Fics like out of my hands

“Eat.” His tone is gentle, but there’s an undertone to it, one that Eddie knows well. It’s a firmness, something akin to a hand pressing down on the back of his neck. “C’mon, man—” A hand lands on Eddie’s other shoulder, thumbs pressing into Eddie’s shoulder blades, working in small, tight circles. Eddie’s lashes flutter, a soft exhale escaping him. “Come on, half the bowl. I know you didn’t eat breakfast, and lunch won’t be ready for another thirty.” Buck’s voice is edged with concern, and leaves very little space to argue. It’s only after Buck points it out that Eddie realises how hungry he is. Suddenly, thumbs shift, pressing into the spot just at the base of his neck where he always holds a lot of tension, the muscles taut and straining with stress. Another soft noise escapes Eddie. A part of Eddie wants to argue, but a shameful, insistent part of him is so grateful not to have to decide. He didn’t have to decide to eat, didn’t have to decide what to eat, how much to eat, or when his next meal would be. All Eddie has to do is relax under Buck’s hands and pick up a piece of fruit. or the joy of letting your boyfriend take care of you

Fics like out of my hands

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