hi! I love your work, if you don't mind could you make a sickfic where a male character of your liking mistake a stomach flu as motion sickness, because he's in a car/airplane/boat. Thank you.
Sorry for making you wait so long for this. I'm finally free of exams so I had time to write this, it's kinda short and rushed but I hope you enjoy :)
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The drive to Queenstown had always been known to cause motion sickness. The twisty roads stuck high up against the hills were a recipe for disaster. Caine felt himself sliding around in the passenger seat, trying desperately to stare at one spot outside the car.
“Feeling okay?” Quinn asked. The car's radio turned down as Quinn took notice of Caine’s silence. Monitoring each other on the drive was something they had agreed on before they left, knowing how treacherous the trip was going to be. Caine didn’t want to think about when he would have to drive back, the thought of plummeting face first down the cliff made his insides curdle.
His inside curdled on their own though. The roads curved and wrapped around his stomach, sending ominous gurgles and neon warning signs lit up in his head. Caine cringed inwards, hating the queasy feeling nestled deep in his belly, it made his head spin and his eyes water.
Quinn tried again, “Caine? I asked if you were okay.”
“Feeling a little queasy.” He mumbled, arms squeezing across his middle. His boyfriend groaned a little.
“I’m sorry, hon, but we’ve got a ways to go before we get to some flat. Can you hold out until then?”
Caine really wanted to say no. But, Quinn was right. It was impossible for them to pull over. He nodded but a small whimper left his lips. It felt like his brain was sliding around inside his skull, bouncing against bone and spinning up his eyeballs. He looked directly forward, breathing heavily through his nose. Quinn silently turned up the air con, an icy blast of air hit Caine square in the face.
As they drove on, Caine found a good spot on the horizon for his eyes to rest. He ignored the speeding images of other cars and green hills beside him. A cramp tore up his middle, gurgling angrily at him. Every breath he took caused another fresh wave of nausea to rise up.
“Do you need a bag or something?” Quinn said, eyes focused on the road. Even though Caine was clearly suffering, driving them off into the depths of the mountains was a lot worse. “There’s one in the glove box.”
Caine shakily reached for it. He knew it was coming, he just didn’t know when. He closed his eyes at the uncomfortable feeling, hating the suspense and the build up of bubbly nausea brewing inside him. With some more shaky breaths he lowered his legs from their curled up position and let himself sit in misery, plastic bag crumpled up in his grasp.
The sun was beaming into the car, the noon brightness causing his eyebrows to crease. The air conditioner was suddenly useless. Caine felt himself sweating under his layers but shivering like a leaf. He opened up the bag a bit, letting out a breath through his mouth.
He could barely talk. “Quinn, I really don’t feel good.” It was a struggle to even open his mouth. Caine was terrified any indication of an escape would send his stomach hurtling into the bag.
“I know, honey. Maybe ten more minutes.” Caine didn’t think he’d be able to last that long. No matter how hard he tried, the car’s movement was something he couldn’t just ignore. He felt his jaw clench, aching with the beginning of the end. His stomach chose that moment to cramp.
“Oh, fuck me.” This was one of the worst experiences of his life. Trapped inside with only a plastic bag to calm his fears. His stomach lurched. Caine’s back arched and he dropped his head into the bag, hovering over his knees like he was elderly. The sudden movement made his vision swim. He was the picture of miserable.
His shaky hands wrapped tightly around the handles as his stomach let go. A throaty heave brought up a mouthful, cutting off his air supply with little warning. He gagged again as the ache inside his stomach tripled. The entire atmosphere of the car changed, it felt like he was floating through space as another heave assaulted him.
Caine’s mouth was wide open, desperate for a breath of air, but vomit won the battle. The sweat on his brow dripped into the bag. He felt disgusting. He could vaguely hear Quinn’s voice. Caine desperately needed to hold his belly, hating the way it contracted and heaved. The car took a sharp turn. Caine’s stomach took its own turn and pivoted up to his throat, another rolling gag made him spit up hot acidic vomit. He groaned at the feeling, his throat scratchy.
The sharp turn however was Quinn finally being able to pull over. The car's engine rumbled quiet and Caine lifted his head just a bit to see the rolling countryside of the vineyards in his view. Well, if there was any place to get violently sick, it was Queenstown.
His door opened and Quinn’s voice finally was loud enough to be heard over the blood in his ears. He guided Caine outside, clinging to his arms. “Take some deep breaths baby.”
Caine’s legs were shaking. “Can I sit down?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. There you go, just relax.” He still had the bag in his hands. Caine imagined the sloshing to be what his stomach was doing. Despite being outside and stationary, his belly still tossed and turned. He moaned, wrapping one of his arms around it. There was a light breeze around them, drying his sweat and making him shiver. Quinn’s arms never let go.
A few moment of rest was all he was allowed. Right outside a beautiful winery, Caine felt his stomach cramp again and he belched thickly into the bag. Saliva gathered quickly inside his mouth. His cheeks filled up with vomit and he coughed it up. With no time to breath, another gag made his shoulders roll forward and he burped up more, shaking at the force.
Quinn’s steady hand rested on his back, and the other pushed up the hair that was beginning to stick to his forehead. That hand however, stilled when he touched skin. Quinn hummed as he held his hand there. “Are you sure this is motion sickness, Caine?”
His answer was anything but coherent. Caine’s mind was burning and his grip on reality was faltering.
“I think you have a fever, my love,” His hand moved to his neck, knuckles gently grazing under his jaw. “You’re very warm.”
Caine didn’t want to believe it. A nice trip ruined because of him. “I don’t even know where I picked this up though.” His voice was shot. Desperately tired and violently cold, Caine leaned into Quinn’s body, tucking his head down. The other just wrapped his arms around him. Cars whizzed past, probably wondering what the hell they were doing, but Caine needed the support. He was dizzy as fuck, feeling like the ground underneath was swaying like the ocean.
“How are you feeling now?” Quinn tried after a few minutes of silence. Caine shrugged his shoulders, exhaustion outweighing everything else he was feeling. He put his hands onto his belly.
“I think we can go. I’m freezing out here.”
“Okay, hold on to me, okay,” Quinn got him standing. They slowly walked back to the car and Quinn handed him a new sick bag. “Found this in the backseat. If you want me to pull over just say so.” He brushed back Caine’s hair again, subtly checking the fever. Caine was so weak his head fell back against the seat as a result. He closed his eyes at the feather light touches along his cheeks and around the delicate skin of his eyes.
A soft kiss was placed at the tip of his nose.
“Not too far to go. Then you can sleep away this nasty bug.” Quinn’s hand patted his stomach and then buckled him in.
The drive from then on was quite smooth, no longer winding and dangerous. Caine dozed for most of it, waking up only to cramps or to burp up vomit into the bag. The lethargy that usually came with stomach bugs was too strong though, making his bones ache and his muscles weak. Getting out of the car again stirred up his nausea once again and an embarrassing few gags filled the silence in the elevator.
However, once they finally made it to the room, Caine collapsed onto the bed and let Quinn fuss over him. Belly rubs and kisses made his body shut down, falling into sleep as he let his body battle the sickness.
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Some New Zealand scenery for ya'll. Thankfully I don't get sick when I go on this road lmao.
I'm deep into assignments and the looming exam season, but here is this fic. Bit short, but sweet :)
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A sick feeling rested in the centre of Harry’s stomach. It gurgled and growled like a swamp, making him hyper aware of everyone else in the room at the moment. He turned to face the white board, staring at the interconnecting strings and photos of their latest case. They had been working on it for more than a week with absolutely no leads, no suspects, and one detective coming down with a gnarly stomach bug. Harry felt his back twitch as a cramp squeezed his middle, more fiery noises coming from inside.
The board provided no cover for the noise, but it did allow him to subtly push on his bloated middle, desperately trying to get it to shut up.
“Hey, Lawrence, does staring blankly help or are you going to help?” One of the other detectives spoke behind him, tense words spitting out of his lips. He couldn’t remember his name for the life of him.
He turned then, fixing his gaze on the man shuffling through some papers. “Sorry, just not in the mood to look through 500 prison records.” The man scoffed at him but turned back to his work. Harry looked out of the squad room door, watching as Jack approached with a fresh mug of coffee.
“It’s 6pm.” Harry said lightly.
Jack shrugged, gulping down a mouthful. “I’m useless if I get tired, these two know.” Jack had worked with the other detectives, but Harry hadn’t met them until that morning. So far, he was only partial to liking Detective Watson.
“Zombie Woods not making an appearance?” She said, smiling as Jack came to steal a few papers from her.
He huffed, “Not today. Found anything useful?” He directed the question at Harry, and that was the moment where his stomach decided to announce its distress the loudest. He physically felt his cheeks pale and his knees buckle, the cramp ripping right through him. “Jesus. Hungry?” Jack continued, eyes glued to Harry’s stomach.
The other shook his head, moving back to the board. He opted to just ignore it along with the wobbly edges to his vision and nausea crawling up to his chest. He felt the others give him looks behind his back, but he couldn’t care less. It was important for him to not fuck this up, he couldn’t destroy his first big case around his older coworkers. Especially in front of Mr Prison Records. God, what was his name?
“Anyway, I got word from one of my possible witnesses that she usually saw our guy doing his service around the shopping mall near the City Centre. Probably some other witnesses around there.” Jack said to Watson. She responded quietly, or Harry just lost the ability to hear.
All he heard was the oncoming tidal wave of nausea that was rapidly approaching his throat. He swallowed thickly, an uncomfortable grimace on his face. His stomach was aching and cramping like no other, echoey gurgles bubbling up and out. He knew if he didn’t get out of here quickly he was going to puke all over the floor, ruining the carpet and his reputation. Harry felt himself gulp again, spit gathering faster than he could manage.
Without any warning, he left the room at lightning speed. He walked on unsteady ground, feeling seconds away from tripping, as he made his way to the bathroom. It was the longest walk of his life.
Bursting into the room, he bolted to the nearest stall and doubled over. Hot, thick vomit poured out of his mouth, the gurgling now residing at the base of his throat. It hurt terribly, both his stomach and his throat. Harry stabilised himself on the wall, palm flat against the plastic, and groaned through a dizzy spell. He felt the urge to vomit again and quickly dropped to his knees, bracing his hands on his legs. The next round was watery but burned worse and it made his eyes squeeze shut.
Harry groaned, rubbing a useless hand over his tumultuous upper belly. The cramping powered through his touch. “Fuck..” He mumbled, then spat out bile and saliva. The smell was vile. It filled his nostrils and sparked another hearty gag, causing him to cough and choke as nothing came up. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around for the toilet paper, quickly gathering some up to wipe up the mess on his face. The unexpected force had caused tears to leak from his eyes and his nose to run.
He was a pitiful sight, especially kneeling on the dirty ground. Harry flushed the toilet. He couldn’t take the smell anymore. He just sat down on his butt, leaning against the door as he tried to calm himself. His stomach felt like it was never going to settle. Harry imagined his breakfast and lunch fist fighting inside the organ, swimming around in his stomach acid. The image made him gag.
Going back into the squad room was going to be a disaster. He didn’t even know if he would be able to pull off being healthy, not with the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his shaky breath and hands, they would immediately suspect something was wrong. Not to mention the disastrous stomach gurgle that everyone had heard. He was done for.
