Summary: of drinking, cold and pride
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.

AN: Anuna's doing! she requested 'John in a ballet skirt' and crack

John woke up feeling like there was a cement block sitting on his face. Raw and pounded and *hurting*! He didn't make the mistake of making a sound. Instead he moved his hand only by millimetres while mentally whimpering. The first millimetres were a little worrisome with the odd, thin, rough material they travelled through, but that just didn't hold a candle to the needs of his head for help.

When he finally had his skull in his palm, he braved opening his eyes, stiffened in readiness of the pain. Yup. Agony. Owwwwwwwwwwwwww! *Now* he moaned, sound just wasn't that bad compared to light.

Oh boy oh boy, what the hell had been in that drink? And where was he? His chest was freezing and so was another very disconcerting part of his anatomy. He lifted his head using his hand and looked down... only to jerk up to his feet, suddenly not caring about agony. What the bloody fuck? He was ripping off the VERY offending item before he even thought to care about what he *wasn't* wearing underneath.

Elizabeth had a bad feeling she was missing a critical bit of information.

She was groggy from having spent the night reading a treaty rather than sleeping and was trying to decide whether to chase down someone she could interrogate.. or just crawl into bed and let her people continue to snicker until she had enough active braincells to deal with them. She was just turning to aim for her quarters and some pleasant daydreams before passing out when the door to her balcony opened. She turned, frowning in confusion since no one was supposed to be out there...

The first thing John's throbbing eyes noticed was the fact that the control room was way too full of people for first thing in the morning. The second thing his squinted sight settled on was Elizabeth, staring at him with her mouth hanging open in shock. Crap!

Before he could start warming up and lose the suddenly not so unfortunate effects of the freezing Atlantean night, he growled, "My eyes are up *here*." When she finally made it up his body to look at him as though he were nuts, his sense of humour found *just* enough strength to beat the hangover *and* the humiliation of walking into the control room naked as the day he was born.

He shrugged, a little abashed, "I'm not sure who I need to kill, but there was no way in Hell I was taking a single step *anywhere* in a tutu," he turned to the nearest bunch of laughing marines and smirked, "I've got nothing to hide boys, you tell your friends they better hope they can say the same!" He was thoroughly enjoying the suddenly less amused expressions in front of him when Elizabeth stepped closer.

She was biting her lip to stifle the laughter making her eyes shine and holding out her recently pulled off sweater, "You may not have anything to be ashamed of colonel, but I assume you'd still rather not try to set a new fashion in my city?"

Holding the small sweater a little dubiously for a second, the faint smell of Elizabeth-skin nearby convinced him he really didn't need to prove just how much he had to be proud of; especially since it would at the same time prove that self-control wasn't one of his attributes.

And hey, a red sweater loincloth was still better than a pink tutu. No matter who it marked him the property of..