Title: Cerebral
Author: Moonloon
Rating: PG13
Feedback: maryavatar@gmail.com
Website: Amused and Abused
Notes: Written for Pegasus B, although you don't have to be familiar with it to 'get' this.

"Seven hundred and fifty seven."

"Prime."

"Damn. Five hundred and eighty three."

"Pfft! Easy, not prime."

"Damn. Again." Rodney flipped the frizbee across the balcony to John. "How do you do that so fast? Even Zelenka can't calculate prime numbers that fast, and his IQ is almost as high as mine."

John lunged and caught the frizbee just as it was about to bounce off a railing and plunge the fifty or so feet down into the sea. "Everyone has a skill. I just have a knack with numbers."

"You know... the Mensa..."

"Not going to change my mind." John threw the frizbee back, just a little too hard.

"Ow," Rodney said, as it slapped into his hand. "Don't tell me, it wasn't 'cool' to be smart at your school, so you played sports and pretended to be as dumb as rocks to impress people?"

John grinned. "Newsflash, McKay, it's not cool to be smart at any school. And I didn't need to pretend anything to impress people: I'm naturally impressive."

Rodney couldn't help it; his gaze dropped to the front of John's pants. "Really?"

John laughed hard enough that he missed the frizbee, which bounced off his shoulder and skittered out of sight behind an empty planter. "You, Rodney McKay, have a very dirty mind."

"You only just noticed?" Rodney rummaged around in his pockets and smiled happily when he found half a granola bar. "Seriously though, why aren't you on the scientist side of the great Atlantean divide? Surely you could have got an academic scholarship?"

"Ye-es. I could have." John stopped poking behind the planter, and leaned on the railing. "When you were a kid, what did you dream about?"

Rodney shrugged. "The usual stuff: at school naked, my hair was made of cheese, cats were climbing out of the TV..."

"No, you know what I mean. What did you dream of being?"

"A concert pianist." Rodney stuffed the bar back in his pocket. "I was really very good. Technically, at least. Didn't have the artistry though, so I gave it up."

"That's too bad." John shuffled a little closer.

"Not really. Music and physics are actually very alike, once you get down to the basics. They're all about codes and rhythms."

"Interesting," John said, although his expression hinted that 'weird' was what he really thought.

"Why? What did you dream of?"

John stared out to sea. "When I was a kid, my mother had... problems. I spent a lot of time in foster care. Which is the biggest misnomer there is, because people don't care. I used to dream of just flying away, up high where no one could reach me. The Air Force were willing to help me through college and teach me to fly, so I signed up. And here I am."

Rodney blinked, unsure of what to say. John didn't normally talk about himself; was quite reticent in fact. And now Rodney knew why. "Oh. Okay." Then he thought about it for a moment. "That doesn't mean you can't join M..."

"Argh!" John growled, rolling his eyes. "Will you give it a rest? I open up my deep dark secrets to you, and you're still nagging about Mensa?"

"There's a meeting..."

"Yes, yes. I know. You all get together and play... musical quarks or something." John slid a little closer. "Tempting, but no."

"It's fun; sometimes Dr Wood brings that strange orange stuff she brews up in her lab."

John grabbed Rodney's hips, and pulled him close. "I like to keep my evenings free for... less cerebral activities."

"Ah." Rodney was rendered monosyllabic by the warm, erotic press of John's body against his. "I see."

" Finally , he understands." John stuck his nose into the hollow above Rodney's collarbone. "How high did you say your IQ was?"