As if further agreeing with his point, his stomach fired up again. A strong cramp hit his middle alongside another sickly grumble. “Ooh, god.” He moaned, sitting up to lean over the toilet again. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, letting his mouth hang open as saliva dribbled out, jaw aching. Food splashed against his oesophagus and he was vomiting once again. It made his back curl.
He continued to spew up his insides for the next ten minutes, occasionally interrupted by a random officer asking if he was okay. It was humiliating. Harry breathed deeply through his nose, eyes closed and head resting back on the door. His hands were slowly rubbing along his belly, desperately soothing it and forcing it to stay down. So far, it was actually working. Harry had always been one for physical touch when it came to sickness, so a little belly rub was doing him wonders.
But, he needed to get up. He was starting to shiver and his ass was hurting from being on the ground for so long. Jack and the others were probably wondering where he was anyway, if they hadn’t already left. Picking himself up was more difficult than he anticipated. His fever was raging, making him dizzy with every movement.
As he pushed open the door, Jack’s face was the first thing he saw.
“There you are. You look like shit,” He really needed to work on his bluntness. “Are you sick?” He pushed himself off the wall, arms folded as he peered into Harry’s glossy eyes.
Harry knew he shouldn’t lie. “Um.” Good job.
“I see,” Jack nodded, laughing a little, “Right, let’s get you home, rookie. Stomach bug? Think there’s one going around.” He put his hand on Harry’s burning shoulder, steering him back down towards the main room. He didn’t give Jack an answer, embarrassment overtaking his rational mind.
They walked past the squad room, Harry glancing inside. Watson and the asshole were still in there but they looked off task.
“They’re really useless. I’m going to miss you over the next week.” Jack spoke quietly into Harry’s ear. His words made Harry feel slightly better.
“Sorry.”
They approached their desks, Jack collecting up both of their things. He handed Harry his jacket, waving his car keys up to his face. “I’ll drive. And, don’t say sorry, can’t help getting sick. Just wish it wasn’t right now.” He chuckled a little to soften his words. It was a long walk to Jack’s car, but Harry was grateful to finally sit down somewhere soft. His stomach had begun to hurt while they were walking, so he sank down a bit and held his middle.
Jack fumbled around in the back for a bit, then got into the driver's seat while chucking a plastic bag onto Harry’s lap. “Use that if you need to be sick.” The car engine revved, Jack immediately pulling out of the spot. Harry was grateful for his partner knowing exactly what he needed. Perks of being detectives.
Harry kept his eyes closed as the streetlights flashed by. The movement mixed with the flashing was creating a nasty storm of nausea and sickness in his belly. It was a battle, but Harry managed to not puke at all on the way home.
“Do you need help getting inside?” Jack said, expression blank.
“Why are you so good at this?” His fever-addled mind made him speak the first thing that came to mind.
Jack laughed at him, “Younger siblings. Do you need help?” He pushed.
With his head and stomach spinning the way it was, Harry did. He nodded slightly, unbuckling his seatbelt to plant his feet onto the footpath. Jack’s hand held his forearm, gently pulling him up to standing.
The entire walk to the door, Jack had his hand strongly planted on Harry’s back, guiding him. Jack probably didn’t realise how much Harry appreciated it, something as simple as a hand pushing him forward calmed his sick mind.
Being inside was luxury. Harry instantly collapsed onto his couch, hugging the bag to his middle. Jack stood a little awkwardly in the living room after turning on some lights. His eyes wandered around the decorations and eventually he walked over to draw the curtains shut.
“Okay, you think you’ll be alright? I can come around tomorrow with your car and some supplies.” Jack’s voice gave away his concern. Harry felt himself smiling at the fact that Jack was letting his walls down around him a bit more.
“Yup.” He spoke quietly, exhaustion now his leading symptom. The room fell silent. Harry could feel his muscles unwinding, his stomach finally letting him rest and he shut his eyes.
Jack’s footsteps walked away. They stopped. “Get some rest, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I'm deep into assignments and the looming exam season, but here is this fic. Bit short, but sweet :)
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A sick feeling rested in the centre of Harry’s stomach. It gurgled and growled like a swamp, making him hyper aware of everyone else in the room at the moment. He turned to face the white board, staring at the interconnecting strings and photos of their latest case. They had been working on it for more than a week with absolutely no leads, no suspects, and one detective coming down with a gnarly stomach bug. Harry felt his back twitch as a cramp squeezed his middle, more fiery noises coming from inside.
The board provided no cover for the noise, but it did allow him to subtly push on his bloated middle, desperately trying to get it to shut up.
“Hey, Lawrence, does staring blankly help or are you going to help?” One of the other detectives spoke behind him, tense words spitting out of his lips. He couldn’t remember his name for the life of him.
He turned then, fixing his gaze on the man shuffling through some papers. “Sorry, just not in the mood to look through 500 prison records.” The man scoffed at him but turned back to his work. Harry looked out of the squad room door, watching as Jack approached with a fresh mug of coffee.
“It’s 6pm.” Harry said lightly.
Jack shrugged, gulping down a mouthful. “I’m useless if I get tired, these two know.” Jack had worked with the other detectives, but Harry hadn’t met them until that morning. So far, he was only partial to liking Detective Watson.
“Zombie Woods not making an appearance?” She said, smiling as Jack came to steal a few papers from her.
He huffed, “Not today. Found anything useful?” He directed the question at Harry, and that was the moment where his stomach decided to announce its distress the loudest. He physically felt his cheeks pale and his knees buckle, the cramp ripping right through him. “Jesus. Hungry?” Jack continued, eyes glued to Harry’s stomach.
The other shook his head, moving back to the board. He opted to just ignore it along with the wobbly edges to his vision and nausea crawling up to his chest. He felt the others give him looks behind his back, but he couldn’t care less. It was important for him to not fuck this up, he couldn’t destroy his first big case around his older coworkers. Especially in front of Mr Prison Records. God, what was his name?
“Anyway, I got word from one of my possible witnesses that she usually saw our guy doing his service around the shopping mall near the City Centre. Probably some other witnesses around there.” Jack said to Watson. She responded quietly, or Harry just lost the ability to hear.
All he heard was the oncoming tidal wave of nausea that was rapidly approaching his throat. He swallowed thickly, an uncomfortable grimace on his face. His stomach was aching and cramping like no other, echoey gurgles bubbling up and out. He knew if he didn’t get out of here quickly he was going to puke all over the floor, ruining the carpet and his reputation. Harry felt himself gulp again, spit gathering faster than he could manage.
Without any warning, he left the room at lightning speed. He walked on unsteady ground, feeling seconds away from tripping, as he made his way to the bathroom. It was the longest walk of his life.
Bursting into the room, he bolted to the nearest stall and doubled over. Hot, thick vomit poured out of his mouth, the gurgling now residing at the base of his throat. It hurt terribly, both his stomach and his throat. Harry stabilised himself on the wall, palm flat against the plastic, and groaned through a dizzy spell. He felt the urge to vomit again and quickly dropped to his knees, bracing his hands on his legs. The next round was watery but burned worse and it made his eyes squeeze shut.
Harry groaned, rubbing a useless hand over his tumultuous upper belly. The cramping powered through his touch. “Fuck..” He mumbled, then spat out bile and saliva. The smell was vile. It filled his nostrils and sparked another hearty gag, causing him to cough and choke as nothing came up. With his eyes closed, he fumbled around for the toilet paper, quickly gathering some up to wipe up the mess on his face. The unexpected force had caused tears to leak from his eyes and his nose to run.
He was a pitiful sight, especially kneeling on the dirty ground. Harry flushed the toilet. He couldn’t take the smell anymore. He just sat down on his butt, leaning against the door as he tried to calm himself. His stomach felt like it was never going to settle. Harry imagined his breakfast and lunch fist fighting inside the organ, swimming around in his stomach acid. The image made him gag.
Going back into the squad room was going to be a disaster. He didn’t even know if he would be able to pull off being healthy, not with the way his hair stuck to his forehead and his shaky breath and hands, they would immediately suspect something was wrong. Not to mention the disastrous stomach gurgle that everyone had heard. He was done for.
As if further agreeing with his point, his stomach fired up again. A strong cramp hit his middle alongside another sickly grumble. “Ooh, god.” He moaned, sitting up to lean over the toilet again. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, letting his mouth hang open as saliva dribbled out, jaw aching. Food splashed against his oesophagus and he was vomiting once again. It made his back curl.
He continued to spew up his insides for the next ten minutes, occasionally interrupted by a random officer asking if he was okay. It was humiliating. Harry breathed deeply through his nose, eyes closed and head resting back on the door. His hands were slowly rubbing along his belly, desperately soothing it and forcing it to stay down. So far, it was actually working. Harry had always been one for physical touch when it came to sickness, so a little belly rub was doing him wonders.
But, he needed to get up. He was starting to shiver and his ass was hurting from being on the ground for so long. Jack and the others were probably wondering where he was anyway, if they hadn’t already left. Picking himself up was more difficult than he anticipated. His fever was raging, making him dizzy with every movement.
As he pushed open the door, Jack’s face was the first thing he saw.
“There you are. You look like shit,” He really needed to work on his bluntness. “Are you sick?” He pushed himself off the wall, arms folded as he peered into Harry’s glossy eyes.
Harry knew he shouldn’t lie. “Um.” Good job.
“I see,” Jack nodded, laughing a little, “Right, let’s get you home, rookie. Stomach bug? Think there’s one going around.” He put his hand on Harry’s burning shoulder, steering him back down towards the main room. He didn’t give Jack an answer, embarrassment overtaking his rational mind.
They walked past the squad room, Harry glancing inside. Watson and the asshole were still in there but they looked off task.
“They’re really useless. I’m going to miss you over the next week.” Jack spoke quietly into Harry’s ear. His words made Harry feel slightly better.
“Sorry.”
They approached their desks, Jack collecting up both of their things. He handed Harry his jacket, waving his car keys up to his face. “I’ll drive. And, don’t say sorry, can’t help getting sick. Just wish it wasn’t right now.” He chuckled a little to soften his words. It was a long walk to Jack’s car, but Harry was grateful to finally sit down somewhere soft. His stomach had begun to hurt while they were walking, so he sank down a bit and held his middle.
Jack fumbled around in the back for a bit, then got into the driver's seat while chucking a plastic bag onto Harry’s lap. “Use that if you need to be sick.” The car engine revved, Jack immediately pulling out of the spot. Harry was grateful for his partner knowing exactly what he needed. Perks of being detectives.
Harry kept his eyes closed as the streetlights flashed by. The movement mixed with the flashing was creating a nasty storm of nausea and sickness in his belly. It was a battle, but Harry managed to not puke at all on the way home.
“Do you need help getting inside?” Jack said, expression blank.
“Why are you so good at this?” His fever-addled mind made him speak the first thing that came to mind.
Jack laughed at him, “Younger siblings. Do you need help?” He pushed.
With his head and stomach spinning the way it was, Harry did. He nodded slightly, unbuckling his seatbelt to plant his feet onto the footpath. Jack’s hand held his forearm, gently pulling him up to standing.
The entire walk to the door, Jack had his hand strongly planted on Harry’s back, guiding him. Jack probably didn’t realise how much Harry appreciated it, something as simple as a hand pushing him forward calmed his sick mind.
Being inside was luxury. Harry instantly collapsed onto his couch, hugging the bag to his middle. Jack stood a little awkwardly in the living room after turning on some lights. His eyes wandered around the decorations and eventually he walked over to draw the curtains shut.
