[FIC] Well Respected Men 1/1
Title: Well Respected Men
Rating: PG- I guess?!
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam
Spoilers: S4 "It's a Terrible Life"
Warnings: M/M, Terrible Life AU, bad humour, wooing, slight ooc, basically crack
Word Count: 3211
Summary: Sam Wesson plays third wheel to the growing profound bond between his colleagues, Dean Smith, and Castiel Novak. Actually not really, because all he does is stand in the elevator with them.
Posting here because FF.net sucks dick and I want to start using LJ more!
MUAHAHA
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It’s not that Sam hates his job or anything; it provides him with the money to pay his condo’s cheap rent and keep Bud Light in the fridge. Life would all be as sweet as pie with these bare necessities if only his ex-fiancée wasn’t still giving him shit and his job wasn’t as equally crap. Okay, he’ll admit that on some days, most days, the monotony sets his teeth on edge, and that he’d any day gladly jump off the fourteenth floor.
But he is resigned to the habitual crawling out of bed at seven to don his ugly piss-yellow Sandover Tech shirt, pour some cereal into a bowl, and munch through his contemplative boredom. After nicking his face while shaving, he’ll hop into his crappy 1997 Honda and commute for twenty minutes with other equally excited drivers to the downtown, and park his car next to someone’s swanky Impala in the beehive of spaces underground.
Sam is a particularly helpful and kind person, but having these values exerted by hundreds of screaming customers incapable of pressing a button or two really has a toll on the liveability of this job.
“Hello, Sandover Tech Support, Sam speaking. How can I help you?”
He rolls his eyes again; just another old woman who can’t tell the difference between a wall plug and an USB cable. The hours are whittled away as he answers the querulous demands of customers while drawing deformed creatures on his notepad; today he has drawn a naked vampire chick with nipple tassels and a bearded face with an arrow labelling her as ‘Chuck’.
Chuck unfortunately, took a moment to glance over at Sam whirring in his revolving chair and see his masterpiece, before ripping it from the jotter and throwing it in the bin. He’d then return to writing erotic fiction on his computer.
Within minutes, Sam had drawn a dog with a penis for a face labelled ‘Chuck’. Sam has way too much potential than to be cooped up in a cubicle all day.
These events would occur in cycle, until the clock hit one o’clock and signalled for Sam’s lunch break, where then he would make his way upstairs to the employee café.
Besides the generous helping of chips and steak for lunch, Sam Wesson’s favourite part of the day is the elevator ride down to basement level at five.
When he gets in, on the empty side of the building on floor twelve, there is always that smarmy Dean Smith bastard in the corner, with his knee jauntily cocked over his opposing leg and arm wrapped about the hand rail. He’s a good looking bastard, plus the Director of Sales and Marketing, which, in Sam’s opinion makes him even more of a bastard. To top it off too, each day he wears the most absurd office get-up, complete with hideous tie and suspenders. Today, he is wearing a blue and white pinstripe shirt with white collar (a nice way to rub it in everyone’s faces, Sam thinks), which clashes awfully with his red tie and (mother of fuck) equally scarlet suspenders. Sam would bet twenty bucks that he wore cufflinks shaped like doves too. That creepy chick, Becky from up in HR is the second occupant. Freaking lurking like she always does, in the opposite corner, stealing smoky eyed glances at Dean, of which he is thankfully ignorant.
The elevator ride provides several sources of entertainment for Sam; one- Becky proceeds her daily routine of making elevator occupants uncomfortable by mentally undressing them both, two; being ‘Dean is wearing stupid clothes again’, a combination Sam finds altogether hilarious. But the best part is when they hit floor ten, and seeing Smith’s ears perk up like a stupid Labrador; his back straightens, his hand drops to his side and if he had a tail Sam swears it would be wagging.
Only one guy gets on- Castiel Novak, Director of Finance and Strategic Planning, a dishevelled looking guy in a beige trench-coat with afternoon stubble shadowing his jaw.
“Director,” Dean says, with a hearty smile. Of course with the hearty smile- after all, Cas Novak does handle the company bonuses.
Castiel nods in greeting, and with a small laugh says, “I thought you would start calling me Castiel, Dean. We talked about it the other day…”
Sam remembers that event, as Cas amiably repeats himself almost every day, while Dean just guffaws stupidly and gets all pink and flustered.
