No Matter What

When you hear about people meeting their one true love, they always tell you it’s like magic. How their eyes met across the room and time stood still, the world falling away until there were just the two of them, staring mesmerised at each other, unwilling to drop each other’s gaze for even a second for fear of never finding such brilliance and radiance again.

They make it sound so romantic. So mystical. So enchanting.

Well I think that’s all bullshit.

Because when I met my true love, it was in a seedy pub called ‘The Hovel.’ Our eyes didn’t meet across the room, we didn’t gaze star struck into each other’s eyes and I actually spent the entire time making sure my eager dick wouldn’t explode through my jeans.

The boy I had laid my eyes on was surely the most gorgeous creature to have walked the earth. Just from a single look, I could tell that he was a sweet boy, a little shy even. He wore his heart on his sleeve, having the most pretty and soulful hazel coloured orbs I had ever seen. He was tall, but not as tall as me, with a wonderful head of shaggy brown hair. And when he smiled, he just had the cutest dimples adorning his angelic face. His layers of clothing notwithstanding, I was willing to bet that they were hiding the body of a God. And I practically salivated at the thought of helping him to lose those clothes of his.

When he sat next to me at the bar – conveniently the only seat available (Lady Luck was certainly shining down upon me) – my dick threatened to jump out of my pants. But instead, I introduced myself to the boy and found out that his name was Sam.

After plying him with a couple of drinks, or maybe five, careful questioning revealed a whole veritable mine of information about him. Sam was nearly ten years my junior and he was on a road trip with his big brother Dean (the walking man-slut currently trying to chat up a couple of girls at the pool table). He was staying at Lleyton’s Motel around the block and was probably staying in town for a couple of days to rest up. And better yet, he wasn’t seeing anyone. Not that that would’ve deterred me in my pursuit, but it was so hard to break people of their attachments sometimes.

Our conversation and jesting grew more enthusiastic as the drinks continued and when Sam finally left with his brother, arguing over Sam’s considerable alcohol intake, I had already decided that I had to have him. No matter what.

The next time I saw Sam was the middle of the next day, where I had been interviewing the sheriff on the ‘mysterious’ arson at Lleyton’s Motel. The sheriff seemed intent on pinning the arson on one of the motel residents passing through town, but when I threw caution to the winds (it wouldn’t do for my Sam to be convicted of arson, not that I would have let prison come between the two of us), the sheriff could not deny the possibility of a home grown closet arsonist in our small tight-knit community. But of course, as I had guessed when I set that dreary place alight, no one had suspected little ’ole me, the friendly journalist at the Daily News. And as I left the interview room, there he was, Sam with his brother, at the police station to assist the police with their inquiries.

I was pleased when Sam recognised me from the other night (the boy had been quite plastered at the time after all) and was even more pleased that he had actually remembered my name. We got to talking again, Sam’s brother looking bored, when I invited both of them to spend the rest of their stay in town at my home, thereby finally achieving my motive for actually burning the damn motel down. That had sent meaningful glances between the brothers.

As I excused myself to let them discuss the offer, I ‘accidentally’ over-heard the brothers’ debating in quick whispers – the elder didn’t want to accept my hospitality (he would pay for his slight) while my Sam wanted to stay to “finish the job”. I had never really caught on to the boys’ occupations, nor did I really care. After all, Sam would never have to work again, not after I hade made him mine.

To my dismay, it looked like Dean (the fucker) would win the argument, and as my mind scrambled to find other plausible ways to get Sam to stay (preferably with me), I watched with amusement as the younger brother turned on his puppy dog eyes in full force. And Dean folded like a pack of cards. I was relieved. But it also meant that I had to be careful – if I didn’t make myself immune to that delicious puppy expression, I would find myself spoiling Sam too much in future. And as a master, I could not over indulge my slave.

The brothers looked uncomfortable when I directed them into separate rooms, as if they were used to being joined at the hip or something. Dean especially looked the most weary at the prospect of separate sleeping arrangements. But when I asked if they preferred to swap rooms with me and sleep in a single bed, Sam had laughed it off good-naturedly, not catching the underlying sexual connotation (God, I couldn’t wait to soil that innocence and naivety with my own manhood), and he didn’t even notice his brother had turned beet red at my suggestive comment – a curious response, considering that Sam and Dean supposedly shared an entirely platonic brotherly relationship. I wondered if Sam knew Dean’s feelings for him were less within the arena of brotherly. But I concluded that he didn’t – Sam seemed like the type of person who would get guilty just surfing the internet for porn. It didn’t seem like he would have noticed his brother’s sexual desires and preferences, considering the older man had been hiding it so well by chatting up the ladies. I grinned to myself, imagining Sam’s expression when I tell him how much Dean wanted to fuck him.