“Okay, you think you’ll be alright? I can come around tomorrow with your car and some supplies.” Jack’s voice gave away his concern. Harry felt himself smiling at the fact that Jack was letting his walls down around him a bit more.
“Yup.” He spoke quietly, exhaustion now his leading symptom. The room fell silent. Harry could feel his muscles unwinding, his stomach finally letting him rest and he shut his eyes.
Jack’s footsteps walked away. They stopped. “Get some rest, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So, I'm a little nervous to post this, but I'm throwing caution to the wind.
TW: This is an emeto kink, RP story. It is N S F W. The actual sexy action is mostly fade-to-black or otherwise described in general terms, but it’s still very clearly there, and sprinkled throughout the story. Don’t read if this is not your thing. But if it is, please enjoy getting to know Drew and Jeremiah a little bit better . . .
Drew had been planning how to celebrate Jeremiah’s birthday for over a month. Every detail had to be perfect, and that meant checklists, secret emails to their friends, research, and carefully dropped comments that offered hints of things to come. Now the weekend was finally here and Drew was nearly vibrating with anticipation. Jeremiah was calmer by nature, but Drew knew him well enough to tell how excited he was too. He touched Drew softly on the arm to ask if he wanted coffee instead of just calling out from the kitchen as he usually did, and twice Drew caught him watching as he got dressed, a thoughtful smile on his face. The second time, Drew stopped after he finished buttoning up his shirt and held up the dark jeans he’d been about to put on.
“Do you think I should wear black pants instead of jeans?” he asked innocently. He took a step closer, and watched as Jeremiah’s eyes dropped to his waist - and then a little lower, to where the boxer-briefs he was wearing hid nothing.
“Why do you have to wear either?” he asked softly. He reached out and rested his hand against Drew’s hip. “I can think of any number of ways we can celebrate right here.”
Drew let himself get caught up in Jeremiah’s mood and for several long moments continuing to dress was forgotten in favor of getting undressed again. Drew pushed Jeremiah backwards until he was sitting on the bed and then stood in between his knees, touching his chin to get him to look up. “We have reservations at L’Etoile at 7:30, so keep that in mind when you decide how carried away you want to get.” He raised his eyebrows. “Should I get on my knees? That won’t take long at all.”
Jeremiah snorted. “Feeling pretty cocky and confident there, aren’t you?” He reached out and grasped Drew’s erection.
Drew hissed with pleasure. “Cocky is certainly the right word for it.” With the greatest of effort, he stepped away from his boyfriend’s ministrations. “But it’s your birthday, so you get to be the one to climax first.” He lowered himself down to the ground. Jeremiah grabbed some pillows and shoved them behind his back so he could lean back and still watch Drew work. Normally they kept things rather fair in the bedroom but Drew intended to fully indulge Jeremiah this weekend, and had told him so. Now he was pleased to see that he’d listened.
“Make sure you’re still hungry for dinner,” Jeremiah murmured.
*********
L’Etoile, the French bistro where they’d gone for their first real date, was still a favorite of theirs, and as they ate they laughed in remembrance about how the menu had confused them that first visit. Jeremiah had still been a med student then, and Drew in his first months as a nurse. Both of them had been on their best behavior, still not quite believing that their weeks of flirting, not to mention getting mutually vomited on by two different patients, had finally led to the two of them, dressed in real clothes and not scrubs, sitting across from each other talking, and talking, and talking. Drew had known as soon as dessert arrived that this was going to be something more than a casual hookup; Jeremiah took longer, but when he finally fell, it had been hard, Hard HARD.
And now it was more than three years later. Jeremiah was Dr. Gable, almost in his second year of a surgical residency, and Drew was one of the most in-demand nurses at the hospital. They’d lived together for almost a year and neither of them got vomited on as much anymore. Not at work, anyway.
*********
Saturday had been spent hiking with Rory and Noa, and then Gabriel and Logan joined them in the evening at Jeremiah and Drew’s cozy home with its pocket-sized backyard; a rarity in the city. Jeremiah grilled steaks and then they all sat drinking and talking and laughing around the firepit until nearly midnight, singing Happy Birthday more than once and finishing the night with an enormous coconut cake, Jeremiah’s favorite. Gabriel, of course, had to tease.
“Coconut, seriously dude? Haven’t you heard of chocolate?”
“I haven’t, no,” responded Jeremiah without a hint of a smile. “Maybe when it’s your birthday and you get to pick your cake you can introduce us all to that flavor.”
“Touche,” said Gabriel easily, holding up his glass in a toast.
“I love coconut,” said Logan drowsily. Her legs were draped casually across her boyfriend’s lap. “And I don’t get it enough because my boyfriend always wants chocolate.”
They all laughed again and Rory burst into yet another version of Happy Birthday, this one in rap form. Drew felt a tiny thrum of satisfaction that Rory felt relaxed enough to let loose here. He was private and could be somewhat intense - until he got to know you. After that, if he liked you, he was fiercely loyal and generous, and funny as hell. Jeremiah had been Rory’s “big brother” in their college fraternity, and the two were so close Drew had wondered if one of them had a crush on the other at some point. Jeremiah had turned red and then laughed when Drew asked him, and then admitted that he'd actually kind of hated the guy at first.
"He's not remotely my type," Jeremiah had said, and then leaned forward and showed Drew exactly what his type was.
********
And now it was Sunday morning. Drew had been careful not to eat or drink to excess the night before and after watching him carefully, Jeremiah had followed suit even though Drew hadn’t told him anything about his plans for the next day. It was one of the many things he loved about Jeremiah and what made him such a good doctor. His quiet observations had saved more than a few lives at work, and he knew how to take care of Drew’s needs often before he even knew what they were himself. When they’d gone into their bedroom, Jeremiah pulled off his clothes and wrapped his arms around Drew and it had taken all the man’s willpower to put his hand on his boyfriend’s chest to stop things from progressing.
“I . . . I’m leaving early tomorrow morning,” he explained, certain Jeremiah could hear the hitch in his voice. “To plan the rest of your birthday. I won’t be at home when you get up.”
Jeremiah raised one eyebrow. “May I ask where you’ll be?” He didn’t seem put out in the least to stop for now, easily grabbing a pair of pajama pants and pulling them on before following Drew into their bathroom.
“You can ask, but I’m not going to tell you. I should be back by 11.” Drew picked up his toothbrush. “I’ll leave you bagels and coffee to have before I get home.”
Jeremiah hadn’t questioned him any more, but by the small smile that kept playing around his mouth Drew knew he was intrigued. He waited until they were both in bed, about to turn off the light, before he gave his final instruction.
“Oh, and be sure to be wearing your white coat when I get home.” In the silence of the room he could hear Jeremiah blow out a breath.
“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said softly before kissing Drew gently on the lips.
******
It was 10:54 when Drew walked slowly up the front walk to their house. Behind him, the Uber drove off down the street, already hurrying to pick up its next passenger. He slotted his key in the lock to the front door and shivered, although not from cold.
Inside, he pulled off his jacket and walked into the living room. His heart was beating faster than normal and he wondered if he was imagining that he could actually hear it. He and Jeremiah had done things like this before, but not to the extent Drew had planned and not without both of them being involved in the planning. While he was pretty certain his boyfriend was going to enjoy it, Drew couldn’t quite shake the nerves that maybe he should have confirmed a few more details with him first.
He realized immediately that his worry had been unnecessary. Jeremiah was wearing his doctor’s coat as promised, seemingly oblivious to Drew’s arrival while he looked intently at a page of notes on a medical clipboard. He’d also set up the portable examination table he used in the mobile clinic in the middle of the room and Drew couldn’t hold back a shudder, both from his growing nausea and a sudden spike of arousal. He cleared his throat and Jeremiah finally looked up.
“Can I help you?” he asked politely. He had his stethoscope around his neck and was wearing his scrubs underneath his coat; by the look of things Drew was pretty sure Jeremiah wasn’t wearing anything under the scrubs.
“Do you have time for another patient?” he asked thickly. “I . . . I don’t have an appointment.”
Jeremiah’s gaze swept up and down Drew’s body, stopping an extra moment at the space where his t-shirt covered the unnaturally rounded dome of his stomach, and he sucked in a quick breath. “I do,” he nodded. “I had a cancellation. Why don’t you come in and tell me what the problem is?” He gestured Drew towards the exam table, which he’d covered with a white sheet.
“I’ve got a stomach ache,” he admitted. “It’s kind of bad.” A burp began to work its way up but before Drew could even swallow, the air fell back on its own. He puffed out a small groan.
Jeremiah nodded. “Come lie down; I'll need to examine you.” He touched Drew’s forehead. “No fever,” he said. “Are you in pain? Cramping? Nausea?”
Drew had to gather himself for a second. “Umm, all of those, but mostly nausea. I thought maybe it was just indigestion from breakfast but then I started actually feeling sick, and it got worse in the Uber. I’m really uncomfortable.”
Jeremiah’s nostrils flared in sympathy. “Take off your shirt,” he ordered. He watched as Drew slowly obeyed and then his voice softened. “Do you think you can lie flat for me?”
Drew suspected it wouldn’t feel good to lie down when he was so stuffed, but he wanted to do anything Jeremiah asked. He nodded. “I . . . I think so.” He lay down slowly on the table and felt the food in his stomach shift - when it didn’t crawl all the way up his throat he made a soft sound of agreement that he was okay. Jeremiah stood over him, his demeanor completely professional, save for a slight tightness around his mouth that Drew was pretty sure only he could recognize. He began the standard abdominal exam, first palpating lightly across each quadrant of Drew’s stomach.
“You feel a bit bloated,” he commented. “What did you eat today?”
These first touches were light, and they did more to increase Drew’s arousal than his nausea. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Jeremiah’s soft hands moving over his skin. “Too much, I think,” he said after a moment. He blew out his breath and exaggerated the discomfort in his tone a bit. “I was doing a - hic - a food review of breakfasts in the West End for my blog. Went to a bunch of places.” He took a deep breath. “Chicken and waffles at the first diner, biscuits and sausage gravy on an egg skillet at the second.” He paused to take another breath before continuing. “Caramel and banana pancakes with a side of bacon at the third, plus a chocolate filled churro while I was walking from the first diner to the second, and then I ate a couple of cream-filled fried donuts from that truck on Terry Street in the Uber; have you ever been there?”
Of course Jeremiah had; he’d introduced Drew to the place. One of the first times the two of them had explored their mutual interest in all things stomach-related had involved Jeremiah eating a dozen of the donuts on a dare. Drew had promised that he’d cook dinner and clean up every night for as many minutes as Jeremiah could hold them all down. They’d walked around the neighborhood, Jeremiah burping uncomfortably under his breath and doing everything he could not to throw up while Drew tried to hide how aroused he was, dragging Jeremiah into a store and watching him try to carry on a conversation with the salesperson. He’d lasted 22 minutes - the last few of those spent desperately trying to find someplace at least semi-private to get sick - finally ending up in an alley where Jeremiah vomited into a garbage can while Drew had fondled him through his jeans. They’d made out in the car before Drew felt enough in control of his body to drive them both home - Jeremiah continuing to burp up more of the donuts along the way.
Just the thought of that day, and the quiet desperation on Jeremiah’s face as he’d struggled to hold down the sweets, made Drew shiver with need. They didn’t do these things too often; as medical professionals both were protective of their health and avoiding risks. It had been a while since Drew had been able to indulge his boyfriend so purposefully, as opposed to when one of them was actually sick. But he didn’t say any of that, just watched his boyfriend’s eyes blow wide and then wider as he ticked off all the food he’d eaten. “Oh, and two cups of black coffee and a Coke,” he finished.
