Rarely naked these days with someone he knows, Dean's cheeks are pink with more than just Mike's handprint, but he proffers his hands without a word, sliding them through the leather for Mike to secure.

Fingers tangling with the chain, he watches Mike's hands rather than his face before his gaze is drawn inexorably back to the bed. Dull and black and well-suited to the dim shadows of the room, the baton looks particularly cruel.