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For Sam Wesson, there were a lot of things to dislike about working in Sandover’s tech department. For one, he was stuck sitting in a tiny cubicle all day, and staring at the gray walls of his work station for hours on end was starting to make him go a little crazy. For another, 90% of his work day consisted of telling people to refill the paper tray of their printer or to simply restart their computer, so his job wasn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world. There was also the fact that he was stuck wearing the same, goofy uniform every single day; he was beginning to hate the sight of khaki pants just on principle. And then there was...well, Sam could probably go on for hours, but that was besides the point because the actual point was that even though there were a million and one reasons to dislike working at Sandover, there was still one very good reason to enjoy it: his boss, Dean Smith.
Sam firmly believed that Dean was quite possibly one of the most attractive beings on the entire planet. But even aside from the fact that he looked like a Renaissance painting come to life, there was no shortage of other reasons for Sam to swoon over the man. He was charming as hell, he was kind to all of his employees, his voice was so smooth and deep that it sent shivers down Sam’s spine whenever he heard it, and he wore suspenders on a regular basis that Sam couldn’t help but fantasize about being tied down with while Dean bent him over his--
Okay, so it was possible that Sam was getting off-track. It was also possible that he should stop daydreaming about his boss while he was at his desk because these workplace boners of his were really starting to become problematic, but Sam was only human.
Besides, at least daydreaming about his hot, unobtainable boss distracted him from instead spending the entire day fantasizing about strangling the douchebag who’s been stealing his lunch out of the employee lounge’s fridge every day for the past two weeks. He had his name written on it and everything, dammit! Plus, his mom had been packing his lunch for the past couple of weeks because she was staying at his place while her house was being renovated, and she always made the most delicious food that he’d ever tasted.
Delicious food that he was now being deprived of because someone didn’t have the decency to keep their mitts off of it, despite the fact that the Post-it notes that Sam had taken to putting on his lunch bag had become increasingly threatening and, just possibly, slightly deranged.
Seriously, what kind of dick would do something like that?
************
A couple of hours later, Sam’s lunch break finally rolled around and as he walked to the employee lounge, he tried to do so optimistically. Maybe his mysterious lunch caper had a change of heart and decided to stop stealing from him and instead begin repenting for his wicked ways (or, at the very least, start nabbing some other poor sap’s food instead). Anything was possible, he told himself.
When he reached his destination and peeked through the doorway, he could see a person at the counter with his back to him.
A person who was leaning over Sam’s lunch bag, no less (he was also most likely rubbing his hands together cartoonishly and grinning maniacally like the evil son of a bitch he was, but Sam admittedly could only assume this). Sam took a few seconds to calm down so that he could figure out the best way to play out his confrontation because even though his lunch thief was clearly an immature bastard, he knew that he should approach the situation calmly and tactfully.
“My mom made that for me, you asshole!,” he shouted instead, neither calmly nor tactfully.
He then realized how that made him sound.
“N-not that I live with my mom or anything,” he rambled. “She’s just staying with me until her-- wait, what am I saying? I don’t need to defend myself to you!”
At last, the thief turned around to face him with a mouth full of his mother’s homemade chicken and dressing, and Sam was finally able to get a glimpse of the face of true evil as his tormentor’s identify was revealed to be...
“...Mr. Smith?”
Huh. It turned out that the face of true evil was a lot sexier than Sam was anticipating.
“Er, hello Mr. Wesson,” Dean began awkwardly while staring at him like a deer in headlights. “It appears that I’ve...mistakenly eaten your lunch.”
Sam narrowed his eyes at him. “Right,” he drawled skeptically. “So you didn’t see my name on it? Or the death threats?”
Dean looked as if he were trying to desperately search for a plausible answer and coming up empty.
“I...can’t read?,” he finally answered, wincing slightly at his own terrible lie.
“Okay, seriously, what the hell? You make way more money than me; surely you can afford your own lunch. Is this some sort of weird fetish of yours or something? Do you get off on stealing food from people?”
Sam realized that it probably wasn’t the smartest idea to rant at his boss and accuse him of having bizarre sexual urges tied to his apparent need to steal from his employees, but, in fairness, Sam was still pretty annoyed by the whole thing. His mom had packed him cobbler today. Cobbler.
“What??,” Dean exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch, “of course I don’t get off on it.”
“I’m just...on a diet right now,” he mumbled lamely a few seconds later, with a little embarrassment coloring his tone.
Sam looked at him in befuddlement. “What does a diet have to do with you stealing lunches from the lounge’s fridge?”
Dean’s face grew red and he didn’t meet Sam’s eyes.
“I’ve been on a diet for the past month, and a couple of weeks ago I went to grab my carrot sticks from the fridge when I smelled your lunch. I just couldn’t help myself. The diet makes me so hungry that I end up stealing your lunch, and then I have to diet even harder after that, which just makes me hungrier, and now I’m trapped in an endless cycle of carrot sticks and thievery,” he explained mournfully.
“You could...just stop dieting?,” Sam suggested reasonably.
Dean glared at him.
“Easy for you to say,” he accused. “Maybe you don’t have any trouble staying in shape, but some of us aren’t so lucky.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t eat healthy, but maybe it’s a bad idea to starve yourself until you can’t take it anymore and become a serial lunch thief,” Sam pointed out. He actually felt kind of sorry for Dean; he had no idea that the man was so worried about his body (for no reason, in Sam’s opinion) that he allowed himself to be driven crazy by intense dieting.
“That’s...probably fair,” Dean agreed reluctantly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about that. I know it was a dick move, and you didn’t deserve it.”
Sam shrugged.
“To be honest, I think it might actually make me like you more. Before, I thought that you were this perfect, ridiculously attractive guy who had everything going for himself. It made you kind of intimidating,” Sam admitted. “But now that I know that you’re also a lunch stealing weirdo, it makes you seem a lot more approachable somehow.”
“Ridiculously attractive?,” Dean teased as a smile tugged at his lips.
“Well, I figured that since you’ve been stealing my lunch then I could probably hit on you just this once, and the inappropriateness of both actions would just cancel each other out,” Sam explained flirtatiously.
“What if...what if I said that I didn’t want it to happen just this once?,” Dean asked hesitatingly. “I’m not the only ridiculously attractive person in this room, after all.”
Sam was pretty sure that he was grinning from ear to ear. “Well, then I would tell you that my mom’s cooking dinner tonight and that she always makes too much for just the two of us. I’m not sure if that really qualifies as a first date, exactly, but I know for a fact that you appreciate her cooking, so I figured you might be down for it,” he offered.
“...is there gonna be more cobbler?”
“Obviously.”
“Well then, Mr. Wesson, you have yourself a date.”
There were a lot of reasons for Sam to dislike working at Sandover, but as he looked at Dean’s handsome, smiling face and imagined taking him home later that night (just for dinner, but still), he found that he couldn’t remember a single one.