"I know you said you don't like talking." One after the other, Mike locks the cuffs and lifts Dean's hands so he can hook them to the attach points. This is ritual, and the steady evenness of it settles the sense of control in his own mind, slows everything down just enough. "So I'm going to keep it to a minimum. And I know you don't safeword, but I want one anyway. 'Red' okay?"

He picks up the ankle cuffs and drops into a crouch, slapping the inside of Dean's left calf. "Spread your legs."