When Cal and Sam
arrived from Milliways, they lost no time in hitting the shower: sand in the bed isn't much fun for anyone, after all.
So now the bottom of Cal's tub is finely coated with sand, but the bed is comfortably sand-free for post-coital lounging.
(He's sprawled out comfortably, half on Cal and half off, with his head tucked into the crook of Cal's shoulder.)
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"You're a big help," he says against Sam's skin.
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"Hey, one out of two isn't bad."
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He feels no further commentary is required.
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Sam is so unjust.
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Cal cannot fool Sam!
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Cal's memory can be very short and highly selective when he wants it to be.
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He can, too! (He wasn't just then, but that's not the point.)
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It's true.
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Beat.
"I wasn't just then, but that would completely invalidate my argument."
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He, after all, cannot read minds.
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Kissing Cal, it turns out, is even more fun than that.
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"That is a very good point," he tells Sam when they part.
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