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“What’s this spell supposed to do, exactly?” Max asked.
His voice was a little muffled through the speakers of the phone. Sam hummed in response as he flipped through a few pages of notes. “Well, it’s grounding, really. Setting protection for this space by mirroring the sigil in a second location. Supposed to make the whole thing stronger. You don’t have to keep the sigil once we’re done or anything.”
“Double the effort, half the trouble,” Max huffed.
“Something like that yeah,” Sam replied, with a half laugh. There was still an element of nervousness clinging to his lips, his lungs, his fingertips. No matter how many times Max had insisted he could call for help with magic, this was the first time he’d taken up the offer. He wasn’t sure what the protocol was. Should they make idle chit chat? Was it rude to call for a favour and not even make a pretence at friendship?
He could hear Max moving around, drawing out the same markings and checking the placement compared to the image Sam had sent. The lip between Sam’s teeth was sore with being chewed on so much, but he gnawed at it mindlessly all the same.
“So… how’s it looking?”
Max’s voice petered in and out of range. “Nearly got it, hang on.”
“I know it’s complicated, sorry to take up so much of your time.”
“I wasn’t busy.”
“Oh. Okay, good.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d have been happy to help even if I had been busy. But this is just making a lazy Saturday afternoon a little more exciting.”
“Exciting?” Sam parroted.
“Well, yeah. It’s not every day the great Sam Winchester calls for aid.”
Sam felt himself blush, just enough that he was glad no-one was able to see the rosy pink tint that was surely blooming on his cheeks. “Not every day that the brilliant Max Banes answers.”
“Are we making Lord of the Rings puns right now?”
“Maybe?”
“Maybe we should stick to magic.” Max laughed, and Sam could picture how he’d shake his head. He almost wished he’d asked for a video call, before he recalled the blushing and nervous twitchy thing he currently had going on. “What’s next?”
“Uhh, well. So it says a personal… an offering? And it’s gotta be the same thing at both locations. I figured there’s one thing we’d both have to hand. So, uhh, you got a knife nearby?”
“...yes, my ceremonial dagger is here. What did you have in mind?”
“I think a small cut should do it, it doesn’t have to be much. A little nick and a small vial, sprinkle it over the sigil and--”
“Hold up, hold up. Sam. You want to do this with blood?! Seriously?”
“Unless you have a better idea, I didn’t want to assume you’d have the same ingredients around. And I wasn’t sure how to make this personal, otherwise. I know it’s kind of crude, but blood works, usually.”
“I know it does,” Max huffed, Sam heard him sit down with a sigh.
Sam shuffled nervously to the edge of his own seat, chewing on a fingernail now. Not sure how that hand got in his mouth, the notebook balancing on his knee threatened to be dislodged because his leg wouldn’t stop jostling. “If you want to back out I understand.”
“It’s not that, I just think we could make this a little more fun.”
“Fun?”
“Fun, yes. That thing people have sometimes. Non-painful, easy and feel good. Fun with a capital F.”
Somehow, and more quickly than he would’ve expected, Max convinced him to get a hand down his pants. He wasn’t hard (yet) but Max was making quick work of rectifying that. The blush had spread, so far that he felt hot around the collar and sweaty in his three layers of shirts. His cock was hot in his palm and the tinny sound of Max making pleased noises through the phone made him clench.
It definitely wasn’t what he expected when he picked up the phone. And it definitely wasn’t what Rowena would have suggested, if she’d been the one to answer. He moaned, embarrassment and amusement warring for attention.
“See, told you it would be more fun,” came Max’s voice through the speaker of his phone, now laid face up on the floor beside the sigil.
“It’s not that… I’m not even hard yet.”
Max laughed again and Sam squeezed his hand in tandem with the noise, hot blood reacting to the tiny bit of pressure.
“So what are you gonna do about it?” Max asked.
“Uhh, guess I have to…”
“Please tell me I don’t have to talk you through this part.”
Sam swung his head back and closed his eyes. “I got it. Though if you want to help I won’t say no…”
“Was that you asking me to dirty talk to you?”
“I… don’t know.” He couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud, if he were being honest. “I’m just not used to this being, y’know, not private.”
“Sam my dear friend, we have got to get you out more.”
“Shut up.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk?” Max teased, and behind the words Sam was sure he heard a groan, the slick slide of flesh.
“I want you to. I want. Umm, well we should do this at the same time and you seem a little ahead of me.”
“I can wait.” There was a huff, a contented sigh. “I’m not in a rush.”
Something about that sentence spurred Sam on and he lifted his hips to get a better angle. Settled his hand deeper into his pants. His own spit was just enough to make his palm slide as he moved. With his fist loosely closed he began to gently flick his wrist up and down the length of his cock. There was pressure building in his chest, something like expectation on top of social anxiety.
