Dean’s always been the one to tie Sam’s ties. Doesn’t matter if he can do it- Dean’s ‘big brother,’ and ‘big brother’ ties your ties.
But, when he wraps the satin around his thick, scarred fist, waiting, impatiently, in front of the mirror for Sam to slot into position up against his chest, the younger’s mind tends to wander.
Sometimes he thinks about it being tied behind his head, gagging his mouth so he’s forced quiet- a drooling mess, soaking the fabric dark.
Sometimes it’s fastening his wrists together, tight and biting, hands immobilised above by knots not even Sam can wriggle out of.
Other times he thinks about the tie looped over his eyes- black, black, black is all he’ll see as he’s left blinded and vulnerable to brother’s whim.
Others, it’s a collar Dean uses to yank him about, tightening it up when Sam does something he doesn’t like.
Sam’s eyes widen as Dean, jokingly, snaps the tie like a belt. He chuckles to himself, before grabbing out at Sam and tugging him in tight.
Dean’s chest is warm through their matching white shirts and Sam’s red-faced and twitchy in the mirror’s reflection.
