Call me a psycho, I probably am, but I’ve always had the sick longing to indulge myself in the honor of pleasuring our sweet maknae.  It might be very unlikely but contrary to popular belief I am not completely straight. Don’t get me wrong, I have interest in a woman’s body, all curves and softness, but I’ve always found wonder in a man’s; and in this situation, particularly our maknae’s.

My delusions have been kept delusions until earlier this week, though; a wonderful happenstance had placed both me and Taemin in the kitchen on our day off whilst our hyungs were fast asleep. He had perched himself on the counter as he watched me plate a nearly burnt egg.

It had definitely startled him when I pinned him against the counter; his presence was delightfully distracting to me. His face flushed, with embarrassment, most likely, as his clothing was discarded. I vaguely remember a husky taste and soft that I so hungrily elicited from our my maknae’s plump lips; I can proudly call him my maknae now. After all, he had gladly showcased his hunger in a sweet mix of chocolate sauce and ice cream.