It was snowing. The air was cold to the point of pain; the Winchesters had decided to stay inside today. It was the first official day of winter, and now Dean Winchester was almost certain that nature had it out for him, too. He was sprawled out on Bobby's couch, white sock-clad feet resting on the chilly coffee table. He had an arm on the back of the couch, blue gaze fixed boredly on the TV. The dark-haired man wasn't sure what was on, but he knew it definitely wasn't interesting. Recently, his idea of 'interesting' had become rather . . . explicit.

At Dean's side was a half-empty bag of chips; the crinkly bag was the source of the crumbs scattered across his lap. He had a beer in his right hand, with two more bottles resting on the coffee table by his feet. Only moments ago, Dean had ordered his towering younger brother to brave the storm outside to get beer, chips, and pie. Definitely pie. Idly, he wondered why he hadn't just asked Cas to. After all, he could just pop in and out wherever he wanted. It had seemed unnecessarily awkward at first, then he'd realized how useful that could be.

"Oh well," Dean muttered to himself, shrugging his broad shoulders carelessly.

"Ah, Dean?" The voice was uncertain, almost wavering. It was obviously masculine, deep and mature. Dean immeadiately knew who was speaking, and snapped his gaze to Castiel. The fallen angel stood awkwardly, clad in his trademark suit and shabby trench coat. Castiel looked awkward and nervous, like a school boy, on a normal day; this was bad, even for Cas. There was something up. The scruffy man's eyes were wide, confused and Dean watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously.

Dean kept his expression carefully careless - raised brows, lips set in a line with corners that hinted at his trademark smirk that made the ladies drop their pants. "What's up?" he asked huskily.

Castiel's hands moved at his side, shoulders twitched. He blinked, glanced away from Dean. He was still for a moment, then returned his gaze to Dean. "I found something."

Dean's brow furrowed, and he sat up slightly. He felt a sudden, nervous jolt in his gut. There were a lot of things Castiel could have found; what was it? Then, suddenly, a sickening realization. He ignored the sweat on his neck, the thought that made Dean feel as nervous as Castiel looked; He found it. "Found what?"

"I'm not sure," Castiel said carefully, blinking.

Dean pointed to the couch cushion beside him. "Sit," he ordered gruffly. Once he was certain Castiel was doing as ordered, albeit unsurely, he reached for the last two beers. He handed Castiel one, and opened and took a swing of the second. "Drink." Castiel had already downed half of the bottle, though, in a desperate gulp. He was obviously hoping alcohol would steel his nerves. Dean recalled their prostitute incident, and found himself mentally chuckling at the memory.

Castiel's voice, still uncertain, brought Dean back to reality. "I found it on your . . . lap computer?" He was gazing directly at Dean, gaze holding his. For some reason, this worried him more than when Cas couldn't meet his eyes. When he looked at him like this, Dean found it hard to keep his expression in check. Hell, he found it hard to keep himself in check.

Dean allowed a wolfish grin to twist the line of his lips upwards; although he looked amused, he felt anxiety dance its way up his spine. He didn't understand how he could fearlessly fight anything Hell or Heaven threw at him, but Castiel made him so nervous. He began to instantly regret, pray to the god he knew wasn't listening. Please no please no please no. "It's a laptop, Cas," he corrected. "But go on."

Castiel blinked, looking as if he was making a note of the term. Now he frowned; his brow furrowed in a way that was familiar to Dean. He was experiencing a new emotion, something he didn't know how to handle. That's why he hesitated before continuing, not sure how to put what he saw in words. "There were . . . videos," Castiel started. He couldn't hold Dean's gaze any longer, and dropped his eyes to the ugly-colored couch. He downed the rest of the bottle in an abrupt gulp and then placed the bottle on the table. "The videos had men in them. Naked men," he continued, putting an emphasis on the confused tone in his voice at the word 'naked.' "They did . . . things. Like the Pizza Man, but different . . ."

Dean's heart thumped in his chest and he forced himself to clear his throat, steel his nerves. "Yeah, uh, sorry man," he said nervously. Then he frowned, finding a way to push the spotlight off of him - something he only did in uncomfortable situations. "Why're you asking?" he inquired gruffly.

Castiel's eyes widened and he looked Dean square in the eye. Dean watched his full lips part, forming words he'd never thought Cas would say. "Because they made me confused. About you." He watched the Winchester for a long moment, waiting for Dean to speak. He didn't want to continue, didn't want to explain this starkly new and shocking feeling to the one person that managed to spark it within him; Dean didn't know what to say and it was obvious, so he forced himself to continue. "I have feelings for you, Dean. Strong ones. Feelings I've never felt before. I'm always thinking about you, worrying. And when I'm with you, I have urges to express this feeling."

Dean stared at Castiel for a moment, eyes wide. His eyebrows shot up slightly, lips forming a perplexed line. He was in awe. How could someone like Castiel, pure and innocent and perfect, like him? He was dirt, worthless - he'd done and said things that made him a horrible person. He was wretchedly pathetic, and Castiel definitely was not. So why was Cas confessing to him? Then his manly, blunt nature pushed its way to the front; the insecure little pussy in him was shoved away, to the back of his mind. He watched Castiel for a long moment, then leant forward to kiss Castiel squarely on the mouth.

Castiel was still for the first instant Dean's lips met his. He felt a jolt go through him, a feeling blossom within him that he'd definitely never felt before and couldn't seem to name. This felt nice . . . right. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips blindly against Dean's. His right hand went up instinctively to grasp the front of Dean's shirt, clench it tightly. He felt Dean's rough, warm hands grasp either side of his face ever-so-gently; the kiss definitely wasn't Dean's first, but none he'd ever had compared to this.

And to think, this all happened because of gay porn.