Work Text:
“How are you a doctor?” Mark asks from where he’s sitting in the table at the Rec, watching the others work at their stations. He’s sipping on a cup of Earth coffee (uncomfortable result of trying to pop a caffeine pill into his hot water that morning, which led to a lot of “what the hell are you doing”s, and then Martinez pouring him an actual, honest to god cup of coffee) leisurely, just watching his crew. His own station is empty, because he’s supposed to be working at it, but Lewis has graciously exempted him from all Hermes duties until he’s medically cleared by Beck. Speaking of Beck, that’s who Mark is staring at.
Beck gives him a wary look before turning back to his computer. “You talking to me or Dr. Vogel or Dr. Lewis?”
“You. And I also have a doctorate.”
“I went to medical school, got a degree, did my residency at--”
“No. I meant you should be a stripper.”
That catches the attention of the whole crew, who all glance up at him incredulously. “What?” Mark exclaims. “No? You guys don’t see it? He’s hot!”
Beck clears his throat. “Commander, I’d like you to remind Watney of the sexual harassment training we received.”
“Cut it out, Watney,” Lewis says, turning back to her work. Mark scowls. “It’s not harassment if he likes it,” he mumbles, bringing his cup to his face. Beck gives him a glare, but Mark interprets it as a light-hearted, fun, flirty one. Ignorance is bliss.
Johanssen catches him just standing in the hallway, and she comes up to him with a confused look. “You’re just standing here?”
Mark shushes her quickly, nodding his head to the sight in front of them. Johanssen turns, and she sees Beck crouching down to observe one of the heating panels near the bottom of the wall. “We’re staring at Beck?” she whispers to Mark.
“I told him that panel needs to be fixed and my back’s all fucked so I can’t get it,” he whispers back. His eyes never stray for one moment from Beck. “He might have the best ass on the Hermes.” He raises an eyebrow at Johanssen. “Spare mine, of course.”
“Wow,” Johanssen whispers. “That is… really creepy, Watney. I can forward you the sexual harassment training document if you need it.”
Beck stands up, stretches, and Mark curses internally. Beck turns back to them. “It looks fine to me.”
“That’s such a bummer,” Mark tells him with a solemn face, Beck furrowing his brows and looking to Johanssen for answers, who just shakes her head and tells him to let it go. Beck shrugs, heads down the hallway away from them.
Mark follows him with his gaze. “Seriously, how is that guy not an underwear model?” he turns to Johanssen, dead serious.
“Do you have abs?” Mark pipes, totally innocently from where he’s perched on the treadmill’s handles, watching Beck do his workout. Beck rolls his eyes.
“Commander!” he calls, and Lewis sits up from where she’s lifting weights. “Watney,” she gives Mark a stern stare.
“It’s just a question!” Mark defends himself. He turns back to Beck quickly. “But if you do, you should consider a career change. I’ll be your first customer, give you a review and such.”
Beck huffs half a laugh between breaths. “I charge extra for virgins.” Mark grins back up at him.
“Commander, Watney and Beck’s flirting is making everyone uncomfortable again,” Martinez calls out, doing his back exercises.
“I didn’t flirt with him!” Beck protests.
“You are! And you did yesterday too, when you made him tea,” Martinez shoots back.
Beck gives him an incredulous look. “He was trying to drink a cup of hot water!”
Mark shrugs. “Nothin’ tea,” he mutters.
“Okay!” Lewis calls out. “From now on, Watney, you have to close your eyes around Beck.”
Mark throws both hands in the air, clearly protesting, while Beck’s mouth falls open, staring at Lewis. “That should solve everything,” she murmurs to herself.
“Can I open my eyes now?” Mark whines, sitting on the edge of the bed while Beck does a physical of him. This new rule is torture, not being able to watch Beck up close while he manhandles Mark’s parts with his bare hands.
“No,” Johanssen snaps, acting as Beck’s assistant for the time being. “Keep them shut.”
“If I did open them, I couldn’t see anyway, because you put a fucking rag over my face,” Mark snaps back.
“It’s for the better,” Johanssen says. “We all focus better when you can’t look at Beck.”
“Abdomen feels good,” Beck says, taking his hands off Mark, who silently protests. Cold metal then presses to his stomach, Mark guesses from the stethoscope Beck is probably now wearing. “Sounds good also.”
“God, your voice is so damn sexy,” Mark says. There’s a beat of silence in the room.
“I’m going to find some earmuffs,” Johanssen says, and Mark hears the door slide open and shut. He tears off his blindfold, meets Beck’s gorgeous face.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he grins.
Beck smiles and shakes his head amusedly. “Tone it down, Mark. You’re freaking everybody out.”
“How?! It’s no secret I wanna bone you,” Mark grumbles. Beck laughs. He reaches out to cup Mark’s face in his hands. Mark leans in gladly and Beck’s lips meets his forehead warmly.
“It’s freaking everyone out because before, at least you were subtle about it,” Beck says.
“I got stuck on Mars. I’m not wasting another minute. Have you never seen Dead Poets Society? Carpe diem,” Mark says.
Beck smiles sweetly. “They’re going to gag you, blindfold you, put earmuffs on you. You really sacrificing yourself like this?”
“Duh. They can’t chop off my arms; I could still touch you.”
Beck presses his lips against Mark’s, who (obviously) reciprocates happily. “They can put you in a straight jacket,” he whispers against Mark’s lips.
Mark grins. “Worth it. Now take off my pants before Johanssen gets back.”