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Summary
Hawkeye was lounging on the couch backwards, his head hanging off the seat, neck crooked at a ninety-degree angle. One hand tucked under his shirt, resting comfortably on his stomach, the other stretched out palm down on the floor by his head. Stopping his large frame from slipping to the floor.
“When you said you were counter cultural, I didn’t realise you’d go this far with it.” BJ prodded at the round of foot exposed through the hole.
“BJ Hunnicutt enters from stage right with a witty observation.” Hawkeye grumbled.
“Your back?”Hawkeye needs a massage, BJ is happy to be at his service.