It was their silences that said the most. It was the silences when their eyes met across the room, or when Sam brushed past him, his bared forearms sweeping across Castiel's rumpled trench. It was the silences between them while Dean chattered and music played in a crowded restaurant, but all they heard was the quiet, the words they didn't say.

They didn't say a word when Sam prayed for Castiel, Dean off on a self-destructive bender, and Castiel came to sit beside him. They didn't need words, just their mouths, slipping against each other with soft whispers of flesh. There was an agreement implicit in the press of Castiel's fingers to Sam's leg, the firm grip of Sam's hand on the nape of his neck. It was quiet when they came together with skin on skin, slow and deliberate, tentative but firm. The bed creaked and their clothes rustled as they fell to the floor but still they didn't speak a word. Their bodies spoke instead, and they whispered and shouted and sang I want you I need you I have you over and over, Castiel filled with Sam and claiming his mouth, breathing him in while Sam gave him everything he asked for.

Sam and Castiel didn't need words when Dean asked what they had done all night while he was out socializing with the local ladies. Their smiles said it all.