chanyeol buries his face into the neatly stacked piles of frozen corn, clamping his teeth down on one of the plastic bags to bite back the loud moan that threatens to escape his throat. his fingers dig into the cold, metal shelves, knuckles turning white from the pressure of his grip, as jongin’s open hand comes down hard on the curve of his ass with a resounding slap.

“fuck,” chanyeol whimpers as he feels the sharp, ringing sting where jongin’s hand had just made contact, leaving behind a bright red imprint that glows so very nicely against his pale, creamy skin. “shit, faster,” chanyeol moans, pressing up eagerly to meet with jongin’s thrusts. “i can’t… i hear… see,” he mumbles incoherently, unable to string two words together.

there’s definitely people on the other side of that door.

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