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The thing is, idol life is already so goddamn weird that when this shit starts happening to them, all of them kind of take in stride.
Except Mark but he was always the exception and never the rule.
There's a reason they all moved to a new dorm—one that has thicker walls and smaller rooms but single rooms.
Whenever Mark and Donghyuck stay over, they split up, one of them taking the spare room and the other the couch because one night of stiff sleep is nowhere near the embarrassment of having to sleep in the same room when night comes.
They've all pretty much become experts at working through this in the day, at gritting their teeth and hiding grimaces behind wide, newly shiny smiles. At learning how to hide all the microsomic shifts in their expressions when dancing or under the sharp, unyielding glare of a camera. It's become almost second nature, to suppress it, to lock everything deep down.
Sometimes, though, stuff spills through.
But at night—in the relative safety of their own rooms—they hold nothing back.
Jisung sinks his teeth into his lower lip, biting hard enough to draw blood when he hears Jaemin. His room is right next to Jisung's and they may have gotten thicker walls but no amount of insulation is enough to muffle the sounds of Jaemin's hand hitting the wall as he comes again, a sharp, high, noise filtering through the wall between them. Jisung swallows and curls his shaking hands into fists at his side.
He hasn't to deal with any unwanted orgasms yet but that doesn't mean he isn't affected. Two rooms down, he can hear Jeno sob once, before the noise shuts down again.
Jisung closes his eyes and refuses to touch his aching cock.
It doesn't mean he doesn't want this.
Here's another thing: Jisung is really quite observant. In a group full of loud, booming personalities who claw over one another to be heard, he usually prefers to sit back and watch. It's more entertaining that way. He winces as Donghyuck screeches something, the back of his hand erringly smacking Jaemin in the face and immediately retreating three steps as Jaemin's usually bored mien takes on a murderous tone. It's safer, too.
But because Jisung is so goddamn observant he can tell you exactly how every single one of his hyungs react when... Shit happens.
It's the worst at night because that's when people become less careful, when your brain conjures up images you're exactly in control of, when the want for fleeting seconds of pleasure outweighs the logic of not doing so. Of keeping your head straight and keeping yourself from affecting another human being.
But sometimes, because they're an internationally known group and time zones unfortunately exist, they suffer unwanted orgasms in the middle of the day.
And Jisung can tell every single time. He's observant like that.
Mark has it the worst, if Jisung had to put it to a proper number. It's that awkward charm, Jisung thinks, the way he giggles and stutters through two languages all at once, making girls and boys all over the world blush and fall at his feet. When he comes, Mark has a very specific reaction; his voice drops half an octave if they're performing and his moves become looser, more unbound and the look in his eyes sharpens. Jisung thinks he gets off on it—well, more than the physicality of it—thinks he loves that snap second loss of control and the way it so obviously shows. Thinks Mark thrives off the adrenaline and dopamine that rush through him.
Wonders if that's why he's so goddamn energetic all the time. Multiple orgasms a day will do that to you, Jisung supposes dubiously. But only if you're Mark Lee.
And very few people are.
Surprising everyone and somehow no one at the same time, Jeno has the most intense orgasms of them all. Visible and arching into painful when it gets to be too much. He's always been sort of an enigma to Jisung, even if they have known each for nearly a decade now. There's a lot Jeno keeps buttoned up and hidden behind a disarming smile. Except for when he comes—then it's all bets off, all hands shown. All ears alert, because Jeno just sounds so goddamn pretty when he comes.
The last night after their first—and only—concert, Jisung hadn't been able to sleep a wink, listening with a dry mouth and wide eyes as Jeno came over and over again, broken down to a sobbing, desperate mess as probably thousands shoved their hands down their pants, the image of Jeno's gleaming chest and strong abs at the forefront in their minds. None of them had dared enter Jeno's room for a full day after that and Jisung had gone straight out to buy noise cancelling headphones when Jeno woke up in the middle of the afternoon coming again.
He hadn't used it, but it's nice to know that insurance was there.
Jisung's pretty sure Jeno would only take his shirt off if he ever wants to be broken like that again. It's quite masochistic of him, but Jisung already knew that about him. There were very few secrets between all of them these days.
Unless it's the middle of the night, Jisung's never really been sure when Jaemin has suffered. If they're working, he's always shut firmly down behind the iron wall of his idol persona—gleaming rows of shiny teeth, and cotton candy hair. A sweet smile and sweeter words. The perfect boyfriend idol.
It would have been a good angle if they weren't who they were. And if there weren't girls all over the world who wanted Jaemin to be exactly that for them and more.
But no matter, how much Jisung watches him, he can never really tell when Jaemin's coming. Once or twice he's been sitting next to him and felt Jaemin's thigh tense up in an interview or seen his hand clench into a fist. But it's always gone a second later, slammed back behind that fortress Jaemin wears like chainmail and buried away.
