For Quill--Voltron

"Haven't you ever done this before?" Sven asked, and Lotor sneered at him imperiously.

"I," he said, with all the haughty arrogance he possessed, "am the Prince of Doom; I don't do--" another sneer, this time accompanied by a vague hand gesture "--menial labor."

"No, you were the Prince of Doom; and, now, you do do menial labor." Sven slammed to door to the washing machine with a little more force than was exactly necessary. "Or at least you will once I get you trained." He sighed and shoved a basket of clean clothes into Lotor's arms. "Here. Fold this, will you?"

"You make it sound as if I'm some sort of monkey to be taught tricks for the amusement of the masses." Lotor gingerly picked up a shirt, then put it down with a wrinkling of his nose.

"Not at all. A monkey would be a faster learner." Sven dumped in the last of the white clothes and turned on the machine. It rumbled, loudly at first, and then settled down into a steady hum. "Anyway it doesn't matter anymore."

"Oh." Lotor looked around and pushed the clothes away from him -- discreetly, of course. "Well. Now what?"

Sven grinned, somewhat ferally. He backed Lotor up against the humming machine and kissed him, swift and devastating. "Now, the fun part begins."