"Jesus, you look awful," Brian says when he comes in the door. "Are you okay?"
Tim shrugs and shakes his head. "Got really sick on the way home," he mumbles, tossing his keys on the counter and shuffling over to the couch. "You probably shouldn't be near me, I dunno if it's contagious."
Brian hurries out into the living room to sit down next to him anyways, apparently not dissuaded by the threat. "You should have called me, or something," he says, leaning over to brush Tim's hair back from his face.
"What, to have you come get me?" Tim asks, and manages a shaky laugh. "And do what with my car? Anyways, I pulled off for the worst of it, the rest of the way back wasn't that bad." He'd thrown up a few more times into a plastic soda cup, but not more than a mouthful at a time, and not harshly enough he'd needed to stop.
"I dunno," Brian admits, looking away. "Still."
"I might lay down, actually," Tim adds, leaning back into the couch and tipping his face up towards the ceiling. "I still feel pretty rotten. I should just get this shirt in the wash first."
"Hey, let me do that," Brian says, and takes the bag holding his sick-splattered t-shirt. "You get to bed, I'll be in in a minute."
"You don't have to..." Tim tries to protest, but Brian is already halfway across the room, heading for the washer. "Okay." He sighs and pushes himself back up, slouching down the hall to the bedroom to get some rest.
He doesn't feel like there's much left in him to puke up, but his stomach still feels a little queasy, so he grabs the trash can and drags it over beside the bed before he sits down and starts to undress. He thinks he must have a fever, he's so overheated; his flannel clings to his back, sticky with sweat, as he pulls it off, but the cool air on his skin makes him shiver. He strips down to his boxers and kicks his clothes into the corner, throwing the covers to the other side of the bed so he can drape just the sheet over him as he curls up on his side.
Now that he's home, he expects exhaustion to wash over him quickly and knock him out for a few hours, but he's still awake when Brian comes in a few minutes later and kneels down by the side of the bed.
"Hey," he whispers, and brushes back Tim's untidy hair to lay a cool cloth over his forehead. "Thought that might feel a little better."
"Yeah, thanks," Tim agrees, nodding. "Hey, come lay down?"
"Weren't you gonna sleep?" Brian asks. "I don't want to keep you up."
"Mm," Tim says noncommittally, and shrugs. "Don't know when I will. My stomach doesn't feel great."
"Aw, babe," Brian says, and sets down the glass of water he’s holding before he comes around the other side of the bed and crawls under the covers behind Tim. “You think you’re gonna throw up?”
“Can’t tell,” Tim replies. “Still kinda nauseous, but it comes and goes.”
Brian makes a sympathetic noise and leans in to kiss his shoulder. “Can I?” His hand comes to rest lightly on Tim’s side, but he waits until Tim nods to slide his fingers down to his stomach, tracing gentle circles over his bare skin.
“Thanks,” Tim murmurs, closing his eyes. “That feels nice.”
He tries to sleep, but the uneasy churning in his stomach keeps him from drifting off, even with Brian’s hand slowly massaging his belly, and he starts to wish he would be sick again and just get it over with. It wouldn’t be so awful, anyways, now that he’s home and has the trash can close at hand. For some reason, though, as upset as his stomach is, it’s not quite bad enough to make him puke again.
After a long few moments of lying still without feeling much better or worse, he sits up and reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand to take a few sips. It soothes his sore throat a bit, but it feels ice cold and heavy in his stomach, threatening to come back up at any second. He groans and lies back down to wait for it.
“Poor sweetheart,” Brian says softly, still rubbing Tim’s stomach with his open palm as it gurgles and sloshes unhappily. “Your tummy feels really upset...”
Tim makes a vague affirmative noise, not sure if he should say more when he’s probably about to puke again. Sure enough, a few seconds later his stomach heaves, and he leans over the side of the bed to spit the water back up, mixed with stomach acid and traces of his lunch. The cool cloth slips from his forehead, and he grabs at it quickly, draping it over the back of his neck instead.
“There you go, babe,” Brian tells him, hugging him closer as he catches his breath. “Just get it up, you’ll feel better after you do.”
Tim leans back against his chest, his head tucked under Brian’s chin. “Thanks,” he mumbles, reaching for a tissue to wipe his mouth. “I’m trying.”
As he nestles closer into Brian’s warm embrace, he can feel him getting hard through his jeans, and squirms a little against his hips to tease him. “Hey,” Brian protests breathily, squeezing him a little tighter around the waist. “I thought you were resting.”
“Careful,” Tim warns him with a shaky laugh. “You’re gonna make me sick again.”
“Oh, yeah?” Brian slides his other arm under Tim’s side to press against his stomach with both hands, kneading at his muscles until they contract, making him gag. Tim leans over quickly to cough up a thin, sour stream of vomit into the trash can.
“No, don’t stop,” Tim tells him when he starts to move, and puts a hand over Brian’s to keep him from pulling away. “It’s helping, seriously.”
