Work Text:
Nobody knows how Micah and Marty got together. Alongside the drug smuggling and prostitution ring, it stands as one of Redline’s greatest mysteries. Micah honestly forgot with his quick-paced lifestyle and Marty mumbles unintelligibly in response to most things anyway.
Everything brewed into the perfect storm a few months ago. Marty was groaning at his desk, struggling to click the print button on his old work computer with his favorite porn website burned into the screen. He didn’t even want to print the paper because then he’d have to copy it and everyone would look at him like a schizophrenic when the voice starts acting up. His throat is already scratched up from yelling at the copier yesterday.
But then, he saw Micah through the window to the annex, clearly teaching one of their coworkers about the human body. Marty can tell by the way he squeezes his stomach, as if there’s anything but bone there, and exaggerates with his hands.
Marty doesn’t see the doctor much, not around here at least. They first met when Marty swallowed glass and Ben called up Micah (Side note: Marty will never, ever, ever admit to doing that). Micah was already at the event, thankfully, and gave him the Heimlich. He then rubbed Marty’s throat until he felt better, taking every pained insult with care in his eyes. He’s been kind of enthralled with Micah since.
People being in the annex, especially someone he knows, makes Marty feel better about printing and copying something. He takes a deep breath and stands up, said breath immediately turning into quicker ones when Micah makes eye contact with him through the window. Sure, his breathing is Micah’s fault, but also his own for never letting a plant touch his tongue.
He walks over to the annex, eyes down on the thin carpet in front of him. He feels like everyone knows about his little crush on this medically qualified older man. Older by a couple years, but older nonetheless.
The person Micah was talking to gave a lame excuse to leave and grabbed their own printed sheet before scurrying away from Marty, clearly scared or disgusted. Micah gave him the opposite reaction; a smile and greeting. “Marty! Man, it’s been a while!” It’s been just a few weeks since they saw each other last, but the fact Micah remembers makes Marty feel cherished.
Marty grunts anyway, even though he wants to tell Micah about everything that’s happened since then. Which is nothing but the usual of feeding his fish and breathing, just barely. He takes his printed work out of one machine and carries it over to be copied in the other.
The next few seconds are filled with a few different sounds.
The copier’s buttons, and then its voice. “You don’t deserve to be fixed.” It’s the usual insult from the rude machine, but this sounds somewhat in reference to the other voice in his ear. Micah’s.
Another noise, a plastic bag, is followed with Micah’s sweet, gentle tone. “I picked these up after Ben told me you liked fish. Went to get candy after a hard shift, you know, to make me feel better…” Marty doesn’t hear the rest of Micah’s sentence nor the rest of the copiers criticisms.
Micah was thinking about him and made a decision based on his preferences. That decision? Marty looks down to see a bag being opened, cyan and white gummi sharks filling it.
“They’re really good, actually! I’ve put on a few pounds since my discovery.” Micah jokes and offers Marty a few. He reaches for them, looking up for reassurance before picking one up with his pointer and thumb, inspecting the sweet, and placing it in his mouth.
It tastes like the expected blue raspberry, a flavor Marty doesn’t enjoy usually. The marshmallow hint makes it better alongside the obvious presence of Micah.
“Thanks,” he grabs another without asking, “A few pounds, you said?”
“Six!” Micah says it like it’s a dramatic change, pulling up the anime shirt Marty actually recognizes and revealing his stomach, trying to go alongside his claim.
He’s as skinny as ever, but Marty goes fully red and it doesn’t have to do with his high blood pressure. He stammers and almost forgets about the conversation at hand.
“You’re, um. Jesus,”
Micah laughs, “no, I’m Micah..?” and drops his shirt back down.
Embarrassingly, that joke makes Micah even hotter to him. By some miracle, they’re going out that next week.
☆
Marty quickly realizes he adores Micah more than he adores anyone. He views him in the same way as his fish; helpless and delicate, but scary when the chances form properly. Like his fish, he fantasizes about doing heinous acts to Micah. Cutting him open and forcing him to name every organ, breaking one of his bones and ask him to identify it, taste Marty’s blood and let him guess the type.