And then Max moaned and said, “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”
And Sam’s tension began to slip away. He smiled, small and tight, and wrinkled his nose at the noises Max made down the phone.
“Really making your Saturday good now, huh?” he said.
“You know it, and you wanted me to split open my skin and bleed for you.” Max made a derisive noise. “What about you, feeling anything yet?”
Sam considered his cock, the semi-hard feel beneath his fingers. Silky skin growing under his touch until he felt thicker by the moment. “Working on it.”
“You like to take things slow? I can respect that.”
“Mmm, I take a while to settle into things I suppose.” Sam wrapped his fingers around the tip, glad to have urged the first drops of precome to help ease the slip-slide of his hand. He wondered if it was impolite to pause and find lube but the too-rough feel of it added a thrill he didn’t expect.
“If I were there I’d help with that.”
“R-really? How?”
“I’m good at nuzzling,” Max replied, eliciting a laugh from deep in Sam’s chest. “I’d settle up on top of you and nose into your neck, lean up to kiss you, nibble on your lips, your throat…”
“That sounds good.” Sam moved his hand faster, all thought of anything else was forgotten.
“Probably have a hand down both our pants too, jack us in tandem.”
Sam snorted. “Sounds like you’re doing all the work.” But he could almost feel it, hot breath on his neck, a warm body on top of him, movement and touch and contact. He arched up, lips parting on an exhale as his heart thudded in time with his hand.
“If you like,” Max said, coy as anything. The sentence ended with a groan and an audible shift.
“I’d hold you, hands up under your shirt. Gently but…”
“But?”
“But making sure you didn’t leave.” The words came out in a rush, held together in one breath.
The noise Max made at that was somewhere between a laugh and whine. Sam panted, wondering how much of himself was audible. He imagined Max being able to hear every shift of fabric, the squelching sound of his fist, the flutter of his eyelashes. It spurred him and the muscles in his thighs jumped and clenched as he began to jack his cock more firmly.
“I hope we’d be somewhere more comfortable,” Max said, after a long span of seconds where silence had grown to a tense breaking point between. Like a cord taut as a tether from Sam’s lips to Max’s ears and back again in reverse, the timbre of Max’s voice twanged all the way down the line until his toes curled inside his boots.
“If we—if we really wanted to make it magical we could lay ourselves out inside the sigil.”
“I like the way you think, Sam Winchester.”
Sam laughed. “Getting kinda hard to think of anything right now.”
“Good. You close?”
“Mmmhhmm.”
“Come on then.”
His hand was hot, cramping slightly, he spread his fingers and let them dance over the tip of his cock, rested the other on his belly, curling and uncurling with each breath so it tickled over the planes of his stomach. With a final surge he squeezed, twisted his wrist on each upward thrust. “Fuck.”
“Fuck yeah,” Max echoed him.
His hand made a tunnel, perfect and tight and he fucked into it with abandon. Shoe leather squeaked across the floor as he angled his body, and Max cried out down the phone. Everything felt bright, alive, and ready and let his orgasm roll through him like a wave. His hips thrust upward at the crest and his release spattered forth—from his seat at the edge of the sigil it landed drop by drop across the runes. White come on white paint, and white lights danced behind his eyes as he caught his breath.
He went to bed satiated that night, the memories making him blush even now, but pleasant in his mind nonetheless. They’d stayed on the phone for a while, after. Both complaining about needing to go clean up, but neither of them making any moves to do so. Talk had turned to more normal things, as though the flirting had never happened. Sam wondered if he’d imagined the desire that had laced Max’s words—if his own had been purely an extension of the moment rather than something more concrete.
Either way he supposed it didn’t matter, and even as they did finally say goodbye he felt no shame in it. In fact, there was an odd sense of pride. He’d felt good and he’d done something useful and he’d made a mess out of Max just as much as Max had uttered helpful things to him.
So sleep came easily, and dreamless and deep.
Morning brought with it tossing and turning and he woke in a cold sweat. Except—no, not cold. A hot, throbbing heat. A pulse racing kind of sweat. He jerked upward and rose halfway out of bed before desire slammed into him and knocked him back on his ass. Arousal thrummed, drawing a gasp out of him.
He was already hard. Achingly so. The front of his sweatpants had a wet spot the size of his palm and growing. Sensation wrapped itself around him and he gasped, phantom touches--fingertip like and warm--danced across his pecks, the hollow of his throat. And around his cock, god, oh god , the heavy tight feel of a fist closed around him and stroked languidly.
He shoved his hands inside his pants, groping for whatever touched him, and found nothing but his own skin and dampness.