“Black coffee?” said Jeremiah. “But that . . .” He stopped and shook his head. Boyfriend Jeremiah knew how much black coffee upset Drew’s stomach but Dr. Gable did not. He put his stethoscope in his ears and leaned over Drew’s abdomen, listening intently. “Your digestion sounds sluggish and disorganized,” he said. “It could mean a few things.” He kept his hand on Drew’s stomach and Drew could hear Jeremiah’s own breathing increase. This was clearly affecting him too and Drew almost smirked and made a comment that maybe the doctor could reach his stomach better if he straddled him, right there on the table. But he didn’t want to break the roleplay - yet - so he just squirmed a little..
“What kind of things,” he asked. It was getting more uncomfortable to lie flat, but he knew he could last a little longer before having to move. His stomach gurgled but the air inside seemed to just want to swirl around and not move up.
“That depends,” said Jeremiah. “Did you start feeling nauseated in the Uber or before? And do you generally have a problem with motion sickness?”
Drew took a deep breath. “I . . . I was feeling sick before I got in the car,” he said. “But it got worse on the way home, I mean here.” He flushed and Jeremiah flashed him an amused smile at his goof before turning serious again.
“Worse in the same way, or was there anything different?” It wasn’t a standard question - normally knowing a patient was nauseated would be enough - but Jeremiah knew how Drew’s body worked, and he clearly wanted to hear his boyfriend describe all of his symptoms.
Drew thought for a minute. He’d forced himself to eat one of the donuts at the start of the Uber trip, too late realizing that the closest exit back onto the highway was closed for construction and they were going to have to zig-zag through a number of congested side streets. He’d tried to eat the second donut but could only manage a couple bites while the car was starting and stopping and making all the food inside him slosh around.
“I get carsick,” he admitted. “And the ride made me nauseous and dizzy, but . . . “ he swallowed down the saliva sitting in his throat. “. . . but I was already feeling nauseous before I got in the Uber. He swallowed hard. “My stomach’s churning..”
“Mmhmm,” murmured Jeremiah. His lips were pressed tightly together and Drew couldn’t miss the way his free hand swept across his waist, and then down to subtly adjust himself. Then he shook his head kind of to himself and cleared his throat. “I umm, I need to do a deeper palpitation now.” Drew could hear how his boyfriend’s voice was unsteady and it sent a jolt of heat to his groin - and a nauseating twist to his stomach. Jeremiah took another deep breath and his next comment was steadier, back to business. “Let me know if it gets too uncomfortable, but if you’re able to let me finish, please try to do so.” He pulled up a chair to sit in this time and set his hand, fingers together, over the lowest left part of Drew’s stomach, pushing in gently, but deeper than before.
It was uncomfortable and Drew couldn’t hold back a groan when a prickly wave of nausea rolled over him. Jeremiah’s hand stopped. “Are you okay? Do you need an emesis basin?”
Drew swallowed. “I’m okay . . . for now. I’m not going to get sick. It just . . . hurts a little.” It hurt more than just a little, but he wasn’t ready to give up everything yet.
Jeremiah nodded. “I’m sorry it hurts, but I need to officially discount a few things.” He moved his hand and pushed again. This time Drew hiccupped, and then a second time. The air and food shifted inside and a fresh wave of nausea washed over him. The hand stopped again, but Drew just shook his head, determined. The rest of the exam was delicious torture; Drew kept swallowing down his groans and Jeremiah ran his hands over his boyfriend’s skin in a way that was definitely not entirely professional. Finally he leaned back.
“I think it’s more than indigestion,” he said. “Although that’s definitely a part of it.” He tapped the side of Drew’s bloated stomach. “You ate a lot of fried and rich foods, and all that grease is blocking your ability to digest. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of it’s not sitting well, and the motion sickness isn’t helping either.” He rested his hand on Drew’s stomach and gave him a gentle smile. “You seem to have created the perfect storm for an upset belly, pun intended.” He raised the end of the bed and Drew gave half a sigh as the food in his stomach settled back down from where it had been sitting in his throat.
“I want you to try to burp for me,” Jeremiah instructed. “To see what kind of relief it gives. Do you think you can do that?” He moved his hand to the center of Drew’s stomach. “There’s a lot of air trapped here around your umbilicus.”. His voice went fully into the medical mode Drew found so sexy. “It’s contributing to your discomfort.” He lightly percussed the area and Drew had to swallow hard as his nausea spiked again. “Have you been holding them in?”
“Yes,” Drew groaned. Hearing Jeremiah talk about all the grease in his stomach suddenly made him hyper aware of just how much he’d eaten and how uncomfortable it was making him feel. And his comment that some of the food likely wasn’t sitting well had a lot of truth behind it; Drew wasn’t exactly sure anymore how much he was playing up his symptoms. “I was . . . in public.”
“Ahh,” Jeremiah tapped again. “Holding down your need to burp for so long got the air trapped under the heavy food.” He paused for a moment. “And how do you generally handle black coffee?”
“It gives me indigestion,” Drew admitted. “And makes me nauseous.”
“I thought so.” Jeremiah’s hands moved up the sides of Drew’s stomach and then down. His thumbs brushed across the center of Drew’s abdomen where the bloat was the worst and then continued slowly lower until they weren’t on his stomach anymore at all. “You should take off your jeans,” said Jeremiah thickly. “Release . . . release some of the pressure.” He cleared his throat. “Doctor’s orders.”
As swiftly as his aching gut allowed, Drew undid the button and zipper on his jeans and pushed them down. When he bent over to take them off something wet climbed up his throat. He hiccupped and it turned into a shallow gag, and then another. “I . . . ulp . . . ulp.” He struggled to get control of his stomach. Jeremiah squeezed his shoulders.
“Small breaths,” he instructed. “Pant a couple of times and then take a slow, deeper one. Pull in air through your chest.”
It was a technique Drew himself used with patients at the hospital to try to prevent vomiting. He’d demonstrated the actions enough times that he barely had to think twice now before he was panting and then inhaling until the worst of the urge to retch passed. He finally breathed out and slumped against the bed.
“Okay?” said Jeremiah. He touched Drew’s cheek. “Let’s get you belching to try to keep that from happening again.”
Drew nodded. He knew the limits of the breathing exercise and that he was rapidly approaching them. Eventually he’d be panting over a bucket or the toilet and no amount of careful breathing would be able to stop anything. For now he needed a distraction.
“What’s the difference between burping and belching, doctor?” he asked carefully. Even though it was part of their game, Jeremiah wasn’t wrong about Drew’s need to bring up some air, and soon. The uncomfortable pressure in his stomach and chest was growing and he knew that if he didn’t burp pretty soon, he was going to vomit instead. Probably a good idea to say so, he thought. “Because I really need . . . need to do something - hic - to feel better or I’m going to puke.” He slowly sat back against the raised end of the table. “Can you - - - ulp - - - help me, doctor? I really don’t feel good.”
Drew watched Jeremiah hesitate only a second, and then he was helping Drew off the table and pulling him over to their couch - also covered with a white sheet, Drew noticed now. He sat Drew down and moved to sit behind him. It was obviously not proper behavior for a doctor but neither of them cared. Still, Jeremiah continued his explanation as if he was’t currently rubbing himself against Drew’s backside.
“A burp is usually shallower, '' he explained. “It’s air from the top of your gastrointestinal tract.” He traced circles on Drew’s bare stomach, feather light still. “A belch is generally deeper, from air lower down. It can be more relieving, at least for a while, but it can also be a precursor to vomiting.” He placed his hands on Drew’s stomach. “Burp when I press and swallow more air when I ease up.” He leaned over and grabbed a water bottle off the coffee table. “And take sips of this too. Hopefully we can work up to bringing up some of the deeper pockets of air without causing you to retch.” He rested both hands on Drew’s stomach and the weight of them made his discomfort spike.
He was so queasy for a moment he couldn’t speak, and then he groaned to his boyfriend. “I feel so full, Jer,” He leaned back against Jeremiah’s chest, ready to give up more of the charade in favor of being intimate. From his position he could tell exactly what this scenario was doing to Jeremiah and it was making him tingle too, despite the nausea.
Jeremiah chuckled softly. “I know, sweetheart. But it's better to try to hold the food down a little bit longer and get some relief this way. Maybe if you’re able to release some of the pressure you won’t have to vomit.”
They both knew this was a lie; Drew had made sure to eat much more than he would be able to keep down without continuing to feel completely miserable for the rest of the day. It was Jeremiah’s birthday weekend; of course things were going to end with Drew getting the relief he needed and Jeremiah getting the relief he deserved - just of a different kind. But holding back the need to vomit was something they both thought was hot, and so Drew intended to keep from throwing up as long as he could, even though he couldn’t deny that he was feeling sicker by the minute.
Jeremiah brushed his thumb against Drew’s belly button. “I can’t see your face so you need to keep talking to me, and telling me how you feel.”
Drew felt Jeremiah’s shiver. Hearing him try to talk through his nausea was one of Jeremiah’s turn-ons when they indulged like this. And despite Drew’s growing discomfort, it was another reason he would do everything in his power to hold out and keep his breakfast - well, his breakfasts - down for a little while longer, telling his boyfriend exactly how he felt.
“Okay,” he breathed out. “Right now I’m both nauseous and queasy; is that medically possible, doctor?”
Jeremiah began to rub lightly up and down Drew’s belly. “It is,” he said. He touched Drew on the neck. “For example, do you feel kind of like there’s a lump in here you can’t quite either swallow down or get up?” His lips replaced his fingers for a brief second.
“Uh huh,” Drew groaned. “It’s a horrible heavy feeling in my throat.”
“That’s from the carsickness,” explained Jeremiah. His hands were carefully exploring Drew’s stomach. “The motion made you queasy. Let’s see if we can relieve it.” He pressed firmly into Drew’s belly with his thumb, pushing at a bubble of air, and Drew promptly burped. A bit of relief followed and he sagged against Jeremiah’s chest.
“Oh, that helped,” he breathed. “Do it again.” He wasn’t worried that burping was going to cure his nausea, but it would buy him some time. Jeremiah’s hands moved to another spot, pushed, and Drew burped again.
“Drink some water,” Jeremiah instructed. He pushed the water bottle to Drew’s lips. “Two big gulps.”
Drew squirmed. “I . . . I don’t know if I can,” he managed tightly. “I’m too full . . . i’m barely keeping everything down now.” He leaned forward a bit and began panting again, although it no longer seemed to be helping keep his stomach under control.
“You need some water in you to cut through the heavy food,” said Jeremiah. He drummed his fingers lightly across Drew’s stomach in a rat-tat-tat pattern. “Take one gulp and then let’s try to work up a few deeper belches. That should give you some relief.”
Drew forced a cough to clear the heaviness in his throat. “Give me . . . give me a second,” he stuttered. As soon as it felt safer, he swallowed some water and almost immediately burped again - this one thick and wet from deep in his gut. Behind him, Jeremiah made a sound Drew usually only heard in the bedroom.
“How . . . ahem, how are you feeling now?” His voice was nearly as strained as Drew’s.
In response, Drew took one of Jeremiah’s hands off his stomach and moved it lower. “I’m feeling really sick,” he said. “Trying to keep the water down.” He shuffled himself against Jeremiah’s lap and the man let out a soft hiss. He leaned forward.
