Tangible Schizophrenia


Post-It: Fashion Crisis

Author: Guede Mazaka
Rating: NC-17. Bondage.
Pairing: John/Balthazar/Gabriel
Feedback: Nice lines, typos, etc.
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me and no profit except the intangible is intended to rise from this.
Notes: Crossover with Van Helsing. Thanks to _emptyspaces for the suggestions.
Summary: Messages from John’s fridge, plus explanations.


Balthazar--Touch my fucking suits again and I will rip that goddamned tongue of yours out by the roots. C.

Black. Black was functional. Black hid stains, and it looked professional, plus it generally suited John’s outlook on the world. He liked black. And besides the color, he had each of his suits custom-altered and doused with certain magics on top of that. They constituted one of his first lines of defense.

Maybe it wasn’t much, maybe the pinstripes were a deep gray and so fine that they were nearly invisible, but still, it was just as if Balthazar had walked in and dropped a corpse in front of him, then sat back to watch while he got railroaded into jail for it. While smoking John’s cigarettes.

John flung down the jacket and went for the door, only stopping to pick up Gabriel’s shotgun. That shit. If he wanted a lunchtime visit, he was damn well going to get one.

* * *

Johnny--Quit your whining. Now you have a much-needed excuse to take me shopping. B.

“—not—ever—fucking--again!” John’s knees slipped on the slick table top and he fell onto Balthazar, slamming his own jaw shut. Bit his tongue, but didn’t notice till he tasted the blood, and even then he didn’t give a shit. Just yanked Balthazar’s squirming body up by the waist and shoved back into him. Gave Balthazar’s prick a hard twist so Balthazar keened and twisted, bucking hard against him. “Get me?”

Balthazar’s answer was to rake huge scratches in his own boardroom table and scream like a banshee as he came. He collapsed, moaning, but when he figured out that John was just going to fuck him through the aftershocks, he started to whimper and move. John pinned him back and drove in till his balls were snugging up to Balthazar’s ass, and then did that again and again till he finally went over the edge as well.

“That’s…a terrible way…to discourage me,” Balthazar breathlessly said. “And now I need a new suit.”

John nipped sharply at his ear, since that was handiest; Balthazar merely craned around to flick that damned tongue of his along John’s lower lip. Impulses to rip it off and suck it in warred in John for a moment before he finally lunged down and smashed their mouths together.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “Not yet, you don’t. Your shirt’s still in one piece.”

* * *

Both of you--If you don’t cut it out, I’ll tie you both up and leave you that way for a week. G.

Gabriel pinned the book with the heel of his hand and twisted about his fingers till he could fold over the next page. A little awkward maneuvering and he’d fully turned it. He was just about to continue reading when the body lying over his lap jerked, clenching hard around the fingers of his other hand. John had long since stopped trying to curse through his gag and now he was moaning, tugging at his bound hands and trying futilely to fuck himself on Gabriel’s hand. But Gabriel was careful to move with the other man so no matter what, his fingers remained at exactly the same shallow depth. “The next time she’s in town, I suppose I should introduce you more formally to Nicki. She’s a very interesting lady when it comes to alternatives to violence.”

Groaning, John writhed to press his erection against Gabriel’s hip. When Gabriel forced him to lie still, he craned about to show a plaintive, resentful expression. Then his eyes narrowed.

“Balthazar’s in the next room,” Gabriel answered. “He can hear, but can’t…attend to himself.”

That made John grin, but Gabriel always tried to be even-handed so he couldn’t allow that for long. He corkscrewed his fingers till John’s head dropped back, and then he resumed reading.