There was nothing to do, no way to deduce why he was feeling this. He cast around for the scent of sulphur, shot out a hand to check for a cold spot. There was nothing. Was he just dreaming? Hallucinating? The thought made him queasy but another round of pleasure zipped through him and he keened. His own hands balled into fists on the sheets, unsure where else to touch.
He was aroused to the point of frustration, near painful in intensity, when it let up for just a moment. He scrambled up from his back and heaved against the headboard, dizzy with the bodily thrill, but bereft of any sense of completion.
Not for long though, mere moments passed before he felt the sensation of--something. Pressing, pushing in. Again, he shoved a hand down the crack of his ass and found nothing. But he rolled onto his side and arched cat-like and mewling as it filled him. There was drag and pull and shift, but no pain, no heavy weight. His fingers delved into his own ass and found it empty but the feeling didn’t go away. A lasting impression of fullness and pressure and thrusting that pried his jaw apart into a silent perfect Oh.
Arousal had waned, a little, but then the heat was back around his cock. The fleeting touch of pleasure that grew larger, and coupled with the slow thrusting drag he felt inside his prostate began to react too. There was a feedback loop of pleasure, dancing between the twin spots of contact, and he got lost in the haze of it the longer it went on. Rolled onto his stomach to ease his hips back and forth against the mattress, all animal instinct to move and react and appreciate.
His head swam and he pillowed his face in the crook of one arm as an orgasm was pulled from him against all odds and logic.
He laid, sweating, bursting with questions and still lost in sensations until the stretched sensation in his ass abated with a sucking tug and he trembled. Slowly his skin prickled with cold, sweat dried on his bare skin and the buzzing arousal quietened. A few lingering touches remained, stroking across the back of his head--like there was a heavy palm there for a while--and on the inner creases of his thighs.
The morning came back into full focus in bits and pieces. The bare concrete walls of his room, the colours of the comforter. The smell of his own sweat last night’s drink on his breath. He breathed and waited and wondered, until the needs of his body drove him out of bed and into a long, hot shower. Tentatively he touched his spent cock, moving it side to side, testing the sensation. It didn’t feel the same as it had, more real, and yet less overcoming. He had no interest in a second orgasm, rattled and confused, and still lost in the throes of morning release. There was no tension in him, he didn’t feel scared now the moment had passed. But he had questions, and although part of him wondered if it had been an intense wet dream, his curiosity drove him to the library anyway. But where should he begin to look for answers to questions on sex, in a bunker full of stuffy, theoretical magic?
It happened twice more within the span of a few days. And his worry grew further, alongside a deeper, darker desire to feel, and experience, it again. There was something thrilling about not being able to predict when a sudden attack of arousal would strike. Once he’d been mid-shower and that worked out well enough, he’d gone weak at the knees with the powerful feeling of lips and tongue working over the head of his cock.
By the time it was over the entire large bathroom in the Bunker was suffused in steam and he didn’t feel any cleaner than when he went in.
The second time he’d been sitting at a bar with Dean, two states over and checking in on a case with a beer in hand. He’d slammed his bottle on the counter so forcefully that he had beer dripping down his hand as he stumbled into a back room to ride it out. It had been over quickly, just the sense of a palm in his pants rubbing him to hardness and then further into a swift and jarring orgasm that left him more frustrated than satisfied.
The third time he’d left the Bunker on a quick supply run, and got only a few miles down the road before pleasure hit. He swerved to the roadside and threw the gear stick into park while he panted over the steering wheel. He knew he couldn’t let this go on any longer, and questioned whether he should call Cas or Dean first for help before realising with a sudden surge of clarity--there was Max.
He’d thought of it that first morning, briefly, before dismissing the idea out of embarrassment. How could he call the man who’d talked him through a sexually charged phonecall and magic spell and say “Hey, so I think I’m experiencing a bizarre and unheard of sexual phenomenon, want to help?” without sounding desperate for a repeat of their exploits?
It was only now, having walked across the sigil he’d painted as he left the Bunker, that he realised there could be a connection and his own reservations shouldn’t let it go ignored. He also wondered, guiltily, if deep down he’d known but liked the thrill of it. As his body reacted again, his cock at half mast already, he decided he shouldn’t wait. If this was truly connected, Max deserved to know.
The phone felt heavy in his hand as he sat there secretly willing it to ring out, hit voicemail, for the sensations to continue. Shame crawled up the back of his throat and he thought he might choke on it. Why did he want someone else’s pleasure, someone else’s timetable for his body to experience enjoyment? He rubbed the back of a hand over his eyes with a sigh.
Max picked up on the fifteenth ring.
“Hey, Sam. What’s up?”
The sensations had already stopped, confirmation enough.
“I just wanted to check in, are you busy?”
“Well… kinda, could this wait maybe half an hour?”
