The bedroom was a mess of soft lamplight and tangled sheets, the kind of night where the world outside could have fallen away and neither of you would’ve noticed. Kane was propped up against the headboard, his t-shirt a little wrinkled, hair damp from the late shower he’d taken. You were stretched out across the bed with your legs draped over his lap, your toes nudging against his thigh.
Without warning, he caught your foot in one broad hand and started pressing his thumb into the arch. The sound that escaped your throat was embarrassingly close to a groan.
“Oh my god,” you muttered, eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t stop.”
Kane smirked, working steady circles into your foot like he’d been born to do it. “What’s that? Did you just admit I’m useful?”
“You’re tolerable,” you shot back, fighting a smile.
He barked out a laugh. “Tolerable? That’s the bar you’re setting for your husband? Jesus. I put on a uniform every damn day, and all I get at home is tolerable?”
You cracked one eye open to watch him, the way his brow furrowed in mock offense, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching like he couldn’t hold the act together. “You also leave your boots in the hallway every night. You’re lucky I haven’t broken my neck yet.”
“Strategic placement,” he countered smoothly, shifting his grip to your heel. “Obstacle training. You’re welcome.”
You laughed, kicking at his side with your free foot, but he caught that one too, trapping both ankles in his lap now. He gave you a mock-serious look, soldier-straight. “Careful. That’s assaulting an officer.”
Rolling your eyes, you wiggled your toes against his stomach. “Oh, shut up. You love it.”
His smile softened then, though his voice stayed teasing. “Yeah, I do. Doesn’t mean you’re not a menace.”
He leaned down suddenly and pressed a kiss against your ankle, his lips warm against your skin. It sent a little jolt through you, but he just looked up at you with that crooked grin of his, like he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You’re ridiculous,” you said, laughing.
“And you married me,” he shot back without missing a beat.
His hands went back to kneading your foot, more gentle now, the kind of touch that wasn’t just about easing muscles but about memorizing the shape of you, the feel of being home. You felt your chest loosen the way it always did when he let his guard down like this. Out there, he was the soldier, the one who carried weight and discipline on his shoulders. But here, he was yours — sharp, funny, a little cocky, and devastatingly tender.
After a few quiet moments, you murmured, “You know, you’re not half bad at this.”
“Not half bad?” He gave an incredulous snort. “Sweetheart, I’m a goddamn professional. I should get a medal for this shit.”
You smirked. “Oh yeah? Is that what you’ll put on your Army record? ‘Distinguished service in the field of foot rubs’?”
He grinned at you, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Hell, I’d get promoted. Don’t tempt me.”
You laughed until your sides hurt, and Kane leaned back against the headboard, satisfied, pulling your legs closer like he wasn’t planning to let you go anytime soon. His hands slowed, softer now, and though the joking lingered in his eyes, there was a quietness underneath it — the steady kind of love that didn’t need to be said out loud to be understood.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you teased, trying to shake it off before it got too serious.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re about to say something corny.”
Kane’s mouth quirked into that half-smile again. “Me? Corny?” He kissed the inside of your ankle once more, deliberately slow. “Never.”
But the warmth in his gaze betrayed him, and you knew the truth: for all the teasing, for all the shit he gave you, Kane would always circle back here — to you, to this, to the bed where laughter and love intertwined like tangled sheets.