“Hold on just a little bit longer,” he said softly against Drew’s ear. “I think you can manage to drink a bit more.”
Drew’s nausea was starting to overtake him but he wanted to comply with his boyfriend’s request. “I . . . I don’t know if I can,” he gulped. He burped, and then again, even without Jeremiah pressing on him, but they were shallow and didn’t offer much relief. Jeremiah moved his hand up from between Drew’s legs and put it back on his stomach.
“Slow, even breaths, sweetheart; try to hang on one more minute.” He held the water loosely in front of Drew but made no move to compel him to drink. “How are you feeling?”
“Really . . . sick to my stomach,” Drew said in a strained voice. The nausea was constant now and almost unbearable. “I’m so close to throwing up.” He took the water bottle anyway and took a small sip. Jeremiah’s hands twitched suddenly on his stomach and despite his crushing queasiness, Drew smirked to himself. This was exactly how he’d wanted today to go, and they’d be ending up in the bedroom, of course. He shuffled against his boyfriend again and Jeremiah’s breath hitched. Moving as slowly as he could so as not to jostle his belly, Drew turned himself carefully until he was straddling Jeremiah’s lap, facing him. Even with the care he took, another wave of nausea rolled over him, and he closed his eyes for a moment to focus on keeping his stomach in place for a little while longer. Jeremiah cupped the side of his face with his hand and Drew slowly opened his eyes.
“Happy birthday; I . . . hic . . . I love you.”
Jeremiah slowly pulled Drew’s face to his. “I love you so much,” he said. His eyes grew questioning. “Are you . . .” He stopped and took a steadying breath. “Do you think I can kiss you?”
The arousal in Jeremiah’s voice made Drew shudder, but it was the tenderness that had him nodding. “Gently,” he warned. They had laughed before about the irony that despite the mutual pleasure they got from this kink, neither of them particularly enjoyed being vomited on, or having to clean it up, if it could be at all avoided. Of course, sometimes it couldn’t be avoided, and that was okay too. But today Drew intended to empty his stomach into something that would make disposal easy. Jeremiah gave him an understanding look.
“Give me a bit of warning then, love,” he said. He gestured to the small table at the side of their sofa. “I have a trash can under there when you need it.”
When Drew needed it, and not if. They both knew he was getting close, although right now other parts of Drew’s body were demanding nearly as much attention as his stomach. He shuffled forward on Jeremiah’s lap and confirmed that his boyfriend was in much the same state. “I love you,” he said again.
Drew always said he’d never kissed anyone as good at it as Jeremiah was. He’d come out when he was sixteen, and had kissed - and sometimes done more - with a number of partners since then. He’d even had a semi-long term relationship in college. But he’d never been in love before, and even before he knew he was in love with Jeremiah, the man’s way with his lips had made Drew nearly dizzy with need. Now he moved them slowly and deliberately, touching his mouth to Drew’s before moving down and across his jaw.
Drew’s stomach gave a thick-sounding gurgle and Jeremiah stopped. “Still okay?” he asked, not moving his mouth from its place on Drew’s neck.
Drew was caught between wanting to grind against his boyfriend and needing to keep from jostling his stomach. He tightened his legs around Jeremiah’s waist and let all his weight rest on his lap. “Yeah,” he gasped. “Keep . . . urp . . .keep going.” This belch was deeper and tasted of an unpleasant combination of banana pancakes and creamy gravy. He blew it off to the side and swallowed the urge to let it turn into a gag..
Now Jeremiah groaned. “You’re killing me here.” He put his hands on Drew’s hips and adjusted his position until Drew was sitting directly on his erection. It felt beyond amazing and Drew shuddered, doing his best to focus on that instead of his nausea.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, carefully so it didn’t end in a heave, and then rested his forehead against Jeremiah’s and breathed out slowly. “I . . . needtothrowupsoon,” he said shakily, the last words coming out in a rush. “My belly is so upset I … can barely stand it.” As if in agreement the organ whined again.
Jeremiah moved his hands from Drew’s hips to cradle the sides of his stomach. “I think that’s the coffee,” he chuckled. “I can’t believe you drank two cups of it black. It’s got to be making you feel terrible.” He stroked up Drew’s side and even that gentle sensation was nauseating.
Drew gave a jerky nod of agreement. ““Wanted to make myself feel as . . . sick as possible for you,” he gasped, resisting the urge to push Jeremiah’s hands away. Talking was getting more difficult. Jeremiah could obviously tell; he moved slowly, giving Drew time to stop if he needed to, but he finally fit his lips gently around Drew’s again.
Drew really needed to burp, he needed to retch, he felt the beginning of a heave, but he pushed down all those needs in favor of kissing Jeremiah. When his boyfriend’s tongue softly sought entrance, he hesitantly opened his mouth, swallowing down bitter saliva as he did so. They kissed, gently but with some urgency, and Drew tried not to gag; the feeling of Jeremiah’s mouth on his - and then his tongue in Drew’s mouth - was almost too intense.
Jeremiah was obviously having trouble keeping himself under control too; his tongue searched a little deeper and then Drew did gag.
Jeremiah moaned with pleasure and his hips bucked involuntarily, causing his stomach to slam against Drew’s. The pressure was excruciating. Drew’s belly flipped and he pulled quickly away, unable to hold back the bigger gag this time. “B/in,” he choked out, slamming his hand over his mouth. He felt another belch rise in his throat, this one tasting of fried chicken and fried donuts.
In an instant, Jeremiah rolled Drew off his lap and settled him on the sofa. “Don’t vomit,” he commanded. He reached over and grabbed the trash can from under the coffee table.
Drew couldn’t speak. He desperately needed to be sick, and it took all of his effort to resist the urge to retch. He was only halfway aware of the bin between his feet or that it was catching the saliva he was no longer able to swallow. Jeremiah sat down next to him and wrapped his arm around Drew’s shoulders, drawing him gently back into a sitting position until he was no longer hunched over the trash can. “Breathe with me,” he said softly. “In and out.”
Drew’s stomach jolted with an aborted heave as he struggled to obey his boyfriend. He swallowed hard and found his voice, knowing what Jeremiah wanted to hear. “I’m trying,” he panted. “Too much . . . in my stomach.” He gagged over his next words. “Coffee n-needs to . . . hrrhk . . . come up.” He could taste it in the back of his throat. His stomach rolled again.
“It all needs to come up.” Jeremiah’s voice was soft in Drew’s ear, his breath heavy on his skin. “But let me help you.” He held out the water bottle, which still had a few sips left inside. “Drink this all down,” he ordered. “It will make vomiting everything up easier.”
At this point, Drew really didn’t need anything to make it easier for him to throw up. He grabbed the water anyway, forcing it into his protesting stomach. “Hic - hic - hic,” his body jolted with deep hiccups he couldn’t even try to hold down. The water came back up immediately and he lurched forward to spit it out. The position pushed out the belch he’d been trying to hold back, and then he was burping uncontrollably. Jeremiah’s hand moved back to his stomach.
“Talk to me sweetheart,” he said in a shaky voice. Dimly Drew was aware that Jeremiah sounded almost as close to climax as he was to throwing up. That knowledge, that Jeremiah was trying to hold on too, gave Drew the strength to try to answer, even though he was really past the ability to speak.
“Wh-a-a-t?” He managed, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling in an attempt to use gravity to keep all the food down. Jeremiah’s hands were trembling as they stroked Drew’s belly. Drew gave a gurgling retch.
“Tell me something you ate,” Jeremiah crooned. “Something you’re trying to keep down for me.” His voice suddenly reverted back to his medical tone, which was his way of trying to keep himself in control. “You won't be able to avoid vomiting for much longer. The food you ate is moving up from the small intestine back into your stomach in preparation for expulsion.” He tapped on Drew’s stomach. “Can you feel yourself getting more full? What’s going to come up first, do you think?”
Drew had learned these facts about digestion himself in nursing school, but feeling it happening was an entirely different thing. “Yes,” he groaned. He felt unbelievably full and nauseous, more so than when he’d first arrived home, and all he wanted to do was throw up the food in his stomach. He leaned over the bin and spit, then gave a deep, choking burp. “I . . .I . . .” He struggled to answer Jeremiah’s question, but he couldn’t make his mouth work to form the words. The heavy taste of grease coated his tongue and he gagged again. The next burp bought up something solid and he instinctively swallowed it back down.
“Oh God,” Jeremiah groaned. “How are you doing that? It’s making me want to come right here.” He cupped Drew between his legs and groaned again when he felt how aroused Drew was before moving his hands back on Drew’s stomach. “One more time, sweetheart, and then go ahead and bring everything up.” He pressed on Drew’s stomach again and this time held his hand there.
Drew heaved up a mouthful of bitter coffee. It splattered in the bottom of the bin and led to a deep, greasy burp. There was food behind it, but it was so thick he had trouble bringing it up. Jeremiah thumped on his back, and Drew retched again.
“That’s right, babe. Get it up.” He released the pressure on Drew’s stomach and then immediately pressed in again.
Drew didn’t even try to hold back this time. He vomited a mass of his partially digested breakfast into the bin, caught his breath, and then burped up another mouthful.
“Oh god,” he groaned, mimicking Jeremian, although unintentionally. He belched and swallowed down bile. “I really don’t feel well.” He needed to throw up again, but was just able to hold back the urge long enough to tease his boyfriend. “Will you rub my belly? I’m so nauseous.” Despite his plea, he reached out instead to rub Jeremiah instead.
Jeremiah grabbed his wrist. “Wait,” he said in a strained voice. “Not . . . not yet.” He cleared his throat. “What do you need?”
Drew hadn’t vomited enough to give him any relief; his nausea was nearly as intense as before and he knew he didn’t have much time before the next round. “Bathroom,” he ground out. He stood up slowly, biting back a gag when his stomach sloshed. Jeremiah started to lead him to their nearby powder room and Drew shook his head.
“Ours,” he gasped, pointing weakly to the hallway that led to their much larger and more comfortable ensuite bathroom. He swallowed hard and quickly forced out the next words. “And take off your coat.” After all, he was wearing nothing but his underwear at this point.
Swiftly Jeremiah took off his white jacket and then the top of his scrubs. He started to reach for the tie to his pants but when Drew retched again Jeremiah grabbed his arm and began steering him towards their bedroom. Before they’d gone halfway Drew was gagging with every step and he covered the last few feet to the toilet almost at a run.
Even so, he didn’t throw up right away, just burped and retched and spit into the water until Jeremiah knelt behind him. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, pressing himself against Drew from the back and snaking his arm around to Drew’s stomach in the front. “Let go, sweetheart.” Without waiting, he pressed into Drew’s stomach and he immediately vomited.
This time, it was harder to stop; he’d punished his stomach for too long and now it clearly wanted to purge as much as it could. Jeremiah rubbed his back while Drew burped and heaved up much of what he’d eaten, panting hard whenever he was able to catch his breath. At some point Jeremiah moved his hand down between Drew’s legs, teasing him with feather light touches. He carried on an encouraging stream of comments, softly urging him to breathe, or burp, or that’s right, get it up, as the situation demanded.
When Drew finally got control of his body again, he was still hard, and Jeremiah was too. He leaned back against his boyfriend while he worked on getting his breathing under control. Jeremiah’s hands trailed up his sides.
“Are you done?” he asked softly.
Drew hiccupped. “For now,” he said.