“Okay,” Brian agrees, and goes back to rubbing Tim’s stomach. Tim settles back against Brian’s chest, eyes closed, waiting for the swirling feeling in his stomach to become bad enough to make him throw up again. It comes and goes in waves, but for the moment, nothing else seems to want to come up.
“Think I need some more water,” he says finally, and sits up halfway to take a few sips. His hand shakes a little as he sets the glass back down, and he swallows hard as saliva pools under his tongue. If he can keep the water down for a few minutes, maybe he’ll be able to throw up more of the thick mass of food still half-digested in his stomach.
“You sure this is okay?” Brian asks softly, his hands warm on Tim’s clammy skin.
“Yeah,” Tim assures him, nodding. “Do you, um — do you wanna...?”
“Do you?” Brian asks, surprised. “I know you’re not feeling great.”
Tim hesitates for a second, tracing his thumb over the edge of Brian’s hand, and then nods again. “Yeah, I do,” he says. “If that’s okay with you.”
“More than okay,” Brian agrees, and pulls his hands away for a moment to wriggle out of his jeans and t-shirt.
Tim sheds his boxers, catching his breath slightly as the waistband pulls over his own growing erection, and lies back down, swallowing a mouthful of thick saliva. A moment later, Brian is next to him again, bare skin pressed to his back and dick hard against his ass. Tim moans, half from nausea and half from arousal.
“You gonna throw up again?” Brian asks softly, sliding one hand over Tim’s stomach.
“Uh-huh,” Tim manages thickly, breathing hard and shallow against the sick feeling rising in his throat. Brian’s palm presses hard into his churning stomach, and he gags. Supported by Brian’s arm around his waist, he leans over the edge of the trash can as he retches and vomits up a mouthful of mostly water, and then another, followed by a thick slurry of sick, semisolid chunks of his undigested lunch splattering into the bottom of the bin.
“That’s it,” Brian murmurs in his ear, still rubbing his stomach as he gasps for breath. “You’re doing great.”
“Brian,” he pants, his voice hoarse from retching. “Fuck me.”
Brian laughs, low and devilish, and pulls away to slick up his fingers with lube before pressing one, and then another, inside of him. Tim keens in the back of his throat, arching his back, pushing his hips down against Brian’s hand. For a moment, he can almost forget how sick his stomach feels as Brian works his fingers deeper into him.
“God, that feels so good,” he breathes, clutching at Brian’s other hand where it’s pressed against his stomach, rubbing circles over his skin. A queasy belch works its way up his throat, bringing with it the sour taste of stomach acid and the chicken sandwich he’d eaten hours ago now. He turns over and gags weakly, his muscles clenching and convulsing under Brian’s gentle touch but bringing up nothing of substance. Brian leans in to kiss the side of his neck, massaging his belly firmly as he burps and dry-heaves over the trash can.
“You need some more water?” Brian murmurs, nuzzling at his throat while he retches unproductively.
He nods, pushes himself up on one arm to reach for the glass and take a few gulps, hoping it’ll help him get rid of the rest of what little is left in his stomach. Brian’s fingers slide rhythmically in and out, gently loosening the tight muscles and making Tim shudder and moan as he rocks his hips. He can feel the water sloshing around in his belly as he moves, and swallows hard against the urge to be sick again, trying to keep it down a little longer.
Brian pulls away briefly, fingers slipping out of him, and Tim whines. There’s the wet sound of Brian applying more lube, and then his cock is pressing into him, hot and firm. Tim gasps and cries out, squeezing Brian’s hand tightly, reaching with the other hand to grasp his own cock and begin to stroke it as Brian thrusts deep inside of him.
It doesn’t take much for the movement of Brian’s hips against him to upset his sick stomach, and a moment later he’s hanging over the side of the bed again to puke, heaving up a wave of chunky vomit, and then another, as Brian holds him close around the waist and fucks him slowly. He’s panting for breath when he’s finished, trembling from exertion and excitement as he leans back against Brian’s chest.
“Is that it?” Brian murmurs in his ear, his voice low and husky. “Are you all empty, baby?”
“Gonna — try — one more time,” Tim manages, breathing hard, his throat tight. “Just let me—“
He reaches for the water again and downs the rest of the glass in a few gulps. The cold feeling in his stomach makes him shiver, and he has to suppress the immediate impulse to gag. Brian’s palm cups his belly gently, his thumb stroking over the tender skin and soothing the sore muscles. Tim moans and bucks his hips, pushing down onto Brian’s hard cock, his own throbbing in his hand as precum leaks from the tip.
“Are — are you — almost there?” he asks between shallow, frantic breaths, swallowing thickly as the water threatens to come back up. Just a little longer, he’s got to keep it down just a little longer.
“So close,” Brian pants out, his hips jittering against Tim’s ass as he moves faster inside him. “God, I’m so fucking close, Tim.”
