Spotless

11.

"I hope the flight wasn't too exhausting!" The cheerful travel agent Pablo hired was trying desperately to lift the spirits of the two cranky men.

"All I need is a key, a cigarette, and a hot fucking bath." Fabbi was crabbier than Saul, his flight consisting of nausea and avoiding touching knees with Saul at all cost.

"What hotel are we staying at, anyways? I'd assume you know." Saul was in the process of fitting all the bags into the trunk of the car they were to take to their lodgings. Nobody believed all the bags would fit but he was quite determined to make it happen.

The travel agent held her clipboard close to her chest and gave a guilty hiss. "Yeah... about that..."

The two men looked up at her, clearly not going to handle whatever bullshit this was very well at all.

"There were no available rooms in the region you'll be staying... but, we were able to find a lovely bed and breakfast! I'm sure you two will be more comfortable there than some hotel room, right??" She smiled and chuckled softly to herself.

"Fucking perfect. Why can't a single thing go right on this god-forsaken trip—" Saul was about to get on the phone with Pablo and figure something out, but Fabbi chimed in.

"It might actually be nice. Good food, homey, less cameras let's hope." He grinned and winked at the travel agent, she laughed and waved him off. Saul could tell that she was blushing.

His jaw tightened and he balled his hands into fists. "Well, I guess it'll have to work then, if you are okay with it Fabbi."

The three of them entered the car, no bags left to accompany them— Saul successfully got every bag in the back, with space left to store.

***

"Alright this is your room!" The very nice old lady that ran the bed and breakfast raised a wrinkly hand and turned the antique knob of the door.

She pushed it open to reveal the quaint, cozy room. It smelled of fresh linens and a vanilla candle. There were thick, green, velvet curtains on the windows and a Maine Coone had curled up, for a nap in a sun spot, on the armchair next to it. There was a door to the bathroom and a door to the closet. Right in the middle of the room was one, full-sized, bed.

"Oh great! Thank you Miss I'll take this one." Fabbi grabbed his bags and strode into the room. "I'll see you in the morning, Saul."

The old women's face twisted into a confused expression. "Oh, no no, this is your room!" She motioned to both men.

Saul blinked. "I... you can't be serious—"

"No I'm quite serious! This was our only open room!"

"Is...is there, like, another bed-"

The women tilted her head. "Another bed? Now why would you need that?? A lovely couple like you shouldn't be sleeping in separate beds!"

Fabbi and Saul both went a shade of dark red. Fabbi waved his hands frantically. "No! No no no no- not a couple— just- ah- just business partners—"

Saul couldn't bear to look at Fabbi or the woman, so he kept his eyes glued to the  door frame. "Y-yeah... just... mm-mm—"

The woman looked a bit embarrassed. "Im sorry, sirs, haha... I just assumed, I shouldn't have— But," she cleared her throat, " there is only this bed, I'm quite sorry! Maybe you two can share just tonight? Or someone can take the armchair?"

Fabbi looked like he was going to explode, so Saul shook his own humiliation and stepped in. "I'm sure we can figure this out, miss, thank you for your hospitality." He gave her a soft smile and entered the room.

The second he shut the door, Fabbi let out a loud groan. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE GONNA DO NOW."

"Please stop yelling—"

"But what are we gonna do, Saul?!"

"I don't know!" He frantically looked around the room. "God what the fuck, Pablo.."

"God it's all his fucking fault."

"Actually, I remember someone saying something about wanting to come here. I was gonna find us a hotel but you—"

"Oh don't you DARE blame me for this, Saul. Don't even fucking start." Fabbi looked at the bed, sighing loudly.

He looked over to Saul, looking him up and down.

Saul furrowed his brow, "What..?"

"You're super fucking tall."

"What-"

"We won't both fit. On that bed. You are too fucking big."

"I'm not big!"

"Yes you are! You are a big lanky man!" Fabbi motioned a judgmental hand down Saul's person.

Saul scoffed, offended. "Okay fucking first of all," he moved closer to Fabbi, "I'm not lanky, and saying big and lanky in the same sentence is fucking redundant."  Fabbi rolled his eyes. "And second, if I can make all of your fucking bags fit in that car, I make us both fit on this bed."

"I don't want to share a bed at all!"

"Well I'm sorry, princess, this is what we have to work with. You're welcome to take the armchair, but I'm sleeping on this fucking bed."

Fabbi bit his lip, looking off. "God fuck. Fine, fucking fine! Just fucking keep your hands off me."

"I wouldn't touch you."

"Better not."

"I wouldn't!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" Saul threw his bag onto the bed and stomped into the bathroom, locking himself in there.

Fabbi sat on the armchair and grumbled to himself. The cat opened one eye, assessed Fabbi and closed it again. Fabbi glanced at it, taking a frustrated breath and scratching the cats head. It purred under his touch and he hummed.

"If only I could share the bed with you instead."