“Oh, I keep forgetting, Cas… You don’t mind me calling you Cas, do you?” Dean grins, trying to sound manly.
Cas just smiles.
This all plays in Sam’s head like a bad episode of Dr. Sexy MD.
“I want to fuck you with a mallet and then choke you with my ugly tie, Director.” Dean hisses, while Becky stares widely at the both of them, enamoured by their fierce lust.
“Oh God, yes, Director,” Cas whimpers, clutching his briefcase to his chest while his trench-coat billows out underneath him in a Munroe-esque breeze. “Please, right now!”
“It’s Dean, not God.” Is his retort, smarmy and bastard-like as he flips down the sunglasses that appear suddenly on his head, and in one clean movement he sweeps Castiel off his feet and into his arms-
“Sam, are you alright?” Becky chirps at him. “You look like you’re constipated.”
Sam stutters into attention, feeling the tops of his ears go red when Dean and Cas pause their in-depth date planning and stock market discussions to stare at him. His face had been twisted into the bitch-face of a century trying not to laugh from contemplating the homoerotic adventures of these obviously love-sick puppies.
He resumes his poker-face with little chagrin. Just because he enjoys warping the situations of two male co-workers does not mean Sam is gay, at all. It’s just that he has nothing better to do on the twelve floor trip down to the car park. He’s not gonna admit that he’s just a tiny, tiny bit jealous of their heaven-made gayness and their 100k+ salaries, fat bonuses, dry-cleaned suits and ritzy apartments in the Upper East Side. Okay, so what if he is pretty jealous? Imagining them in awkward situations is the only thing he can do to relieve the pressure on his ego- childish, yes; genius, absolutely.
When they get down to the car park, Sam is totally not surprised to have found himself parked between both Castiel and Dean. The two Directors bid their goodbyes. Cas gives Sam an appraising, almost amused look and a curt nod, as he gets into a Toyota hybrid that he expects to shoot rainbows out of its exhaust and drive into the sky. Smith however, gives him the stink eye, as if Sam is the only obstacle in his path to obtaining total happiness. Sam wouldn’t disagree with that, though he finds it difficult to sympathize with the scowling man getting into the most waxed up, sleek ’67 he’d ever seen.
Bar Becky, the next day Sam is in the elevator with Dean, who is frankly ignoring him again while listening to what sounded like a business forecast blaring from his earphones. The hum of the voice coming from the buds in his ears clashes with the jingle of the elevator music, setting Sam’s teeth on edge. He’s somewhat glad when several floors down, Castiel hops on the lift and chirps a greeting at Dean, who guffaws again and clasps him on the shoulder, enticing what seemed to be a faint blush across the more senior director’s face.
“Is that a stock report you’re listening to?” Castiel asks curiously staring at the earpiece Dean dislodged so he could converse with him.
“Yeah, this morning’s- I decided to get podcasts for convenience. Sandover’s down by point 3,” Smith replies, frowning slightly.
“May I also listen?” Cas is saying, and Dean goes all calf-eyed as he stares, giving assent with a breathless ‘Yeah, be my guest.’
So this is how Sam ended up becoming third-wheel to their earphone-sharing, stock-report-listening date. Novak and Smith connected by the strands of white wire which in Sam’s dragon fly eye of mind is pretty much holding hands.
They don’t give him so much of a lick of a stare throughout the journey down.
All in time, Sam mulls over in his head, they will come to acknowledge my incredible matchmaking skills from my psychologically enforcing silence and stoicism.
“What the hell?” barks Dean, as the elevator suddenly comes to a jarring halt.
Sam finds himself clutching at the hand rail, and Castiel opposite looks a little alarmed.
“It seems like the elevator has stopped.” The other director murmurs.
Dean gives him a look that reads; ‘No shit, Sherlock. But I’m totally in love with you right now so I’m going to refrain from saying anything that will hurt your feelings until I get into your pants.’ The business man marches up to the emergency button and pushes, hearing the dial tone with a little shrug of relief.
“We’re stuck on the … fifth floor, man. How long will it take to get it online again?” Dean is saying.
The voice from the red square replies for them to hang in there, and that they’ll be out there in an hour tops. Castiel gives a resigned sigh and paws a hand through his hair.
