I was not going to start this fic until I had at least one of my others done. But, I have folded to peer pressure (Mesiaw!) and am starting this one. I am going to start a system where I update two stories a week so updates will be bi-weekly (I am hoping).
This story is going to be rated a VERY heavy NC-17, not only for smut, but also because this story is ultimately very dark and very twisted. If you are offended easily, do not read. Seriously, turn back now.
Summary: When seventeen year old Jake Spencer see's Sam in a compromising situation, an obsession begins to fester and grow until it turns deadly. Jasam.
Prologue:
He couldn't stop thinking about her. Her curves, her legs, her breasts. He had never understood why his Uncle Spin had called his father's wife a goddess until now. She was physically perfect. Everything about her, down to the little mole she had on her shoulder was intriguing and arousing. His mind briefly skirted over how his dad could ever had slept with his mother when he had already bedded such perfection.
His mind went over the moment when his life had changed, when this beauty had started taking over all of his waking a unconscious thoughts. It was like he breathed, ate, lived her. It had to have been that moment at the penthouse that had changed everything. It had to have been that moment when she came down the stairs-supposedly-not knowing that he was there, naked. The water streaming down her hair and onto that luscious body of hers, basically giving a path to where his eyes should feast. He didn't know then that it would turn in to this. That that moment would be a pivotal one in his life.
He lay in his bed, his older brother's music seeping through the thin walls of the Spencer house, the angry beat keeping in time to the images flowing freely from his head.
Sitting up, Jake pushed his blonde hair out of his face, leaning over the bed and digging for a box under his bed. Finding it, he sat up, hauling the box onto his bed and opening it. There were many things in this box, the thing itself his mother had lovingly called a memory box, including pictures. He shoved the contents around, looking for one picture in particular. Finding it near the bottom, he pulled it out, shoving the box onto the floor, not caring when it spilt over and scattered on the floor.. He lay back down, his blue eyes, so much like his father's, scanning the picture of the three of them: Sam, Jason, and he himself in the middle of them, all smiling happily into the camera.
He felt a stab of jealousy and possessiveness that seemed almost overwhelming. Hauling himself completely out of the bed, he moved around his small bedroom, and made his way to his desk where he knew he kept a pair of scissors somewhere. Finding them in one of the drawers, he pulled it out, placing the sharp, silver edges along the smirking face in the photo and snipping. He smiled triumphantly when the unwanted fluttered to the floor. Gazing at his new favorite picture, he made his way back to his bed, stepping on the face of Jason. He laid back down, studying the brunette in the photo intently. She was perfect. And one day, she would see that they were perfect for one another.