“I think if you hear what I have to say, you’ll be glad not to wait. I think, maybe. I could be wrong. This is going to sound a little crazy.” He laughed nervously. Through the phone line he heard the decisive sound of a door shutting. “Have you been experiencing anything odd since our… thing the other day?”
“Odd how?”
“Let’s say, heightened sensations? Unexplained ones?”
Max hummed, thinking. “I don’t think so.”
“You’d know if you had. I have. I… think we might be connected, in some way.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’ve been thinking about me?” Max sounded playful.
“In a sense…”
The ordeal, if you could even call it that, came out haltingly and Max was uncharacteristically quiet by the end. Sam chewed on his lip as he waited for Max to say something, anything. The silence was broken by a small choked sound, and then a giggle.
“I’m sorry. It’s not funny, I swear I don’t mean to laugh, but.” Again there was a snort.
Sam smiled. “I’m not upset, it is… it’s a little funny.”
“I can’t believe--so the other day when I had a little fun alone… with the dildo?”
“Yep.”
“And then that one night fling on Wednesday?”
“Yes that was intense.”
“Oh god.” Max stifled another laugh. “I’m so sorry. Did you hate it? That’s so violating. Why am I asking? Of course you didn’t like it.”
“Well…” There was a very pregnant pause where Max waited for him to continue and Sam’s nerves and guilt and embarrassment crested and broke against the nonsensical notions they were dealing with. “It’s been interesting. I can’t say any of it felt bad.”
“Sam you kinky son of a bitch.”
He would’ve winced but there was no scorn in Max’s voice. “What can I say, you got me.”
“I want to run an experiment,” Max replied when they were done chuckling to each other. “And it’s only fair that you get me back. Are you alone?”
“I’m in a car on the side of the road.”
“So, yes.” With a sigh, Sam agreed. “Touch yourself.”
And he barely took any convincing. Still desperate for the release he’d denied himself making the call. He hunkered down in the seat, checked the road was empty, and pulled his dick out of his pants. It was the first time he’d really touched himself in over a week, and it felt different. Less exciting but more real, and then Max wheezed down the phone, spewed every expletive Sam knew and a few that he didn’t, and groaned as Sam sped up. Every noise spurred him on, and before he knew it he was as breathless and hopelessly lost in sensation as Max was.
They came mere seconds apart, Max shouting his enjoyment so loud that the speaker on Sam’s phone crackled. And Sam came with a grunt, and a long-held groan that rumbled out of his chest.
“That was amazing,” Max said once he caught his breath. “I didn’t even need to do anything.”
“Yeah.”
They both paused, and Sam caught a flash of movement in the rear view mirror. Another vehicle approached and then whizzed past his parking spot beside the empty country road. It disappeared into a spec in the distance and he breathed along to the sound of Max relaxing through the phone. Alone, yes, but connected.
“We have to meet in person.”
“Yes,” Sam agreed, readily.
“And we have to do it soon.”
It took three days to find a spot to meet in the middle and each make their way there. Three days of phone calls and nightly escapades where they played with the sensations, learning what drove the other wild. There was an unspoken agreement that they were meeting to find a way to undo the effects, and that they should make the most of it while they could.
When Sam finally saw Max approach outside the roadside motel they’d chosen, he smiled so wide his cheeks ached. Max greeted him with a tight embrace and a kiss on the cheek and pulled back to look at him.
“This has all given you a good blush.” It was teasing, friendly. “I like the beard on you.” Max reached up to run a knuckle over the stubble coating his face.
Sam nodded, smiled impossibly wider. “It’s a new look.”
He caught Max’s hand and rubbed a thumb over the back of it while they held each other’s gaze. It didn’t feel strange, after so many times experiencing each other’s bodies, trading pleasure and arousal like a boomerang, to touch in physical space. Like it was an extension of everything they’d already done, a new and thrilling step of course, yet still comfortable. Nothing more intense than they’d already appreciated in one another.
“So, room?” Max said after a few moments passed.
“Do you have bags?” Sam looked over Max’s shoulder to the small car he’d driven up in.
“A few, I brought books. And other things.” Max winked and drew away, but not before giving Sam’s hip a squeeze.
“Other things sound… great.”
“I’ve got ideas,” Max replied. “Big ones.”
“You and I both,” he said.
From the way Max laughed, with his head thrown back and putting his full body into it, Sam knew they were about to have the night of their lives. And possibly more than that, if he had anything to say about it. There was a warmth and tingle in his stomach at the notion of sharing things with Max that he never had before. So at ease was he at the idea of touching what had already been revealed to him through the magical bond, that he could think of no better way to spend a day, or a week, or a lifetime, exploring it over and over again with his own hands. With his full body. With everything he had.