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Buck’s . . . not sure how he got here.
He knows how he got here, it’s just the here of the matter that’s got him five degrees south of a full mental breakdown partnered up with the full scale collapse of the most important relationship in his life. Because Eddie—Eddie’s doing him a favor—and Buck’s body, Buck’s traitorous fucking body is assigning a level of intimacy to all this that’s so beyond warranted, Eddie’d be up and across the room before Buck could clear his throat if he had even the slightest sliver of suspicion.
Which is to say—
Eddie’s straddling Buck’s back, hands digging into the meat of Buck’s thigh, working out the aches from one of the most exhausting shifts he’s ever been on—and that is including any shifts featuring the Q word—because he’d been kind and caring enough to notice that Buck’d been favoring his good leg towards the end of the shift. His thighs are bracketing Buck’s, and Buck, god, Buck can feel every shift and flex of those thighs as he leans forward and shifts his weight.
--
Or, Eddie makes Buck tell him what he needs.
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