He wasn’t empty, and there was still some lingering nausea at the back of his throat, but it was manageable at the moment. He leaned forward and flushed the toilet again and stood up on shaky feet to rinse his mouth and then brush his teeth before turning to his boyfriend for a proper kiss. While his mouth hungrily explored Jeremiah’s, Drew pushed down Jeremiah’s scrubs bottoms and his own underwear, groaning now for reasons that had little to do with nausea.
“What . . . do you want?” He asked between kisses.
Jeremiah’s answer was swift. “You. Bent over in the shower.”
Drew sucked in his breath, thrilled by his boyfriend’s words. He opened the shower door and turned on all the jets while Jeremiah got what he needed from the medicine cabinet.
This shower was one of the things that had sold Jeremiah and Drew on buying the house. It was really a small room, with a wide bench at one end and half a dozen jets and nozzles on two of the beautifully tiled walls and ceiling. The steam was already thick by the time Jeremiah entered and snaked his arms around Drew’s waist. Drew braced his hands against the opposite wall and for a while, Jeremiah just rubbed his hands over his stomach and kissed his neck and across his shoulders. It would have seemed as if he was content to go no further if Drew hadn’t been able to feel him, hard against his back.
By the time Jeremiah’s hands crept lower on Drew’s body and explored for a minute between his legs, nausea had begun to swirl again in his belly, urged on by the humid air and heat of the shower. He belched wetly and Jeremiah froze.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” his hands moved back up to rest on Drew’s stomach just as he felt it flip. Drew had to swallow before he answered.
“A bit queasy again, but I want to keep going.” He looked back over his shoulder at his boyfriend and smiled. “If you do, of course.”
Jeremiah’s hands busied themselves at Drew’s backside. “Oh, I do,” he said. Even over the sound of the shower Drew could hear the need in Jeremiah’s voice.
Drew shivered. “I may vomit,” he warned.
Jeremiah rested his hands on Drew’s stomach again. “Oh, you’re definitely going to vomit. There’s still food in here that needs to come up, isn’t there? But not until I say.” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed Drew’s hips to position himself.
The motion of Jeremiah rocking against him upset Drew’s stomach even more. He gagged, letting excess saliva drip out of his mouth and wash down the drain. Jeremiah’s hands were heavy on his waist, and when they slipped down to cradle the fullness in his belly, Drew couldn’t hold back a retch. Jeremiah’s hands twitched against his skin.
“Not yet,” he said softly. His hands worked slowly across Drew’s body. Drew’s stomach flipped and he groaned.
“Please, I need to throw up.” He had to swallow over and over to keep down the urge to heave.
Jeremiah nipped lightly at his shoulder. “You can’t wait just a few seconds more?” He rocked their bodies in unison and Drew gagged, hard.
“Please,” he begged again.
“You’ve done so well, sweetheart,” said Jeremiah thickly. "It’s okay to let go,”
Drew couldn’t wait another moment. He threw up what seemed to be mostly liquid, splattering it against the back wall of the shower, then took a deep breath and burped, bringing up the last of his stomach contents. He groaned with pleasure this time, finishing with a shudder and pushing himself backwards against his boyfriend.
Behind him, Jeremiah swore with his own climax, wrapping his arms around Drew’s waist. He kissed Drew’s neck, and his cheek, and then slowly turned him around so they were face to face.
“I love you so much,” he whispered.
Drew leaned forward and kissed him. “I love you so much too. Happy Birthday.”
nawwwhh man you aint gotta feel bad about not doin sicktember. im bein real here, i thought i was and i did like 3, so i aint either. but if you really do want me to request one, i'd probably do psychogenic fever/stress induced illness with madix bein sickie bc itd relate to me personally the most (bc i always get stress sick and i'd love to see madix sick witb it too (bonis point if dakota take care of him GOD i loved the fic where dakote took care of him))
Hey man, thanks for always being there and loving my fics. I hope you like this one even though it's nearly two fucking years late I swear.
This fic is set in the past when Madix and Dakota are in school together.
CW: Graphic description of vomiting! It's seriously so gross I love it lol.
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A flood of relieved students rushed past Dakota. He swam against the current looking for Madix among the test-takers. Since it was 2pm, they were no longer test-takers, but the sea of knowledge inside their brains would still be there until the PTSD of organic chemistry was washed away by time.
Dakota knew how anxious Madix had been for this final. The dreaded Orgo Chem kept his roommate up for the past three nights. It was a known fact that this second-year course was a killer, and Madix’s prof was a distinguished serial killer. Many students retook Orgo in the summer, trying for that passing grade with perhaps a more lenient prof.
With the hallway now empty—all the students having left—it was easy for Dakota to find Madix. He hadn’t expected his friend to stick around after the final was over, but there he was sitting on the floor by the large windows. Madix looked like a crab, trying to find safety in the shell of his hunched over back. He had his head in his hands and was rubbing his temples as if the trauma of the exam pooled behind his eyes.
“Hey, how did it go?” It was a very pointless question given that Madix was curled into a question mark.
“Fuck if I know,” Madix slurred as he slid his hands down his face. “I keep going over every question, doubting my answers.”
“Well, it’s over now so you don’t need to think about it.” It worried Dakota how glassy and fragile Madix’s eyes looked, like he was about to cry or explode into flames. His cheeks were pale and sunken too.
“I need a 73 to pass the class.”
Dakota squinted. “Mmh sounds like you’re still thinking about it.”
Madix dropped his hands to his side. “I can’t stop. That exam is all I’ve been thinking about for the last week. I haven’t even had time to study for Anatomy tomorrow.”
With a sigh, Dakota sat down on the floor next to his friend. “I brought you something to take your mind off studying.” From behind his back, Dakota revealed a fast-food bag from the student lounge. It was Madix’s favourite place to get comfort food because of the crispy fries, the juicy burger, and the creamy milkshake. Madix didn’t like to indulge that craving too often because it was a greasy cheat meal that often left him feeling bloated, but Dakota thought it would be a nice gesture since Madix had hardly eaten anything leading up to this exam.
He was about to hand his friend the grease-wrapped gift, but hesitated. The heat coming off Madix’s body was alarming. Dakota could feel the waves just sitting next to him. A quick touch to Madix’s forehead with the back of his hand told Dakota that he’d been neglecting his roommate.
“Shit, Mads, you’re burning up. I didn’t know you were sick all this time.”
“I’m not sick.” Like a starving animal, Madix reached for the bag of food, but Dakota held it out of his reach.
“Bullshit. You can deny it all you want, but your head’s on fire, buddy.”
“I know.”
Dakota couldn’t stop his lecture now, as if the two of them hadn’t heard enough lecturing the whole year. “You’re the one in pre-med, you should know—wait what?”
Madix sighed at the theatrics of his friend. “I’ve had a fever for three days. It’s not going away.” He rubbed his own forehead, feeling the familiar yet puzzling temperature. “I don’t have any other symptoms. I think it’s from stress.”
It was honestly the oddest feeling. Madix could feel himself cooking from the inside. His cells buzzed like the many diagrams of excited particles when submitted to heat. But there was nothing else to indicate a virus or infection. His throat was fine; his nose was clear. If anything, he was infected with school. Perhaps his nose was clogged with equations and his throat was sore from reciting textbook chapters.
Dakota looked skeptical. “So, you gave yourself a fever from worrying?”
“Yes, it’s a medical mystery. They should name a disease after me. Anyway, gimme burger.” Madix reached for the food like a child with grubby fingers.
Dakota scooted away from his friend, taking the prize with him. “I don’t know, Mads. You really don’t look well. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to eat something so heavy.”
“Come on. You know I’ve been surviving on goldfish crackers.” It was only now that he could smell the fries and beef that Madix realized how hungry he was. His stomach was aching for something substantial. “Besides, I need the energy to study for Anatomy. It’s tomorrow by the way.”
“Tomorrow? But you just had orgo.”
“I have a shit exam schedule this year.” Madix pouted. “Please, Kota. It will make me feel better.”
Finally, Dakota relented. He had bought it for Madix after all. But now he was worried that it was the exact opposite of what the overworked boy needed.
He watched Madix stuff his face with his first real meal in 72 hours. The burger disappeared in record time. Fatty juices glistened on Madix’s chin as he dug into the fries. His fingers were coated in grease and fry seasoning by the time he was done. In between each mouthful, he took longs slurps of the Oreo milkshake.
“You wanna slow down there, bud?” Dakota asked incredulously. There wasn’t much more to eat at this point.
Madix dragged his sleeve over his mouth and shook his head. “Have to start studying soon.” He swallowed the last bite of fries and sucked at the last remnants of the milkshake. Madix let out a long burp at the end and sighed.
“I’m not gonna lie, that was impressive.” Dakota couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re getting more colour in your cheeks.” Maybe the meal really had been a good thing. “But I’m still worried about this voodoo fever though.”
“It won’t go away until the exams do.”
‘Then neither will I.” Dakota stood firm in this decision. He wasn’t going to let Madix get burnt out…literally. His hardest exams were done, so he could keep a closer eye on Madix now. “I’ll study with you in the library.”
“You don’t have to, Kota. I’ll be fine.”
“I want to.”
By the tone of Dakota’s voice, Madix could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine, but we’re studying in the red zone.”
“Not the red zone! Anything but that.”
Madix shrugged. “You’re the one who insisted on babysitting.”
• • •
The red zone was the fourth circle of hell—also known as the library during exam season.
It was the quietest level of the building, reserved exclusively for students to study in absolute silence. No talking, no phones, you couldn’t even sneeze without getting dirty looks. You could hear a pencil drop and then watch that pencil be escorted out of the red zone.
As someone with ADHD, Dakota hated the red zone. He much preferred the orange or yellow zone. At least in the orange zone, you could whisper and cough without being shunned. The yellow zone allowed for conversation and anxious tapping. He admitted that the green zone was definitely not ideal for studying. That was the first level of the library were students could openly cry over their exams or practice for their theater final that involved a murder scene.
Dakota pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from moving on their own.
Madix on the other hand had no issue keeping his mouth shut. The nausea forced his lips together.
The fast food was quickly catching up to him, staying true to its name even inside his stomach. It hadn’t taken long before the burger, fries, and milkshake resisted digestion. The meal churned in his belly like a wad of chewing gum.
The red zone was popular during this time of year, so Madix and Dakota hunted for two chairs next to each other. They found a long table with many students already studying there, but luckily there were two empty spots across from each other. Madix was grateful to be sitting across from Dakota so that he could rub his upset stomach discreetly.
Unfortunately, the red zone was not a good place to have a gurgly tummy. The girl next to Madix gave him the stink eye when the organ groaned, tossing chewed up cow inside his gut. He felt grease sticking to his throat and hot burps in his chest. He pushed down every belch lest he be escorted out of the level.
The words of the anatomy textbook swam across the page. Madix felt his fever ignite with a vengeance. Now he was dizzy, disoriented, and disgustingly full. There was heat behind his eyes that turned his vision to soup. Everything he needed to know for the exam was right in front of him in the book, but the letters became alphabet stew on a white background.
He dared not look up at his friend in fear that Dakota would see right through him.
Dakota could not study in such an environment, so naturally he saw every twinge of nausea flash across Madix’s expression. His poor friend was not having a good time. Madix’s cheeks were now flushed bright red, and beads of sweat gathered on his brow.
In the dead quiet of the library, he could hear Madix’s stomach struggle to digest the heavy meal. Dakota kicked himself for giving into Madix’s begging. The nausea was no doubt thwarting his efforts at studying which created a vicious cycle of stress and pain.
