Pink or
red?
Author: wanderingsmith
dec 2008
Summary: of drinking, cold and pride
Rating: PG13
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..
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