“I’ll be late for my appointment,” he murmurs, consulting the watch on his right.
Smith frowns, “Well, there’s not much we can do about that. Why don’t you just give them a call ahead?”
“Yeah, I will. But it will be a little difficult to rebook. I’ve been waiting for this for over a month.”
Dean eyes him curiously. “If you don’t mind me asking; what’s it for? Are you ill?”
Novak just laughs, tittering a little nervously. “You’d think me a little silly for this,” he shakes his head somewhat; “I’ve been seeing a dietician…for weight management.”
The other man just grins, half mocking in disbelief, his arms motion widely as he surveys Castiel.
“Seriously? Man, you’re like a twig, you don’t need to diet at all!”
Sam almost pukes, Dean is totally checking out Castiel’s ass.
Cas does this odd shimmy, as if he were going to turn around to give Dean a whole 360, but decided against it. He looks embarrassed. “… It doesn’t seem like it, but I’ve been packing the pounds in the bottom drawer lately. I want to slim down.”
Dean snorts, “You don’t need it man. You look… good the way you are.” His eyes rake shamelessly over Cas’ body. An alarm goes off in Sam’s head. (For the hundredth time)-Dean is totally flirting with Cas.
Notice the mating rituals of the homo sapien Dean, and his chosen mate, homo sapien Castiel. Unlike ordinary homo sapiens, Smith has decided to opt for homosexual relations. To him, perhaps Castiel has more favourable features, such as child-bearing qualities or genital size, than the heterosexual counterpart.
To initiate courtship, homo sapien will demonstrate his charm and charisma to entice the mate. If a similar response is made then Smith can proceed with the more physical element of mating.
As if Dean is scripted, he reaches out an arm and presses lightly against Cas’ bicep, a light squeeze for less than a second, but the moment is there, and Cas is gazing at Dean as if he’s the most beautiful Director of Sales and Marketing he has ever laid his blue balls on.
Sam coughs.
Well, it comes out more of a choked wheeze.
They both turn around to look at him, identical stink-eye expressions on their faces at the interruption.
“Do you need a cough drop?” Castiel asks politely.
Sam shakes his head, suppressing his mirth.
The two successfully look like they are disappointed with Sam’s existence at the very moment, possibly because they would very much like to have raunchy anal sex in the elevator.
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you man? You look a little pale.” Dean pronounces, looking up and down the giant. “If you are, please don’t vomit on me, you look like you could do one of those projectile numbers.”
Sam flaps his hand flippantly and gives a leer of a grin. “No, not at all… I just find the waiting a bit, um, long.” He decides that is suitably trivial for a reply.
Suddenly it seems that the levels of awkwardness in the enclosed space have passed the recommended dosage; and Dean takes a curt step away from Castiel, who briefly appears upset at his retreat.
“Oh,” Sam hears himself saying, “don’t stop on my account.” His gargantuan arms flail out; gesturing at them both in what he thinks is a cordial move.
Dean looks like he wants to strangle him with his ugly tie. “Stop what?”
Wesson swallows- the reflex somewhat difficult as his throat seems to have dried up. The eyes Castiel are boring into him are unreadable, and Sam can feel an irritated flush creep over his cheeks.
“Er,” the techie struggles for words. He’s in an elevator, playing subliminal matchmaker to two emotionally retarded office executives who could probably get him fired with a word. His eyebrows snap up, and he grins somewhat dismissively. “The… mating display?”
Way smooth, Sam wants to punch himself; you should have just asked them for a threesome instead.
To his surprise, Dean laughs raucously, although it seems a bit stifled, Sam receives it as a friendly gesture. Smith bends over slightly, tapping his palm against his knee, chortling.
“Oh, oh man.” He composes himself, wiping his eyes against the back of his hand. “You think I’m hitting on Cas?” Dean looks at Cas amusedly. “He thinks I’m hitting on you! Man!”
Cas doesn’t seem to know whether to laugh or back away. Instead, the director settles for a small quirk of a smile, trying to hide his obvious distress.
Dean thumps Sam on the back heartily. “Man, you techies are hilarious! Where’d you get that idea? Cos dude, I am like totally, not hitting on Cas.” He turns around again, slapping Cas’ shoulder.