Dakota did a quick doodle in his notebook and passed it to Madix. He was quite proud of his drawing and had to keep in a chuckle.
Madix frowned at the drawing. Along the top were the words Green Zone Now? Below Dakota’s messy handwriting was a drawing of a green-faced emoji. Its cheeks were ballooned with vomit. It seemed he wasn’t hiding his ailment so well.
On the same page, Madix wrote back I’m fine. Must study. Madix didn’t think he needed to go to the green zone, despite what his complexion said. He could control his stomach. The food would stay down; it had to.
Dakota gave Madix a disappointed look when he got the note back. Why must he be so stubborn? Dakota had to drop the matter. Aside from physically picking up his friend, he didn’t see any other way of convincing Madix to take a break for the sake of his health. He wasn’t going to be making any compelling arguments in the red zone.
Madix tried to ignore his blistering fever and his unhappy guts.
Systemic Anatomy was hard to study for when he was so keenly aware of his digestive system. He imagined partially digested fries mixing with the gastric juices in his belly. His body went through the steps with much difficulty.
The muscular organ was literally in the process of contracting itself to squeeze all the nutrients out of the fast food. Madix did not like the squeezing. He hugged his aching middle and laid his head on the table in defeat.
It didn’t seem likely that the food would continue on to his intestines. His stomach couldn’t handle the greasy meal after days of hardly anything to eat. On top of all this, his body was too busy fighting a made-up virus called stress. The stress was very real, but his immune system was taking it too literally. It was no wonder why he couldn’t keep the meal down.
Madix couldn’t stop the burp from coming up. It burst from his mouth, splashing the back of his throat with acid. The girl next to him shushed him. Her expression was as sour as his stomach. He didn’t have the will to apologize for the noise. Regardless, he wouldn’t have had the chance to say sorry anyway because another burp filled his mouth with sticky saliva.
Dakota looked up quickly to see Madix hunched over his chair and gagging into his hand. Another sickly belch bubbled up, draining the colour from Madix’s face.
Before Dakota could do anything, he watched Madix lurch forward with a loud heave. Thick vomit spewed from his mouth and fell onto the table in front of him. The sick quickly spilled onto Madix’s lap.
“Oh, shit Maddy,” Dakota cooed as he came to his friend’s side. He didn’t bother with the anti-social etiquette of the red zone, not that it mattered though because everyone in their vicinity bolted from the room. No one wanted to risk catching whatever Madix had during their exams.
Madix coughed and sputtered. Scandalous! He could only moan miserably before the muscles in his belly contracted again, sending up another wave of mushy fries and curdled milkshake. Dark flecks of Oreo and beef dotted the sick.
“Oh God…” Madix choked out. “I can’t stop.”
Dakota rubbed his friend’s back while trying not to look at the growing pool of vomit that was…everywhere. “It’s okay, buddy. Just let it out.” The same heat from before lived beneath Madix’s skin. Dakota could feel the fever through his clothes. “No one is here. You’re good. Do what you need to do.”
Madix’s belly gave another deep lurch. The pressure forced the undigested food up his open esophagus. If this wasn’t the best way to study the digestive system, then Madix didn’t know what else to do besides open himself up like a cadaver.
His fever made the room spin around him. If he had any sort of receptacle, he probably would have missed. Luckily, he had no issue catching his notebook, his lap, and his shoes in the process.
“Good job,” Dakota encouraged. He patted Madix’s back firmly. “Get it all out. Get that stress out too while you’re at it.”
Madix had to admit that there was something cathartic about this purge. He felt lighter with each bout that left his body. He gave over to his subconscious mind and let his body do what it needed to do. He probably should have listened to the hunger and sleep cues before this, but he was listening now to the Get Out cues.
If stressed looked like a melted Oreo milkshake then it was certainly no longer in his body. He tried to imagine the pressure and the expectations and the need for validation leaving his body along with the vomit.
When Madix caught a break, he couldn’t help but give a chuckle. “This is the red zone. I just puked in the red zone.”
Dakota laughed with him. “All over it really.” He looked around at the empty room. “You scared everyone away. They must think you have the plague.”
“I think we’re all infected with it. This pressure—it’s an epidemic, man.”
“Don’t go turning into a philosopher.” Dakota took a step back from his friend. It wasn’t a good view, but he was happy to see Madix’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you need anything? Water? Sleep?”
“Both.” Madix slowly stood up from his chair, cringing at the wetness that made his shirt cling to his body. “But I think I better find someone who works here.” Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should have listened to you, huh?”
“Let’s discuss my vast amount of wisdom when everything’s cleaned up, shall we?"
i'm feeling generous, so you guys will get this a day early. also not to be a freak but i gave him freckles
so, in continuing on that tummy rub minigame idea: i would love if characters had their favorite food and speciality dishes, and there is something like a count of how many they've eaten. how much is in their tummy now, and then, as they puke you get the countdown of how many dishes worth they are spewing. i don't know why by quantifying their tummy contents like this just gets me going. specially diluc! i feel like this man would have zero self-restraint. twindles his fingers and goes don't mind if I do, then eats and eats and until, oh no.
Soooo this fic actually takes place 4 fics in the future and I'll make sure to leave it in the correct order in the masterlist. But I wrote it first and I don't have the patience to wait to post!
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“Hey, Wagner,” Dean poked his head inside of the empty conference room, where Leo was hunched over his papers, reading over a previous case similar to the one he was currently handling.
It was only his third case, he couldn’t fumble it.
“Yeah?” Leo didn’t bother looking up, so he startled when Dean suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders, “Martin, what are you doi-”
“Mark your page,” Dean bossed, squeezing his shoulder, with a smile on his face, “I gotta show you something.”
Leo scoffed at the order, but his curiosity was piqued and he obeyed, marking his page and putting the files away inside his case. They walked out of the conference room together and then entered the elevator.
“Where are we going…?” Leo frowned as Dean pressed the last digit. The top floor only had Mrs. Mitchell’s office and the rooftop…
“Wait and see,” Dean was bouncing on his feet and Leo squinted, suddenly very suspicious. Surely his co-worker wouldn’t be this happy over bad news, they were friends, so-
The door opened and Leo nearly jumped out of his skin as a huge “SURPRISE!” followed.
He startled, his back hitting the inside of the elevator, then let out a chuckle at his own expense. His coworkers were all gathered around the door. Sandra, Chuck, Nicole from the reception, Mrs. Mitchell — his boss! —, others as well.
Sandy was holding a box with a bento cake and two cupcakes inside of it. The icing was a deep, forest green, with golden flakes all over it. Their office’s colors.
“You didn’t think you could hide your birthday from us, did you Wagner? We’re professional snoopers,” Dean messed up his hair, shoving Leo out of the elevator. There was a table on the rooftop and they had piled on little tea sandwiches, more green cupcakes and a champagne bottle.
Leo’s chest squeezed with happiness, “I wasn’t hiding anything, I - I love this, thank you,” he interrupted himself, as Sandra passed the box with the mini cake and cupcakes to Chuck’s hands and pulled him into a hug to congratulate him.
It was nearly the end of their day, so they spent an hour there celebrating. Leo devoured his cake. It was almost too much for one sitting, but he hadn’t had lunch, so that hit just the right spot.
Still, as they wrapped up, he was feeling full enough he decided to skip on the two cupcakes and just bring them home for later.
“Go home, Wagner,” Mrs. Mitchell patted his arm, “and next year we hope to know with more advance than Dean guessing because he was snooping during lunch,” she rolled her eyes, “so we can have a proper lunch in celebration.”
“This was amazing, I don’t need anything else, ma’am,” Leo blushed and she wrinkled her nose at his line.
“Don’t settle for less than you deserve, Wagner. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind.”
She talked like their football coach, Leo thought with a smile, nodding and heading to the elevator. Maybe that was why he liked her so much.
Having two hours more than he had expected, Leo took his time driving home, stopping along the way to pick up flowers for their apartment and treats for JD.
Leo called Vince, but he didn’t pick up, indicating he was on the road. Jonah was surely still at the hospital. Leo took a long shower, then hit the dial to Luke, while putting the two remaining cupcakes in the fridge, taking a needless bite of one. He was bored and ready to start his birthday celebrations.
“Hi kid,” Luke picked up on the second ring, “sorry, I’m in the middle of something. Is this anything urgent?”
“No,” Leo pouted, “we can talk at the restaurant, I was just bored and wanted to chat.”
“Sorry,” Lucas sounded busy, “I’m in the shelter-”
“The homeless shelter?” Leo raised his eyebrows, squishing the phone between his cheek and shoulder and falling down to his knees as he saw JD get out from under the couch, “what are you doing there?”
“I started working here yesterday,” Luke was breathless, “I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. See you in a couple hours, kid.”
“See you,” Leo sighed, hanging up and then getting down on his stomach on the floor in order to grab his cat. JD let out an indignant meow at Leo snatching her, falling into a baby position as he cradled her, “hi baby. My cute, fluffy, prickly baby,” he said in a childish voice, feeling the judgment oozing out of his pet.
Jonah came home just as Leo was starting to get restless, moving around with nothing to do since he hadn’t planned to have free time.
“Hi!” Jon jumped as he saw Leo sprawled on the couch, already all dressed for the night, with JD getting her fur all over his fancy buttoned up shirt, since she was curled up on his stomach, “you’re home early, I was hoping- I was thinking you’d-”
Leo lifted up his head from the couch cushion, eyebrows raised at Jon’s uncharacteristic fumbling of words, “hoping I was gone?”
“Don’t say it like that,” Jonah scoffed, neatly tucking away his shoes and circling the couch in order to look at him, “don’t you look nice.”
“Thank you,” Leo grinned, lazily scratching JD’s head, “my boss gave me the last two hours of my day off, but uh… I had nothing to do, so I’ve been here, bothering JD.”
“She looks super bothered,” Jonah rolled his eyes, as their spotted cat was purring, rolled up on herself like a snake, on top of Leo, “well, I was planning on leaving this on top of the bed with a letter that said how much I love you and how incredibly successful and attentive and loving I think you are and how I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my days, but since you’re here…” Jon sat at the edge of the couch, handing him a large silver wrapped box, “it’s nothing flashy, but you’re a lawyer, so I think I’m allowed-”
Leo raised a hand to shut him up, removing the lid of the box and then letting out a whistle, while JD got up to sniff at the wrapping paper, “this is stunning… You got my name engraved?”
“Stamped,” Jonah corrected, as Leo pulled out the dark leather case from the box, eyebrows raised at the marking that said Mr. Leo Wagner - Juris Doctorate, “I left some space there for the hyphenated Banks, if you make up your mind about it…”
Leo’s cheeks hurt from smiling, “I love it. I’m gonna use it every damn day… And I’m considering the Banks, I promise,” he leaned in to grab Jon’s shirt, pulling him for a kiss, “I love it, thank you.”
“I love you,” Jon shrugged, thumb pushing slightly on Leo’s chin, “I’m gonna shower and we can go- Stop letting JD cuddle when you’re dressed up, bloody hell, Leo.”
“She’s cute!” Leo cried out as Jon got up from the couch and rushed out. He was still completely enchanted by his new case. There were fancy instructions of use and a bottle of leather conditioner in the box, as well as a life-long warranty that made him snort.
As they made it to the restaurant, Leo’s stomach was starting to hurt from hunger. Even though he had had his mini cake in the office, three hours had passed and he was a big guy, just that wasn’t even remotely enough to sustain him.
