Title: Do You Want Fries With That?
By sexyspork
Fandom: Transformers
Pairing: Will/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Language, slash, fluff
Summary: Sam. Will. Love through bad mess-hall food.
AN: I wanted fluffy Will/Sam. And because I can't find any, I wrote some myself.
--
Sam glared at the pile of paperwork. He blinked. Glared at it again.
It still wasn't spontaneously combusting. And after the "accident" in his office last month that included Bee, Wheeljack, and something that may or may not have been a flamethrower, he doubted anyone would believe him even if it did happen. Still, the glaring was making him feel a bit better...
Huffing out a sigh that made him sound closer to his twenty-four years of age, and ignoring the suspicious snicker-like coughing coming from his secretary's ("Personal assistant, bitch." Miles said with a grin) office, Sam leaned back in his chair and looked longingly out his window. It was mid-afternoon, and it was a crime against nature to be stuck inside and behind a desk.
Not to say he hated his job, because he loved working with the Autobots more than pretty much anything, and being their representative was an incredible honor (the side benefits didn't hurt, either). It was just all the paperwork that seemed to breed every time he even so much as glanced away.
Sighing again, Sam gnawed on the end of a pen relentlessly. He knew he had to get the work done; the French president was being a whiny bitch and Britain's PM was being incredibly patient in waiting for a reply and he didn't even want to think about the Russians. And though Sam knew that even though he had pretty much been a shoe-in for the job, no one (except those who knew him) had expected him to succeed. To start slacking now would be the first hint of blood in the water, and the sharks were already poised and waiting to tear him apart.
Resisting the temptation to slam his head against the wall, Sam pulled the pen out of his mouth and got to work.
--
It was the smell of food that drew his attention from the scattered papers in front of him. Blinking slightly to adjust his vision, having been unaware that he had been squinting in the dying light, Sam practically moaned at the sight of a greasy hamburger and fries sitting innocuously off to the side on his desk.
A chuckle echoed softly, "I don't think I get that sound even in bed."
Sam grinned and took a hug bit of the mess-hall burger, heavenly even though the meat was a bit charred and the buns were soggy. Swallowing before replying, he smirked and said, "If you brought me breakfast in bed..."
Wiggling his eyebrows in a mock suggestive manner, Sam laughed as he avoided a kick to the leg. "Hey! It's your job to protect my person."
Lt. Colonel Will Lennox settled on the corner of the desk, snatching a fry as Sam began to devour the rest of his burger. He hadn't been aware he'd be so hungry, and-
Sam froze.
"We were supposed to grab dinner tonight, weren't we?"
Will grinned and just shrugged, and Sam felt the clenching of his stomach ease up only a slightest.
"Sam, it was only plans for the mess-hall, stop freaking out."
"I'm not freaking out." Sam muttered, taking a defiant bite out of his meal.
"You have a PA," He ignored Sam's low quip of secretary, "and I could have called Miles, or you, for that matter, to come and meet me."
Sam swallowed, the food sitting heavily in his stomach, and looked away. Sometimes he wondered what the older man saw in him. He wasn't anywhere near as brave or resilient or strong as half the people on base, including Will, and Sam just couldn't measure up, and he was always being so stupid and forgetting the little things, and-
A battle-calloused thumb wiped a bit of ketchup from the corner of his mouth. Sam blinked and met Will's eyes.
"We are having dinner together, and I think your office is a bit more romantic than where everyone can ogle my so-called boy toy while calling me a dirty, old man."
Sam couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled forth, and the usually easy-going Army soldier grinned, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly at the averted crisis.
"Who even says 'ogle', these days?" Sam giggled in a very manly fashion, holding out a slightly mushy and cold french fry.
Will's smile was wicked, though his eyes were soft, and Sam felt warmth seep to his core. The older man gently grasped Sam's wrist to eat the less-than-delectable fry from his grip and licked the salt from from the pads of the younger man's fingertips when he was done.
Sam swallowed hard, face bright red even as Will laced their fingers together.
"I do." Will said, and Sam gave him a bright grin.
I do.