A/N: So this—very questionable thing—was the result of snorlaxslovesme's prompt, Soul and Kid have to share a bed. It is slightly NSFW for sexually explicit content, and I should probably put in a TRIGGER WARNING for molestation to be on the cautious side (there is nothing malicious but—well—you'll see). This is definitely cracky, and well, I wrote it at 4 in the morning on my phone and it shows. It's really more sort of oddly SoMa-y despite the lack of the Ma part than anything. So here, have an odd, odd little drabble.

As a final note-do people really want me to continue "One Bed"? It was written as a one shot, but it wouldn't be impossible to write more. It'd take some thought, but it's do-able.

Cabin Fever

When they walked into the cabin, their home away from home for the night, Soul let out a groan. It was a small place, with only a kitchenette, a fireplace already thoughtfully lit, and a sofa that pulled out into a bed. The only bed. The kishin was dead, its soul currently residing in his stomach with a pleasant warmth, and he was exhausted from maintaining an uneasy resonance with Kid; he just wanted to stretch out and crash. And yet, that was going to be a huge fucking problem.

Whose idea had this been again? Oh, yeah. Stein. Fucking asshole Stein. He remembered the day well, only last week, that the bastard had called him into the death room, his glasses glinting evilly.

"Since you are the Last Death Scythe, Lord Death will need to practice wielding you," he'd insisted smugly. When Soul made some protest along the lines of needing more training with Maka to be ready, Stein just shrugged, his smile making the scythe shudder.

"Well, you could always practice with me if you think you aren't ready." Soul had wanted to punch the sadistic bastard—Kid was his friend and his boss, but Maka was his meister, and they both knew that the only reason Kid would be able to wield him at all is because he was a Shinigami and Soul a deathscythe.

In the end, Kid had agreed to one mission—as he'd admitted to Soul after the professor left, he had no intention of giving up his own weapons, but it was best to appease Stein so they could put it past them.

So here they were, kishin dead, both exhausted (Kid had kept complaining about how heavy and asymmetrical he was,) facing a night in a small cabin with only one bed. One cramped, uncomfortable bed.

Well, maybe it didn't have to be a problem. Maybe his exhaustion, soul deep, was blowing the situation out of proportion; it was just Kid. Yeah, it would be a bit cramped, but it didn't have to be awkward or anything. Soul certainly wasn't interested—Wes might swing both ways but Soul just didn't—and even if he did, Kid was about as sexual as a toaster, so he figured it really was a non-issue. Two friends, crashing in the same bed. Whatever.

Soul stripped down to his boxers and moved towards the bed, glancing back towards Kid.

"Right side or left?" Kid just blinked at him. "Of the bed—do you want the right side or the left?"

"Oh, I see. Right is fine." Kid said, following suit to strip down to boxers and a t-shirt as Soul climbed into the left side of the bed.

It was only a few minutes before both boys were settled, each courteously scooting as far to his edge as physically possible, no part touching. If it were his actual meister on the other side of the bed instead of this—honestly—piss poor substitute (he liked Kid, but death god though he was, the guy was no scythe mesiter,) Soul might have been nervous. The scythe had dreamed of sharing a bed with his meister long and often, and be forced to do so by necessity would have been awkward since she clearly wasn't interested. He'd have been afraid to do something stupid while half asleep.

But this wasn't Maka, this was Kid. No problem, no big deal. Closing his eyes, Soul thought of returning to Death City in the morning, to his meister, and was assured of pleasant dreams.

Knowing it was a dream didn't make it any less good—in fact, it made it even better because he could do and say as he pleased without risk of permanent brain damage.

"Fuck, Maka. You're so wet—somethin' you want," he murmured into her ear. He was pressed to her back, his erection pinned against her ass, his hand arced over the curve of her hip and inching up her thigh to rub the slick heat between her legs.

"Makaaaa," he breathed as he rubbed himself against her wantonly.

"Soul!" Her voice sounded off—husky, even deep with want as her hand shot down to grasp his.

"Mmm-Maka," he moaned into her ear as he thrust against her rear a second time. The dream would be getting good soon. Fuck he loved dreams like this.

He started as he felt his hand being thrust back as Maka shot up, causing Soul to follow suit. His eyes widened as he realized that it was Kid rather than Maka in the bed beside him. What the fuck was up with this dream?

Kid glared at him for a moment before gritting out three crucial words:

"I'm. Not. Maka."

Not a dream, not a dream, not a death damned dream! Fuck, had he been…? He looked guiltily at the hand that, moments earlier in his dream, had been exploring Maka. Clearly, that hadn't actually been Maka (if it had he would be dead by now) and his sleepy mind had been fine with superimposing his dream of her onto any available body.

Ugh. Fuck fuck fuck! He just continued staring, frozen in embarrassment as he felt the flush rush up his neck, quick and hot.

"Soul," the Shinigami said flatly. "I don't know what you and Maka do after missions, and quite frankly, I don't care to know, but I would appreciate not acting as her substitute, if you don't mind." The dignity with which Kid spoke such ridiculously embarrassing words was almost comical, and Soul would have laughed if he didn't want to run screaming. He had basically just violated, or at least attempted to violate, one of his best friends in his sleep, by all appearances. Fucking hell. He raked a hand through his hair in agitation, shaking his head. What a nightmare.

"I…I…" he stammered, attempting to find words and failing miserably. "I mean, I was dreaming and in the dream you were—and I mean, I would never—and—uh—fuck man, I was dreaming about Maka. It wasn't—and I—shit, I'm sorry man."

Kid's expression, as unreadable as always in the firelight, never faltered.

"No need to apologize; you were asleep and nothing happened, really. But I suppose this is all the more reason you are best sticking to missions with your meister."

Soul shook his head. Kid getting the wrong idea might end badly for him. Very, very badly; he did not want to come home to a Maka chop. Plus, after that awkwardness, he was pretty sure he owed the Shinigami some version of the truth at minimum. Fuck this was uncool.

"It's not like that, dude. I mean, I wish it was like that, but really, nothin's going on. Not a fucking thing."

"Clearly you are interested."

"Clearly. But all the interest in the world on my end doesn't mean shit without a willing partner. You know how Maka is."

Kid just stared at him for several moments, his yellow eyes disconcerting, before offering him a shrug.

"Perhaps you should try this with her next time."

"I'm not just gonna—"

"I'm pretty sure, if you ask, she won't object." That slight, knowing smile was making him what to punch the Shinigami, as was the ridiculous suggestion. He restrained himself, partially because it wasn't cool to deck your friends, and partially because he'd already done enough to poor Kid tonight, consciously or not. Still, the death god's line of reasoning was absurd. Ask Maka? What? To fuck her? He snorted involuntarily at the thought and ignored Kid's raised eyebrow. Oh yeah, because that wouldn't end with him in a coma.

"I'll just take the floor," Soul mumbled, deciding the conversation had gone on long enough; he just wanted to go back to sleep and forget any of this had ever happened. He grabbed a pillow and the blanket at the foot of the sofabed and, wrapping himself, curled up on the floor. He heard the bed above him shift and figured Kid had decided to go back to sleep as well.

Fuck that was awful—but Kid had seemed so smug at the end. What was the Shinigami getting at? Soul pondered Kid's words as he began to drift back into sleep, his exhaustion retaking him quickly. Maybe he would say something to Maka. Not that, but something. Ask for a date or maybe even a kiss. If he was groping his boss in his sleep, then his feelings for Maka had gone way past any manageable level and Kid had seemed so sure, like he knew something the deathscythe didn't. Suddenly, Soul was dying to find out what and he smiled contentedly as he drifted slowly back into the dream.