It felt like Heaven should’ve.
Like foot rubs and warm woolen socks and toasty blankets, warmed by another’s shared heat. Like the rumble of the Impala’s engine against the gas pedal; or like taking a hill too fast, how he’d lift ever so slightly into the air, and wonder, for a split second, if ever he was going to land.
It’s just a shoe, Dean’s foot told himself.
But it was so much more.
The shoe leather creaked and groaned.
But Dean’s foot, it seemed to whisper, this is wrong. Our love, it cannot last. One day, Dean will take me off, and we will be parted forevermore.
Dean’s foot wiggled his toes in silent pleasure, the kind unequaled by that offered by any mere sandal or slipper.
Not if the shoe fits, he seemed to whisper back.