“Hah! I would never hit on you man, Mr. Director of Finance! Man. I’m so amused!”Dean laughs into the air again, seeming to fog up the small compartment with his smug.
“You’re a funny guy…” Smith leans in and peers at Sam’s name tag. “Samuel…Wesson.”
Well, damn. Samuel Wesson, fired for sexual harassment claims. Sam squirms into the corner, despite his advantage in size, he feels silly and belittled.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I just assumed. Since you two are always-“
“Dude!” Dean holds up a palm. “No chick flick moments! I’m not gay.”
And just like that, he turns around and faces the door again, in a very heterosexual fashion.
Cas doesn’t even bother to look at him, his eyes are fixed pointedly on the Basement button, as if searching for an escape route.
The occupants of the elevator are quiet for a long while, and soon the elevator, fixed, began its descent down to basement level. Dean’s face and brow is furrowed as if someone had smeared his face with super glue as Castiel gives them both a stiff goodbye, before hopping away with his hybrid at the speed of light. Sam knows Dean has more to say than ‘Bye,’ but he’s obviously too emotionally stunted to say it.
The look Dean gives him as they get into their vehicles is a mix of strangulation and chagrin. He seems to be ready to poop a brick.
When Sam gets home after sitting in rush hour for little more than an hour, he feels a bit dejected, and somewhat responsible for the ruination of a budding homosexual romance. He’ll just have to take the stairs tomorrow.
That is, if he still has a job.
He breathes a sigh of relief when there is no email, or hand written note taped to his cubicle the following morning. But he internally vomits at 5 o’clock, when he discovers a sign taped on the stairwell door saying ‘out of order’.
“What in the fuck,” Sam groans. “How can staircases be out of order? Isn’t that like a fire and safety hazard?”
“Dunno, dude. You better get out of here before the elevators fill up.” Chuck advises, turning back to his computer screen and latest porn in progress.
Suck it up, Wesson; no homosexual romance is going to break up your routine. He declares this to himself as he makes his way to the elevator.
The doors slide open as in any ordinary day, and Smith is perched in the corner, as per usual. He doesn’t even look up when Sam gets up, thankfully. The cold shouldering isn’t half as bad as he thought it would be, actually it was no different to normal, but Sam liked to think that the three of them had developed a mutual connection over the last few elevator rides- but perhaps that was reserved for Dean and Cas only.
They pass by level ten without stopping, and Dean looks up at the numbers on the screen ticking down, his expression somewhat lost without the familiar presence of the third occupant.
Sam hopes that Smith can feel his reciprocal pat on the shoulder.
The next two day’s worth of elevator trips are as Castiel-less as before, and Sam can only frown at the look of hopeless longing that appears on Dean’s face whenever the tenth floor slides by without pause.
Instead of the usual stock market buzzing from his headphones, Sam can register his astonishment at the sad, gooey ‘let’s make love’ piano music coming from the buds. And on the fifth day of stupid, moon-eyed expressions and restrained thrashing, Sam finally broke the silence between them.
“Hey. Man,” Dean turns to stare at him, popping a headphone free from his ear.
“I don’t know much about homosexuals, but I know for a fact that you’ve totally got the hots for him, and that he bloody well likes you too.”
Dean gives a startled yelp. “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me, man. It’s written all over your faces like some sappy ass love story that I have to play witness to every day.”
“Dude- what the hell! I don’t swing that way,” Dean grunts defensively, his eyes shifting all too much.
“Right,” Sam rolls his eyes, “Which is totally why you’re having a big gay freak out right about… now.”
Smith doesn’t say anything, and the silence between them is tense.
Sam scowls at him. “Dude, er, Mr. Smith- just freaking go talk to the man!”
“Yeah,” Dean frowns after a while, and a contemplative look crosses his face. “I don’t want to ruin any friendship between me and him. I should go talk to him. Thanks man.”
And without further ado, he stops the elevator at floor ten, and exits abruptly.
Sam stares at his retreating back, mouth slightly agape.
The next day, Sam resignedly stands at the elevator. He’d just finished with over a dozen crappy calls in the last hour, and he wasn’t in the best of moods.
This is why it really surprised him when the elevator doors opened and revealed a passionately kissing Dean and Castiel.
Becky hovers around them, enamoured by their fierce lust.