At night though, Jisung hears every single thing, no matter how big or small. He knows exactly the way Jaemin comes, knows how his breath will stutter and how his bed creaks. Knows the way Jaemin will gasp when he finally gets a hand around his cock, his voice arching into a moan swiftly. How he'll inadvertently slam his hand, or elbow or even knees into the wall when he comes untouched, just the force of a stranger's orgasm propelling him towards his own.
Of all the ones, privately, Jisung thinks Donghyuck sounds the prettiest when he comes. He's always vocal that one. Always loud and buoyant, pulling all of Dream's collective energy in one hand as he goes.
It's all that singing he does, Jisung thinks. Donghyuck practices too much and too hard to sound anything but devastatingly gorgeous every time he opens his mouth—even the times where he's screeching his head off—and his orgasms are no different.
He doesn't get a lot of them when they're actively promoting. For some reason, people only really come to the thought of Donghyuck's face when they're on break—it's oddly considerate, if Jisung thinks about it—so he's never really gotten a chance to see Donghyuck properly lose his cool. In public anyway.
He's felt it once though, sprawled on the cool floor of the practice room, sweaty and exhausted, ineffectually shoving at Donghyuck as he dropped atop Jisung, burying his sticky face in Jisung's neck.
"Don't I stink, hyung?" Jisung groans, letting his head fall to the ground, giving up. His bangs flop backward, letting the cold air wash over his forehead.
"I can handle anything for my Jisungie," Donghyuck says, syrupy sweet, pinching Jisung's cheek without looking up. He starts to say more, but cuts off with a sharp noise before Jisung can catch it. Jisung peers up at him, lost for a second and understands seconds later when gets the full brunt of Donghyuck's reaction. He groans, low in the back of his throat, and his hand curls around Jisung's waist, holding on tightly. Jisung can feel the way his stomach clenches, ripples, the way Donghyuck's hips jerk once, against his waist, before he stills, a shaky moan spiraling out of pink slick lips, funneled straight into Jisung's ear. It's high and pretty. A lot like Donghyuck.
Jisung thinks about that one for a while afterwards.
Renjun is the easiest to pick up on. He grabs a lot when he's coming, latches on tightly to whoever's closest, wraps his small hand around a wrist, shoulder, thigh and holds tightly as his orgasm wracks him, his cheeks flushing prettily as he curls up into himself, thin shoulders shaking with the force.
Jisung is rarely around for it but he always helps Renjun massage out the cramps afterwards, pressing the muscles in his hands and back that ache from how hard he tightens up.
"You need to relax, hyung," Jisung tells him muted, once, as he's rubbing out a knot in Renjun's shoulder. There's half moons imprinted on his wrist from where Renjun had dug his nails into him. Jisung isn't complaining. It sends a small spark of heat flickering down his stomach whenever he looks at it.
"Yeah?" Renjun rasps, head lolling to the side as Jisung presses his thumb into the muscle of his throat. "Tell people to stop thinking about me when they jerk off and I might."
"I think you like it," Jisung says, contradictory, challenging, the bare edge of a smirk curling around his mouth. Renjun opens his eyes and narrows a glare at him.
He doesn't argue though.
If Jisung had to pick anyone who was the most entertaining to watch, it's Chenle.
It's always going to be Chenle.
Jisung's pretty sure Chenle was born without any concept of shame or embarrassment and he wields it viciously. He slumps against waiting room couches, makeup chairs, body an insouciant, sinuous wave, legs spread wide, and tongue pink and panting as he comes, sweat sticking his bangs to his forehead He draws every single eye in the room toward him and thrives off the attention.
Jisung wonders what it must feel like, to be that powerful. To love it that much.
He's not sure he wants to find out.
Here's the last thing:
If you were to ask any single member of Dream, who was the worst offender of the lot, they'd all point their fingers at Jisung. Because sure, Jisung is the youngest, and he's the baby and his orgasms are few and far in between but that doesn't mean he doesn't take full advantage of them when they happen.
And he likes to make it known.
Not like Chenle, of course. Jisung is nowhere near confident to have all eyes on him, but just one person's attention is enough. And he demands it, latches on tightly to whichever one of his members are closest and lets his moans funnel straight into their ears, whines their names, lets them feel the force of his orgasm, through the pants and gasps he usually presses behind his teeth, lets his lips graze their skin and makes them feel him.
He does it because it's fun, because he might be the youngest but that also means none of them have the power to rival him. None of them want to.
It's even better, because when Jisung finally closes his hand around his aching, weeping cock, he thinks about every single one of them, brings their faces to the forefront of his mind and listens, in brimming delight, as they fall, like dominoes, toppling one after another, coming under the force of Jisung's thoughts alone.
It's a different kind of power altogether.
On the other side of the wall, he hears Jaemin's breath hitch for the third time that night and Jisung comes, groaning loudly, grinning in satisfaction as Jaemin follows him mere seconds later, muffling the sound of Jisung's name in his pillow.
The walls aren't thick enough to hide that, unfortunately.
It makes it all the more fun.