Feet
I am not writing this because I am embarrassed or insecure about it. IN fact, I am so secure that I CAN talk about this! It's a statement of manliness! I can totally hold my head high and announce this! I –
Dammit.
…I, Yagami Raito, soon-to-be god of the new world, Supreme Master Of All Upon Which You Lay Your Worthless Mortal Eyes…
…have a foot fetish.
I know I'm the picture of dedication. I get all my college work done on time and am a vital part of the Kira investigation team… on top of being the most successful and most good-looking mass murderer ever… WHILE evading the clutches of the greatest detective on earth. I'm amazing! No one could ever find a moment when I am at lax.
…Yet I am. You know what I'm doing when I'm supposedly hard at work? I'm actually ogling the guy out to give me the death penalty. Or, more specifically, his toes. He never wears shoes! It's like a dream come true! EXCEPT I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. Seriously. I'm supposed to be a ladies' man, here. I cannot go slobbering all over L's toes; it'd totally blow my cover.
Not to mention he'd think I was crazy.
Which would totally put a cramp on seducing him.
You think I'm joking? I'M NOT. Seriously, during the inauguration ceremony? I first noticed his ankles, because he had no socks. Narrow, bony, never-been-in-direct-sunlight white ankles. They reminded me of vanilla and whipped cream and lots of other delicious things. I wanted to BITE them. I wanted to wrap my tongue around the ankles of this Hideki Ryuuga guy who looked like he'd grabbed his sneakers out of a Dumpster on the way to the ceremony.
But that wasn't the worst part. When we got to our seats, he took off his shoes and crouched in his chair, so I could, like, see his feet close up! Those FEET. I'd never seen anything like them; every single toe was double-jointed; the nails were round and pearly pink and adorable; he had an instep made for magazine ads. It was driving me WILD. I was getting ready to jump his bones as soon as the damn student body president stopped talking.
Oh, BUT THEN. He has to go and spoil it all.
"I am L."
…………..DAMMIT!
This guy with the most suckable toes, the most adorable heels, the most delicious ankles, the milkiest skin, the generally most fetish-worthy feet I had ever encountered was sitting right next to me, and now I had to fucking KILL HIM.
Life is not fair.
I mean, L even says he's my friend! We do the friend thing. We interact via tennis and stuff. I get to see those feet in action all over the tennis courts, with the jumping and the running and the twirling! I get to peek under the door when he's in the bathroom and watch the water form perfect artistic little swirls and eddies around his heels as he showers, all wet and glisten-y and covered with soapsuds which could so easily be confused with whipped cream! I get to "accidentally" bump him in the middle of the night when we're sleeping chained together, making sure my stubby, undeserving toes get to tangle for a few seconds with those long flexible appendages! And of course, I get to stare at him while I "work." BUT I STILL EVENTUALLY HAVE TO KILL HIM OFF. I mean, Chapter 58 would be very anti-climactic otherwise.
Therefore, I have deduced that before I kill him and lord my victory as God of the New World over his pathetic and – cough – entirely unsexy body, I have to screw him.
So when I'm staring blankly, supposedly considering classifications of murders, trends in recent criminal activity, or what the thesis of my next brilliant essay should be… I'm actually plotting. How to get L all to myself. Or more specifically, L's feet all to myself.
So far, a lot of my plots involve cake mix, balls of string, and the occasional Malatov cocktail.
Hell, if I actually devoted all my brain to being God instead of scheming about L's feet, I'd probably be able to run intellectual circles around him. But it's all worth it.
Feet like that don't come along very often, after all.