[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
The evening had settled over Venice, wrapping the city in a blanket of indigo and the distant sounds of water lapping against stone.
Inside the opulent suite of the Hotel Danieli, the velvet curtains were drawn back just enough to let the moonlight spill across the intricate Persian rug.
Wanda leaned back against the sofa. Her legs were stretched out the length of the cushions, her bare feet resting securely in the warm valley of Aryan's lap.
He was sitting in the middle of the sofa. In his left hand, the bright screen of his smartphone cast a bluish glow across his jawline. His right hand, however, was entirely dedicated to her.
His strong fingers were wrapped around her left arch, his thumb pressing methodically into the sole of her foot, moving in slow circles.
Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, a soft sigh escaping her lips as his thumb dug into a particularly tight knot near her heel.
"You have magic in your hands, Doctor," Wanda murmured, letting her head loll against the back of the sofa. She opened one eye to look at him. "Where exactly did you learn to do this?"
Aryan didn't look up from his phone, his thumb continuing its slow pressure against her skin. A satisfied smirk curled the corner of his mouth.
"I am a man of many hidden talents, Wanda," Aryan said. "During my teenage years, while other boys were out attempting to play sports or failing to build cars, I was thinking ahead."
"Thinking ahead?" Wanda asked, shifting her right foot slightly to nudge his hip, demanding equal attention. "To what?"
Aryan seamlessly switched his grip, his right hand moving to envelop her right foot, his fingers immediately finding the tension in her arch.
"I used to sit in my room," he explained, scrolling on his screen with his free hand, "and I would imagine that one day, I would have a beautiful girlfriend. And I knew, scientifically speaking, that the fastest way to a woman's heart after a long day of walking was a perfectly executed foot massage. So, I dedicated hours of my life to the study of reflexology."
Wanda let out a laugh. "You practiced foot massages for a hypothetical girlfriend?"
"I was a very optimistic teenager," he defended smoothly, finally glancing up from his phone to give her a wink. "I believed in preparing for the best case scenario."
"And to whom did you practice this great skill?" she asked, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. "Who was the lucky recipient of this teenage dedication?"
Aryan's thumb paused its circular motion for a second. He looked back down at his phone, his smirk widening into a mischievous grin.
"Why, Miss Maximoff," he teased. "Are you feeling a little jealous of my past? Are you wondering who else has experienced the legendary Spencer massage technique?"
"I am not jealous," Wanda stated, crossing her arms over her chest, though she couldn't completely suppress the smile tugging at her lips. "I am merely conducting a background check. Who was she?"
Aryan let out a laugh, tossing his head back. He looked at her, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement.
"Well, if you must know," Aryan said, his voice dropping into a dramatic whisper. "They were... exceptionally quiet partners. Very compliant. They never complained about my technique."
Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Quiet partners?"
"Yes," Aryan nodded. "They were cadavers. First year gross anatomy lab in medical school. You see, the plantar fascia is very complex and a cadaver is incredibly patient when you are trying to locate the exact position of the calcaneal tuberosity."
Wanda stared at him for three full seconds before she burst into genuine laughter. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking.
"You are horrible!" she gasped, laughing so hard her feet twitched in his lap. "You practiced romance on a corpse?"
"It wasn't romance at the time, it was academics!" Aryan argued, laughing with her. He gripped her ankles gently to keep her still. "But the muscle memory transferred beautifully. Look at you. You are practically melting into the upholstery. I say my time in the freezing morgue was an absolute triumph for our current relationship."
Wanda wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.
"If you want to practice your techniques so badly," Wanda said, her voice dropping into a more intimate register, "you can practice on me. I am much warmer."
Aryan's hands stilled completely on her ankles. He lowered his phone, placing it face down on the velvet cushion beside his hip.
He turned his body slightly, his dark gaze locking onto hers with an intense heat that made the air in the suite feel thick.
"Is that an open invitation, Wanda?" he asked. "Because if it is, I have a very extensive knowledge of human anatomy that I would be more than happy to review with you."
Wanda felt a flush of heat rise up her neck. She held his gaze, a playful spark lighting up her green eyes.
"I said nothing," she whispered innocently, looking pointedly away from his burning stare and gesturing toward the phone he had just abandoned. "What are you doing on your phone, anyway? You have been staring at it for twenty minutes."
Aryan let out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, picking the phone back up.
"I was reading," he grumbled, though the affectionate smile returned to his face. "I am keeping up with the cultural zeitgeist. The internet is a fascinating place."
"Read some for me," Wanda commanded, wiggling her toes against his stomach.
Before he could answer, she suddenly sat up, pulling her feet entirely out of his lap. She swung her legs off the sofa, planting her feet on the floor.
Aryan blinked, looking at his suddenly empty lap with an expression of loss. "Hey. Where are the feet going? I was working on a very specific knot."
Wanda reached forward, grasping Aryan by the ankles.
With a surprisingly strong tug, she pulled his legs toward her, forcing him to shift his weight until he was slouched back against the cushions, his legs now draped across her lap.
"Wanda, what are you doing?" he asked, looking bewildered.
"I am returning the favor," she said firmly. She placed her hands on his calves. "And besides, your technique is flawed. You are too aggressive with the heel. That is called harassment, Dr. Spencer, not a massage. I will be the one to show you how it is properly done."
"Harassment?" Aryan gasped in mock outrage. "My thumbs are registered weapons of relaxation!"
"Hush," Wanda instructed. She placed her thumbs gently against the arches of his feet. Instead of the deep pressure he had used, she employed a gliding motion, pressing her palms against the sides of his feet and running her thumbs smoothly upward toward his toes.
She watched his face carefully.
Aryan's eyes fluttered shut almost instantly. His head lolled back against the sofa cushions, a low groan escaping his parted lips.
"Oh, my god," Aryan breathed, his entire body melting into the furniture. "Okay. I retract my previous statement. This is heaven."
"Shut up and read your phone," Wanda smiled, continuing the soothing strokes, finding a deep satisfaction in the way his muscles completely surrendered to her touch.
"Okay, okay," Aryan mumbled lazily, blindly reaching for his phone without opening his eyes.
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