I gave Dean the shittiest room, but let Sam have the bedroom that had an adjoining bathroom. The bedroom in which I had installed the hidden camera. And I had sat in bed, watching with growing satisfaction as Sam stripped, showered and changed for bed. I was pleased that my prediction had been correct – Sam was in very good shape and he had such a fine ass. He had put on such a good show for me – I had came hard simply from watching Sam washing himself – that it took every fibre of my being to keep myself from barging into Sam’s room, turning him on his stomach, and taking him then and there (and I so wanted to). Instead, I tried to imagine the feel of Sam’s virgin hole around me and I really couldn’t wait to hear that melodious voice call me “Master”, to feel that fine body sprawled helpless beneath mine and feel his taut muscles rippling beneath my hands as I stroked his (wonderful) member to hardness.

The next day, Sam had become ‘mysteriously’ ill over breakfast. He spent hours in the bathroom – not vomiting – and all I wanted to do was to wrap him in my arms and apologise for slipping him the laxative. But instead, I hardened my heart at his suffering, never faltering. The plan had to go on if I was to get my Sam.

Dean had been amused at his brother’s ‘problem’ but when he was in the kitchen with me grabbing a glass of water for Sam, I had volunteered to spell him for a while, allowing him to rest while I looked in on Sam. The response had been immediate. His face darkened faster than a speeding bullet as he scowled, seemingly growing in stature and intimidation as he looked at me as if I was dangerous. As if I would hurt the love of my life.

But by then, I had already known that Dean had to go. He had seemed like the restless type, never settling in one place for long and I could see without having to predict the future that he would be continually lugging my Sam away from me. When Dean had turned his back, after telling me in no uncertain terms that he could look after his own brother, I brought the hidden taser to his neck. Dean grunted as electricity shot through him and I took the opportunity to stab him in the heart with my pocket knife, grabbing the glass of water he held with my free hand. After placing the glass on the kitchen table, I stabbed him several more times for good measure. After all, it was better to err on the side of caution.

Unfortunately, Dean completely ruined my kitchen floor with his heavy bleeding (what an inconsiderate pig) and I had had so many pleasant memories mucking around on that very floor, covering it in cum. But as the saying went: you can’t always have your cake and eat it too. And I reasoned that Sam and I could always make new memories there… once I fixed it up a little. I slipped my hand under my jeans to fist my bulge at the imagery that sprang involuntarily to my mind – the sight of a beautiful and flushed Sam brought to climax by my teasing, gracefully shooting his seed over our intertwined bodies as we writhed around on the kitchen floor.

But there was no time for such fun just now.

So I dragged the rapidly cooling body into the basement (would it have killed the fucker to have laid off the hamburgers?), thinking to get rid of it later. I then went back for the glass of water – carefully lacing it with just the right amount of sedative – and brought it to Sam, telling him that Dean had gone to answer the call of nature. And in a way, I wasn’t lying. After all, death was a part of nature.

Once Sam was asleep, I could contain myself no longer. I launched myself at him, grinding my cock against his and nuzzling against his neck. My hands roamed every part of that wonderful body they could find as I pressed gentle kisses along his sensitive skin. But still the boy slept peacefully on, unaware. And I loved every minute of it.

My fervent passion eventually cooled and I stopped my frenzied kissing to reach my hand down his pants to cup his sex, falling head over heels with the feel with a single touch. It was as if Sam’s cock was made to be fitted in my hands. As I reached with my other hand to play with it some more, my gaze caught side of the time on the bedside clock. Crap. No time for festivities now.

Reluctantly, I released my charge, rearranging him and the bed so he would be none the wiser to our (well, mine really) euphoric tryst. With a final kiss to those sweet lips, I went to clean the blood from the kitchen floor. The blood stains were difficult to get out – even in death, Dean was being stubborn – and I hated the work, but unfortunately it was a hazard which came with the job of pursuing love. Although if truth be told, if I didn’t think Sam would balk at it or find it objectionable, I would have loved to have left those blood stains on the floor. To have the two of us rolling around on that floor with his brother’s blood around us, consecrating our love…

Moving back to the basement, I set to work on Dean’s body with a sharpened blade, making quick work dismembering his body. Then removing every single trace of Dean within the house, I bagged it with Dean’s body, or what remained of it, driving Dean’s Impala (how he could ever love that thing when he had such a fuckable brother was beyond me) into the swamp on the outskirts of town and lobbing the bag in after it. It seemed fitting for Dean to be… laid to rest… with that monstrosity he called a car since he couldn’t appreciate his brother’s finer assets. And well… as far as I was concerned, if Dean couldn’t work up the courage to take his brother, he should be made to stand aside for me.

