda caught his arm and pulled him back with just enough insistence to make the point. He resisted for a second, then relented.
“Now, don’t be tiresome,” she said lightly. “You asked. You don’t get to run away immediately after.”
“It’s nothing. Just a thought.”
“A thought you’ve been carrying around for a while, or one that just occurred to you?”
Bullseye.
Four centuries old and still transparent when it mattered. His jaw tightened. He didn’t answer.
Amanda’s expression softened. She reached up, guiding his face back toward her, not allowing him to look away this time.
“Duncan,” she said, quieter now. “You can talk to me. I shouldn’t have teased you.”
He tried to evade her gaze again. She held it.
“I mean it.”
A pause.
“It’s… silly.”
“There’s no such thing,” she murmured.
Another, longer pause. Then, reluctantly, with just a hint of humor:
“Well… you are the experienced one.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
That earned the faintest shift, tension easing, just a little. She had him back. Or so she thought.
Because what he said next landed completely out of left field.
“How do you seduce a man?”
Amanda blinked in surprise. Then she very carefully did not laugh. Nearly four hundred years of waiting condensed into one dangerously fragile moment of self-restraint. She managed, barely.
“Well,” she said, composed, almost thoughtful, “found yourself a juicy piece of beef?”
The look he gave her was half fond, half long-suffering. Good. Normal ground again.
“Men are easy,” she continued, settling more comfortably, a slow smile returning. “You already know that. Preferences vary, of course, but generally? Directness works. Don’t play games—they’re terrible at them. Let them know you’re interested, then step back. Let them think it’s their idea.”
She tilted her head, considering.
“And try not to get punched. That does tend to ruin the mood.”
He didn’t look convinced. If anything, he looked more conflicted. Far too much weight for a passing curiosity.
Amanda watched him for a moment, then her smile sharpened. “Or,” she said softly, “is this about someone specific?”
Silence. Which, in Duncan’s case, was as good as a confession.
Her grin widened. “My, my, Duncan. Thinking of someone else while you’re with me? How very rude.”
And potentially very interesting.
“Who is it?” she pressed. “Someone I know? Joe, perhaps? I could see that. Solid choice, very dishy. I’d be happy to help you strategize.”
For a moment, he looked like he might refuse outright. Then he exhaled.
“It’s Methos.”
Amanda stared at him.
Then she broke.
Laughter hit her all at once. Sharp, bright, and completely uncontrollable. She doubled over, breathless, tears gathering in her eyes. Duncan did not look amused.
“It’s hopeless, then,” he said flatly.
That only made it worse. “What—no,” she managed between laughs. “No, no, not hopeless. Just—” She waved a hand, trying to recover. “Oh, Duncan.”
His expression did not help. Every time she looked at him, the absurdity resurfaced, and she had to fight not to laugh again. Eventually, she dragged herself back under control.
“Of course it’s Methos,” she muttered, half to herself, still smiling.
“I’ll give you a plan,” she said with exaggerated seriousness. “A flawless one. Guaranteed success.”
He regarded her with deep suspicion. “What do I do?”
“Let me show you.”
Good thing he was only after a tumble. Anything more, and they’d be at war. Because that old man could run.
Amanda slid off the bed in one smooth motion and tugged Duncan with her.
“You’re Methos,” she said. “Try to look… older. More cynical. Hunch your shoulders. Yes, that’ll do.” She corrected his posture, turning him into position.
“And I’m you,” she added, tilting her head, mimicking his stance.
Duncan frowned. She ignored it.
“Right. So. He’s standing like this—” She gestured, then closed the distance. “And then—”
She poked him sharply in the side.
He flinched on instinct, balance gone for just a second.
That was all she needed. Amanda shoved him backward onto the bed and followed immediately, pinning him with practiced ease, laughter already threatening again.
“I’ll assume you can manage the rest,” she said, breath warm against his ear.
And then she did laugh—bright, delighted, and entirely unrepentant. Because the look on his face was, quite simply, worth everything.