Guilt doesn’t cross his mind. Nothing really crosses his mind at all and that’s a big problem according to Micah. Others are also concerned, but they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Micah matters. Micah matters to everyone. His existence keeps the world spinning.
He’s worried, Marty can tell. But when he reaches for his hand, forcing himself to act like he knows how to be normal, everything suddenly becomes fine. Micah smiles and Marty can feel it deep in his chest. Or maybe that’s his heartburn.
☆
Micah is into Marty, but part of him sees his boyfriend as a charity case. But how can he not? Marty hears voices, eats unhealthily, only speaks to his fish most days, all alongside the twenty or thirty other unhealthy addictions and habits he carries around.
While dissecting someone who never truly deserved to live after crossing Gabe Saporta, he thinks of Marty. It’s not the body that brings his mind to his boyfriend, but the quickly-rotting blood staining his gloves. Marty’s bloodwork has been dangerous recently, and probably always. Alongside his mental state… his disinterest in hygiene, his rare events of speaking, his pure hatred for everything, even Micah most times.
The decision is made after Micah disposes of the remains.
He brings it up for the first time while Marty’s over at his place, watching an anime they both share interest in. Staring up at Micah with popcorn in his hand, Marty bites his cheek as a thanks and lets him sit down. Upon sitting, he snuggles into his boyfriend’s shirt. Marty has a bad smell constantly, never showering unless his doctor, Micah, advises him to for his health, but he likes the plushness.
“Anything up there?” Micah stares up through his glasses.
Marty stares back through his own. “You.”
“What about me?”
“You’re… uh,” Marty struggles to express his thoughts verbally, “Just you.”
Micah has moments where he doubts Marty’s opinion on their relationship. During those moments, he believes Marty doesn’t like him for the simple reason of him not telling Micah anything he appreciates about him or the time they spend together. This interaction disproves all those thoughts as quick as they come
“You’re cute, Mar.”
Marty scoffs and shoves Micah off. It still was worth saying.
Just ten minutes later, Micah can tell Marty’s drifting during the show, line of sight shifting off to the side of the television. Micah frowns and nudges him.
“Are you okay? Getting tired? Need something?” He’s an angel, Marty’s convinced.
“Sorry,” he isn’t.
“I think you should talk… to someone. You know, about your zoning out… Where do you go?”
“What do you mean? I’m right here,”
Micah doesn’t like his tone and backs off. The rest of their short time together is a little less magical.
☆
It’s hot, it’s heavy. It’s weird. It’s been eight months of struggle and worship. Marty and Micah are tangled in sheets, Marty’s way too naked to be in front of another person. But he likes it. He’s warm.
Sex is a struggle for him. The act of penetration is fine, actually, but intimacy is a different story. The foreplay made him want to crawl out of his skin and turn into sludge, dripping over the floor and making Micah run as quick as he could to safety.
He’s working on saying what he wants. It makes Micah happy and that’s all Marty truly cares about. So he spoke and the foreplay ended as he requested.
Masturbation is easy for Marty, it’s easy to everyone for different reasons and in different ways. It’s easy for him because he doesn’t have to form a fake attachment to feel pleasure for an hour or so. He can also say whatever he wants. He can mumble about spilling blood and cracking bones without someone calling him a degenerate.
He mumbles something about hurting Micah, he forgot what it was specifically, too focused on the overwhelming humidity, sweat, and strained muscles. Micah sits up and wraps his ankles around Marty’s waist, locking him inside but also disabling him from moving. He can’t run from this.
“Why would you say that?” Micah frowns, eyes glimmering with slowly dissolving desperation.
Marty wants to stab himself in the heart because of that look. His chest already hurts from all this exertion and figures it wouldn’t be as bad as this. Why did he say that anyway? This isn’t normal. Maybe Micah’s right. Maybe he should see someone.
“I don’t know,” Marty gives him a frown back, “We can stop.”
Micah unwraps his legs from his waist and Marty pulls out. The doctor pulls him into a hug instead.
“It’s okay. I’ll heal you, Mar. I promise.”
They fall asleep with minds interlocked and legs kicking at each other.