Confident that no one would find Dean’s remains or his car – after all, nobody had found the other bodies in the swamp either – I got home just in time for a quick jack off in the shower before Sam woke up.

But when he did… what a temper - something I would have to teach him to control, because I would not tolerate a slave with that kind of explosive temperament. He was both indignant and disbelieving when I told him that Dean had left him. And that was putting it mildly. He even tried to throw a punch at me – which I overlooked in my magnanimity, after all, the boy was upset (I’m such a generous person) – yelling that his brother wouldn’t do that to him and that I was lying. Well, I was lying, but that was no reason for such blatant disrespect for his new soon to be master. But I surprised myself with my restraint, countering by telling him to take a look around him. Sam calmed down enough to take me at my word, tearing through the house and noting the absence of all of Dean’s things and his beloved Impala. Calling his brother’s phone repeatedly yielded no response. And with a few more gentle nudges, Sam was starting to believe that Dean was gone. But to my irritation, Sam did not see it as an abandonment but rather a misunderstanding between brothers.

He had resolved to leave straight away to look for his wayward family, but I simply couldn’t have it. Couldn’t let true love slip through my fingers, not when I had waited so patiently for it, sometimes even settling for any moving body just to warm my bed. So I volunteered to help Sam, spinning him a story about how guilty I was at having let Dean go, for being stupid enough to believe it was a consensual agreement to separate between the brothers.

Sam was clearly not used to being on his own, because it did not take much cajoling from me to convince him to take me along. Together, we hunted down every trail and left no stone unturned. We searched the town methodically, expanded into neighbouring towns (Sam didn’t even give the swamp a second glance as we drove past it) and called Dean daily and any other contact the boys had in our ‘desperate’ search for him. But there was a 3,000 mile haystack. It was clearly an impossible task. And I was willing to wait for Sam to realise that. After all, I had waited so long to find someone like Sam. Surely I could wait a few more weeks before Sam willingly submitted to me.

As days melted into nights, and nights melted back into days again, I made sure that I was always there for Sam, comforting him when he cried and putting him to bed when he was drunk. All the while I subtly reinforced the message of Dean’s conscious abandonment of Sam, revelling at seeing the hurt in Sam’s eyes as he took in the ‘truth’ of my words. We grew very close over the next few weeks.

And then one day, he finally accepted it. Sam came into my room in the middle of the night and sat on the bed next to me. He told me that Dean only had less than a year to live. And now Dean had taken off on him, robbing Sam of the rest of the year to spend with his brother.

“Sometimes I hate him for that.” Sam had admitted.

And that was the response I had been looking for. “It’s okay,” I had told him, “When my parents died, I hated them too, for leaving me.”

Then as if finally realising the ‘truth’ that I had known all along, Sam had whispered brokenly (and I nearly threw myself at him there) “Dean’s gone. He’s really gone. I don’t know what to do.”

And as I held Sam, alternating between stroking his back and his hair, my heart roared its triumph. Releasing Sam, I gently unbuttoned his shirt, running my hand over the skin underneath as the other hand reached to stroke Sam’s face.

Sam then leaned into the touch, trying to soak up all the comfort he could get. He had been lonely these last few weeks – exactly what I had been aiming for.

“Don’t worry,” I had said, “I’ll look after you.” I gently kissed him, and Sam had surrendered to it, allowing me to push him onto his back on the bed and remove his clothes.

And as I breached him, it was just as sweet as I had always imagined it to be – the flushed, pleasured expression on that beautiful face and the sounds he made as I fucked him raw sent electric jolts all the way to my cock, bringing me over the edge faster than all my previous partners – be they willing or unwilling – had ever did. The old adage was certainly true: good things come to people who wait. Although I thought it would better fit my situation if amended to: good things come to people who get rid of all the obstacles, no matter what.

So I finally had my one true love.

And as I enjoyed Sam and fucked him again, unbeknownst to me, somewhere out there the spirit of Dean Winchester raged.


THE END