(no subject)

[elinorwise]

"You don't touch anything, but the sheets or the pillows. If I touch you, that's different. But you do not touch anything but the sheets or the pillows, all right?"


He watched as Sam pulled off the tight latex gloves and threw them to the floor somewhere. Wouldn't be needing those then. All right.


"Dean?"


"Yeah, yeah."


He could do that. Sure. Even if his hands sometimes had other plans, like touching Sam whenever they could, because touching Sam was a lifeline. Touching Sam was what praying was to other people, touching his little brother was making sure Sam was still alive, was breathing and had a heartbeat. Touching Sam was like touching the sun and the moon and the stars and the ocean all mixed together into … Sam. Touching Sam was what made his dick so hard sometimes he probably could actually cut diamonds with it. Touching Sam made sparks between his palm and Sam's skin almost visible. Touching Sam was what he wanted to do all the time, any time.


But he could do this. He could control himself; this was punishment and touching Sam would probably hurt really, really bad at the end, because Sam was a burning sun. Beautiful and bright and full of pain if touched.

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