“Good,” Tim manages, and presses Brian’s hand closer against his stomach. Brian takes the hint and kneads into him firmly, making his gut churn and clench. “Fuck, Brian, I’m gonna —“
He barely manages to turn over in time before he throws up, water and stomach acid splashing into the trash can and onto the floor beside it as he retches. Brian cries out and buries his face in the side of Tim’s neck when he comes, thick and hot and sticky inside him. Tim slumps back against him once he’s done vomiting, and to the sound of Brian’s ragged breathing finishes himself off as well.
“How’re you feeling?” Brian slurs sleepily when they’ve both managed to catch their breath. “Better now?”
“Yeah, some,” Tim agrees, squeezing Brian’s hand as he rubs his aching muscles. “Think I’m all done, least for a while.”
“Good,” Brian murmurs, and leans in close to kiss his cheek. “You get some rest, I’ll clean up.”
“You sure?” Tim asks, turning to look at Brian over his shoulder. “I can help. I don’t feel too bad now.”
“No, I got it,” Brian assures him with a crooked smile. “You’re sick, babe, you need to take it easy.”
“Okay,” he agrees, reluctantly unlacing his fingers from between Brian’s. “But come back when you’re done, alright?”
“Of course I will,” Brian agrees, and gives him another soft kiss before he turns away to get to his feet. “I’ll be right here.”
Satisfied with that, Tim closes his eyes, and this time nothing keeps him from drifting off to sleep.
Grace gets sick from motion more easily than Simon, but I think Simon probably has a worse immune system on account of the radiation
Simon tried to hide it from everyone, Grace wouldn't tell anyone else openly but will absolutely tell Simon he's feeling sick and ask for cuddles
Grace has more practice since I think he pukes more overall so I think he'd be able to make it. It hits Simon hard and fast sometimes and he doesn't always have time to react
I feel like they'd both be careful with their germs bc they don't want the other to get sick
Okay here's the thing, I know Grace is a workaholic and Simon would refuse to show weakness in front of him at first so I believe they'd both try and avoid staying in bed as much as possible
Grace gets more cuddly, Simon feels worse if anyone touches his stomach so Grace will just play with his hair
Grace definitely pukes more easily (he gags watching Rocky eat the first time) and Simon is more likely to hold it together
Grace gets very motion sick so he's the designated bag holder. Simon is used to being in space so Gforce wouldn't bother him as much I think
Simon is more likely to feel nauseous from a panic attack I think. Grace has a sensitive stomach but I don't think anxiety would especially trigger it for him (I just pictured Simon bolting awake after an awful nightmare and before Grace can even finish asking if he's okay, he's heaving over the side of the bed)
Grace is a good caretaker, he's used to it. Simon feels like he doesn't know what he's doing even though he's fine lol
Made a lil one shot based off this cus I can't stop staring at it ↓
“Grace help Rocky find the-”
Rocky tumbled into the bunk room to ask Grace a question, his shock cutting off his sentence as he sees his friend hunched over, kneeling on the floor. This is a human expression he has yet to see, Grace's eyebrows knitted upwards, his heart pumping fast, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth.
“Is Grace ok, question? Grace hurt, question??”
Despite his mild disgust in seeing the space blob leak once again, he rolls his geometric bubble closer, the sides clunking against the floor with a slight echo as he moves. Grace looks up, blinking a few times as he struggles to focus his eyes.
“Hhmmrp... mh... I- I just.. don't feel good, Rock… I'm gonna be ok- hhgrk-”
Sweat cements his messy hair to his forehead as he struggles to speak through soft burps and gags, he needs to get to the bathroom, but he just can't muster the energy. His stomach is turning, his head light and dizzy, ever since he ran out of rations he's been eating taumoeba, which barely meets his nutrition needs.
“Grace in pain, question? What happened to Grace, question?”
Rocky stays persistent with his concerned barrage of questions, tapping his feet impatiently against the floor as he watches Grace close his eyes and take deep breaths. He's quiet, likely focusing on not losing whatever sustenance is in his stomach.
“Hmnn- hLLGk! Uuulp..”
Grace loses the battle with a strong retch that sends a torrent of watery vomit splashing against Rocky's xenonite barrier, the yellowish liquid dripping down the surface and pooling on the floor.
“♪♫♪♪- GRACE DISGUUUST! ”
Rocky spits out an unidentified word, presumably an Eridian curse, before stumbling backwards, leaving a trail of puke in his haste to escape the biological flood. He watches from a safe distance, still concerned, his carapace pressed up to the side of his container.
“Mmngh… hhnGgRK..”
Another weaker wave of vomit forces its way up Graces throat, splattering into the growing puddle on the ships floor. There goes his meal for the day. He spits and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, slowly turning around and crawling back into his cot to pass out, the taste of bile in his mouth the least of his worries.
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