"Let's go with Banach-Tarski as your safeword," McKay says almost absently, lips tracing lazily along John's hairline, and John blinks. // "You want to go with a Euclidean geometric paradox for my safeword?" he asks, bemused.

"I hope you picked someone really intelligent, otherwise it seems like it would be kind of a waste. Of incubation time, if nothing else."

The whole thing started when Yertel asked McKay, “If you have had trouble bearing fruit, there are many men in this camp who will be happy to help,” and Rodney said, “What? Oh, no, our fruit supplies are fine—actually, I’m allergic to citrus anyway so I’m bigger on you know, cake,” which turned out to be some sort of near-tacit admission of infertility on P6X-990.