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what if im far from home? (oh brother i will hear you call) by assholemurphamy
Fandoms: Supernatural
19 Sep 2016
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Summary
Sam will admit it, he felt weird having Skype sex with some boy from a chat room. Let alone one who had the same name as his older brother. But he hadn't seen Dean in almost 2 years, and it wasn't like he was ever gonna find out...
And that's when Sam sees it,..... The tattoo.
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***updated chapter includes irl wincest sex***
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Summary
Prompt: Sam gets an obedience spell put on him. Dean makes the mistake of having some fun with him, and ends up getting a little carried away.
Wren's tags: this is the one where they wouldn't stop fucking, supernatural, sam winchester, dean winchester, wincest, come dripping everywhere, orders.
Wren's warnings: Hint of dom/sub, some filthy comeplay. Oodles of sex.
Archivist's warnings: There are serious consent issues in this fic. Sam is hexed to obey any orders he's given. Over Sam's protests, Dean interrogates Sam about his sexual interests, ostensibly to gather information about the curse. Dean discovers in the course of the interrogation that Sam is bisexual and wants to have sex with him, and they engage in incestuous sexual activity. During this, Dean gives Sam orders, which Sam is unrealistically okay with. Sam enthusiastically obeys, but Dean still extensively fetishizes Sam's inability to say no. Sam's reluctance is never seriously addressed and the events of the fic are framed as the beginning of a consensual relationship.
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Sam has spent six weeks searching for his dead brother only to find out that Dean is a demon and he's been living it up with the King of Hell. Crowley, however, has given up on Dean and handed him over to Sam. Dean of course has no wish to be cured and would rather keep the party going. It will take a lot to persuade Sam to give up on "fixing" Dean and accept the demon as his brother, and it means being led down a dark path.
"Vermilion" starts immediately following 10x02.
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“Dean?” she says, voice wavering. “Um, can I get your opinion on something?”
And you’re a fucking fool, because you look up.
She’s barefoot. It’s the first thing you notice, before you your gaze climbs the golden length of her shaved legs to land on the rest of her, and—then your heart is stopping, it’s breaking, it’s leaping up into your throat to choke you. She’s in a fairly simple push up bra and matching lace boy shorts—white, like your mother’s dress when she burnt on the ceiling, white like a bride, white like hotel sheets, white like she read your mind, and heard what makes you wet. “Jesus, Sammy,” you say, tearing your eyes away, feeling your cheeks color. “What the fuck are you doing.”
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