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“This has to be some kind of mistake.” Simmons stared at the singular bed in the hotel room.
“Huh? What’s wrong?” Grif tugged his suitcase in after him. Bumbling on its wheels, it loudly slapped the door frame and closing door in succession. Grif got it into the room with another strong tug from his deceptively muscular— Focus, Simmons!
Simmons cleared his throat. He gestured. “There’s only one bed.”
“There’s room for both of us. Just stay on your side.”
“You sprawl and… hug. In your sleep.”
“So?”
“Sarge has the other keycard.” No way did he want Sarge and Donut walking in on them like that.
“Point taken. I dunno, you could sleep on the floor?”
“I think I need to have a word with whoever’s in charge. I’m sure it was two twin beds. Why would Sarge book a single bed room when there are four of us?” Simmons noticed Grif eying the bed like an old friend. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’ll be in a new room soon.”
Simmons ran over a few possible conversations in his head. The lady at the desk was really pretty, and that was sure to trip him up. He needed to be prepared before he marched over and inevitably got flustered after a few words.
“Uh huh. Sure, Simmons.” Grif strolled over to one side of the bed, his bulky dingy suitcase sending Simmons’ perfectly shiny metallic one careening just as he took a step toward the door— Simmons yelped as his crotch sank too far into the suitcase handle. “Son of a bitch!”
Grif winced sympathetically. “Ooh, been there, buddy.”
“I don’t,” Simmons grimaced, “have as much feeling there since my surgery, but yeah. Not great.” Simmons staggered over to the other side of the bed and flopped onto his back.
“Sarge did something in the front too?”
“No! I mean— it doesn’t matter. Still hurts like a bitch.”
Grif flopped onto his back on his own side of the bed.
Simmons squeezed his eyes shut as he waited out the pain. He thought every curse word he could think of. “This wouldn’t have happened if you were more careful with your stupid suitcase,” Simmons fumed.
Grif lazily turned to meet Simmons’ eyes. Their faces were less than a foot apart. Grif raised his eyebrows. “What? You want me to kiss it better?”
Simmons’ face heated. He grabbed a pillow and whacked Grif. Simmons glanced at the door. It was still closed, at least.
“Yeah, yeah.” Grif pulled the pillow under his head. “There we go.” He sighed. “Much better.”
The door swung open, Sarge wearing his all-red hat, shirt, and shorts that made him look more like a fire hydrant than usual— Grif had pointed this out earlier; Simmons would never say that to Sarge’s face.
Sarge was holding his duffel bag. “Simmons. Grif. Sounds like there’s been a mix-up with the rooms.”
“No kidding,” Grif said, lounging comfortably while Simmons— who had bolted up the moment the handle turned— sat on the edge.
Donut dropped his obnoxiously pink sequined bag on the floor. “Turns out we only got ONE room. Total!”
Simmons blinked. “What.”
“All the other rooms are full tonight, so I couldn’t get us another one. We’ll just have to sleep in a pile like a bunch of baby rabbits.”
“Aww I love baby bunnies!”
“I even asked them to check the back. No dice.”
Grif scooted up to a sit. “You asked them to check the back of the hotel for… what? More rooms they forgot to put on the shelves?”
“Sleepover time!” Donut ran into the room and hopped onto the bed.
Grif frowned. “Donut, if you steal the blanket from me tonight, I will smother you with a pillow in your sleep.”
“Woof. Someone’s tense. Ooh, anyone want a massage?”
Everyone groaned.
“Oh, don’t be shy you guys!”
Sarge prodded Grif’s arm. “Move your ass, Grif. I’m not gonna sleep on top of you and you sure as hell ain’t gonna sleep on top of me.”
Grif shifted position and crossed his arms as Sarge sidled in next to him. “How are we all supposed to fit in one bed?”
Sarge nodded his head over towards Grif. “Simmons, get over on the other side of Grif.”
“We’d be crammed so close to each other though.” Simmons tried not to think too much about that. A red face was the last thing he needed when he was already dealing with a bunch of stupid butterflies. What was he, gay?
(Author's note: yes.)
“So?” Donut said, “It’s not like you’ve never touched each other. You two have slept together.”
“What??” Simmons and Grif both said. Simmons felt Grif tense as he did.
Grif quickly added, “I don’t know WHAT you’re talking about, Donut.”
“What?” Donut wiggled away from the edge of the bed, cramming Simmons closer to Grif. “Didn’t you share a bed last time we went on a Red Team vacation? You can sleep together one more night, jeez.”
Simmons’ mind had immediately jumped to the euphemism but this was Donut. He dropped innuendos constantly. It was best to try to ignore it.
“Somebody get the light,” Sarge said. “We start hunting Grif at the crack of dawn.”
Simmons elbowed Donut, who elbowed him back.
“The light,” Simmons hissed.
“Ohhhh.” Donut obliged.
“Can it be the crack of the afternoon?” Grif asked. “Also, can’t someone else be the victim first for once?”
“No, it’s alphabetical. You first, numbnuts.”
Grif grumbled. “Fine.” He rolled over. “Stupid alphabet.”
The room was now dark, but Simmons was extremely aware of the two men sardining him. Oh god there was so much body heat and so little space. He was going to wake up uncomfortable and sweaty. Or worse, nuzzling into Grif or Donut thinking they were a pillow in his sleep. But, counterpoint, he really didn’t want to sleep on the floor. He’d at least try to put up with it. At least for tonight.
A few minutes passed. Sarge had already started snoring.
“Wait, Donut’s D!”
“What about my D?”
“Everyone shut. Up.”