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When Castiel still resided in Heaven, in his God-given post as Angel of the Lord and Captain of his Garrison, he'd cast the occasional fond glance towards Earth and the humans who inhabited her. While almost always busy with the business of the Host, he'd spent his meager free time watching humanity spread across the face of the globe, civilizations unfolding and evolving as they moved. On the occasions he'd walked among them in a vessel, he'd been charmed by the particulars of their lives: Their ingenious ability to gather any organic material at hand and render it into foodstuffs, shelters, garments of the most varied design. The rules of etiquette they put in place, so different from culture to culture, so necessary for peaceful coexistence. A mother dandling a precious babe on her hip, a sight somehow both uniquely and universally beautiful no matter where on the planet they stood.
Since he fell for the final time and became human "for keeps," as the Winchesters like to say, his appreciation for the details of human existence has broadened in ways he'd never expected. While he'd learned much inhabiting Jimmy's vessel, and much more during his various temporary powered-down stints as a near-human, now there is a literal lifetime stretched out in front of him, one he's chosen. It feels different, now, to discover preferences and aversions. Every opinion he forms becomes a part of him, a part of the man he's going to be for the rest of his mortal life.
He'd enjoyed PB&J sandwiches while graceless before, but now he knows that he likes them best made with crunchy peanut butter and grape jelly on cheap white bread. He'd always found it an intriguing contrast to take cold foods into the warmth of his vessel's mouth, but now he can list which convenience store chains sell the slushiest slushies, and he prefers to make his with alternating layers of cola and cherry. He's always carried a thirst for knowledge about humans and their culture, but now he can spend hours of his time listening to radio shows on NPR, and he's got some strong opinions about Nina Totenberg and David Bianculli.
His most visceral likes and dislikes, though, are those formed around his day-to-day life in the Bunker. He treasures movie nights with his family, and he's irritated when they are preempted by hunts or other obligations. He savors the sensation of wrapping himself in freshly-laundered sheets, but doesn't see the point in taking his clean clothes out of the basket and sorting them into his dresser drawers. He gets bored washing the dishes when it's his turn to clean up after dinner, but that boredom evaporates when Dean comes up behind him at the sink and wraps him in a surprise hug. Long car rides make him drowsy, but the naps he takes in Baby with his head in Dean's lap leave him logy for hours afterwards. He revels in the way Dean smells behind his ear, the sweat tang and soft musk of him. He adores the feeling of his bare legs entwined with Dean's in the quiet of the night. He craves the sensation of Dean's stubble against his throat. He delights in the sound of Dean's breath -- quiet in sleep, gasping in passion. He's driven mad by the taste of Dean's skin. He relishes the clutch of Dean's arms when they move together in their bed or in the backseat of the car. He cherishes every moment he and Dean spend together, awake or asleep, at rest or in movement, on a hunt or on the loveseat in the Dean Cave. He loves Dean, loves him always, in all ways, with every shred of his mortal being and every speck of his nascent mortal soul. He may still be finding out who he is, but his bond with Dean is a certainty that will last them forever.