Bella, Luke and Wendy were already inside and Leo rushed to them. The couple had literally just gotten back from their honeymoon three days ago and they hadn’t had a chance to meet yet.
“C’mere, blondie,” Bella pulled on the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a tight hug, “congratulations, Leo.”
Leo melted into the hug, wrapping his arms around her and taking Bella’s feet off the ground, tipping his body back.
They were already a bottle of wine in — not that much, considering there were five of them — when Vince entered the restaurant.
“I’m so so sorry,” Vince cried out, stripping his biker jacket and throwing it to Luke, “there was a huge tree in the road and no one could get through – it’s not important – Give me a hug!” Vin practically manhandled Leo out of his chair and the blonde let out a squeak at the ribs crushing hug, “happy birthday, kiddo.”
“I-Can’t. Breathe,” Leo gasped, making Vince chuckle and drop him. Leo dizzily staggered back, practically falling into his seat.
Conversation went on easily after that. Leo retold that evening’s events, not hiding how proud and happy he was that his boss had joined in the celebration, and Wendy had a million tales to share about the fifty different things she was doing. Luke and Bella couldn’t shut up about the Maldives, still grossly all over each other despite spending nearly a month away with no one but each other’s company.
Jonah brought up Angie’s proposition while they went through the second main dish – lobster — and Luke shrugged, “I think it’s a brilliant idea.”
“Of course you do, you don’t work,” Jonah wrinkled his nose, causing Luke to glare at him and Leo to snort, continuing to eat his food.
“I’ll have you know I actually got a job,” Lucas shrugged, as if those weren’t big news and didn’t mean a lot, considering how much of his mental health deteriorating was tied to his career path or lack of one.
“What’s the job?!” Vince practically rattled him and Luke chuckled, pushing his hands away.
“I’m a charity fundraiser,” Lucas was almost beaming with how happy he was and Bella threw an arm around his shoulders, planting a big lipstick-red kiss on his cheek, “I’m not gonna take credit for this, it was actually a culmination of my therapist asking me to get a couple vocational therapy sessions, my beautiful wife telling me to stop sulking about being rich, and me finally using my head.”
“Whatever does that mean?” Leo asked, leaning back on his chair. His stomach was stuffed with food and there was still dessert to go. He fidgeted on his seat, wishing he could rub his belly or loosen up his belt, but it would be bad form in an upscale place such as this.
“Well, I have the political connections thanks to my mom, I have the glamorous connections thanks to my dad, but I never wanted to do anything with those. They always felt like a burden,” Luke blushed, “but that was silly. There’s people who’d kill to be able to get things as easily as I can, so I realized I can use these connections for good-”
“By making rich people give away their money,” Vince chuckled, clicking his glass with Bella and the ginger nodded almost smugly.
“It’s not just that,” Luke whined, but he didn’t seem offended, “you actually need to know laws, but lucky me, I’m a Poli Sci major… And I happen to be really good at leading teams and bossing people.”
“We already knew that, Captain,” Leo winked at Luke, leaning to his side and half resting against Jonah, as the conversation continued, Wendy was full of questions about Luke’s new position, even after him saying he was not in charge of anything, but working under a guy. She had that ambitious little sparkle in her eye that often found a twin in Jonah’s.
Not this time, tonight Jon was too busy saving all of his heart eyes for Leo. He leaned in, pressing his nose to the blonde’s temple and smiling, “enjoying yourself?”
“Uh-hum,” Leo nodded, biting down a grimace as his stomach cramped. Maybe he had overdone it… He just needed a moment, Leo thought, breathing through it and glaring in disgust to his empty plate. He really shouldn’t have cleared the plate.
Probably noticing his grimace, a waiter quickly came to retrieve all the plates, then hung around as they chatted about dessert. Leo felt a wave of revulsion at the thought of eating another bite. His tummy was packed and he could feel a lump in his throat.
He coughed lightly against his fist and squeezed Jon’s knee, “order me a water? I gotta go to the bathroom.”
“Of course,” Jon nodded, still lazily studying the menu and letting out a chuckle as Wendy pulled her chair closer to him, impromptu giving him advice on what to pick.
Leo circled the table, when he passed by the guys, Vince darted out a hand in a teasing manner, giving his back a pat.
It wouldn’t have mattered on any other day, but stuffed as he was, the little friendly pat — that was a bit rough, given Vince never seemed to have understood he was not the size of a kitten — caused a sick burp to come up.
It fizzled out in his throat, but brought with it the taste of his dinner, causing Leo to shudder. He burst into the men’s room and caught a glimpse of his face.
The wine had done a decent job at masking his paleness, because despite the fact he had turned belly-fish white in the last couple of minutes, the alcohol still caused the top of his cheeks to be a starkling pink.
He leaned over the sink, splashing his face with water and taking some soothing breaths. The hunched over position caused his stomach to slosh dangerously and Leo let out yet another little burp under his breath, glancing at the door nervously as he touched his belly.
Deciding he didn’t want to risk getting walked on by one of his friends, Leo stumbled to the private stalls and locked the door. He sat on the toilet instead of leaning over it like his belly was begging him to, then spread his legs out and undid his belt.
The relief was instantaneous and Leo all but melted as the nausea eased up. He planted a hand on his stomach, tugging up his black button up, and scrunched up his face as he looked at his belly. His abs were a far cry from the morning, now his stomach was taut and stretched out, gurgling non stop.
It wasn’t something they’d be able to hear over the chatting and the soft piano music in the restaurant, but in the empty bathroom he could hear it clearly. Leo groaned, planting the heel of his hand to his tummy and pressing in little circles.
The belly rub wasn’t quite successful and nowhere near as nice as Jonah’s were, but at least it managed to bring up yet another breathy burp- He lurched forward with a much bigger one, that nearly morphed into a retch. Leo slapped a hand over his mouth, shocked and breathing hard, trying to understand if his stomach was going to reject his dinner.
Instead, the near gag seemed to have calmed things down a bit. He carefully removed his hand from his lips, wiping the clammy sweat from his upper lip and breathing out. That was close.
Figuring he had been gone long enough, Leo begrudgingly got up, closing his belt once more and tucking his shirt in. He splashed his face with some more cold water and took a breath, forcing himself to get out of the bathroom.
The minute he walked out, a hand was planted over his eyes and everything went dark. Leo let out a startled squeak, which morphed into a hiccup and Jonah laughed at the noise, kissing his cheek.
“Relax,” he whispered in his ear, guiding Leo to walk forward, blindly, “happy birthday, baby.”
He lowered his hand and Leo realized Jon had walked him back to their table. Now their friends were standing and there was a large cake in the middle of the table, with candles sticking out and already alight.
Just the sight of it made his stomach churn, but Leo wasn’t lying when he smiled. The effort his friends had gone through to get him the perfect cake mattered much more than his bellyache and he shoved it to the back of his mind, grinning like crazy as they started to chorus in the happy birthday song.
Leo’s cheek turned a deep red as he noticed other strangers looking at their table, some even joining the singing. He turned his head, hiding it on Jonah’s shoulder and his fiance smiled, squeezing him closer as they finished up the song and Leo leaned to blow out the candles.
He got pulled in yet another round of hugs and finally Leo fell back down on his seat, on the opposite side of the table. The brief truce he had earned from his tummy back in the bathroom was broken and he was hiccuping, causing Vince to giggle as he let out a little squeaky-toy noise.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Vin chuckled, pushing a plate with a slice of cake his way and then passing Jonah another one, “dig in, kiddo, it’s your favorite. Chocolate on chocolate on chocolate.”
Sounded like hell, Leo thought with a small grimace, but then his stomach sank as he heard Vince’s next words, “my mom was appalled she shouldn’t put in any fruit.”
“Your mom- Ma made my cake?” Leo asked, both moved and completely distraught as he realized there was no way he could avoid eating now.
“Sorry guys, there was a huge tree on the road,” Wendy mimicked her boyfriend’s excuse from before, forcing a deep voice, “he was late because it was a whole logistic nightmare to bring the cake from Doveport, but Ma insisted, you’re like… Her favorite.”
Luke scoffed, “which is very unfair, I’d just like to point it out,” he said in a teasing way, “I’m supposed to be the favorite.”
“Shut up, Luke,” Bella chuckled, shushing him with a little kiss and stealing a piece of his slice of cake, even though she had her own.
Leo eyed the cake with disgust, nodding and forcing a smile. His mouth watered at the thought of pushing any more sweetness in his tummy, but he ignored it, grabbing the fork.
Jonah was scratching his back with one hand, continuing to eat and humming in agreement to the compliments about Ma’s cooking and the fact Leo was her favorite out of Vince’s friends. He was blissfully unaware of the turmoil his boyfriend was in and barely registered as Leo pushed half of his slice on his plate, giving up halfway through.
He couldn’t even swallow what was currently in his mouth. Leo tried gulping it down, but his throat was refusing to cooperate. He hiccuped again and this time he couldn’t help but groan, as liquid rocketed up his throat.
“I’m gonna get the bill,” Jonah whispered, squeezing his nape and getting up, beating Luke to it.
Leo groaned, barely trying to hide how shitty he was feeling. His friends were all getting up and then Vince circled the table, grinning, “are you drunk, kiddo? That was almost nothing compared to what I’ve seen you drink-”
“No-” he finally managed to gulp down the chocolate mess in his mouth and felt cold sweat break out on his back, his stomach immediately rejecting it, “ate- ate- HIC!- Fuck, too much…”
Vince chuckled, grabbing his arm, “Okay, let’s go outside for some air. C’mon-”
He gently shoved Leo forward and they walked out of the restaurant, Leo continuing to hiccup.
The cool air was nice, but Leo knew he was past the point where a breeze could help. He cupped his mouth, muffling yet another little burp and groaning as a hiccup shook him once more, causing his stomach to clench.
“Shit- Vince,” Leo grabbed his friend’s arm, gulping down nervously and trying to communicate he was gonna puke-
“BOO!” Wendy jumped on him and Leo lost his weak hold on his stomach. He let out a choking noise and folded in half, puking all over the patch of sidewalk and Wendy’s pink and green heels.
It was so violent that Leo felt dizzy. His eyes stung with humiliation and his nose with the acid that tickled it. He stayed bent down, unable to straighten up not only because he was so embarrassed, but because his belly felt far from settled.
He closed his eyes, letting out a whimper, and then felt a hand in the middle of his back, rubbing up and down. Too rough to be Jonah’s.
“What the hell, Leo?” Wendy groaned, while Luke said, “Wen, chill out,” and helped him straighten up. He was the one who had stepped closer. Vince and Bella looked equally shocked, Bella was the one carrying the box with the rest of his cake and she was clutching it to her chest.
“Sorry-” Leo groaned, feeling his whole face burn and his throat close up, now with tears, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
“It’s fine,” Wendy scoffed, as Vince grabbed her by her armpits and helped her slide out of her shoes without having to touch the chocolate vomit covering them, “god, this is gross…”
“Wendy,” Luke stressed, squeezing Leo’s shoulder, “what’s wrong, Leo?”
“Sorry,” he groaned again, sniffling pitifully, “I just- I just had so much to eat and then Wendy startled me and- Why did you startle me?!”
“Because you were hiccuping!” Wendy scoffed, with a disgusted frown on, using Bella’s shoulder to steady herself as she tiptoed away from the mess. Vince seemed to have gotten over the shock and only looked amused, snorting at his girlfriend’s answer, “I was trying to help!”
“Amazing,” Jonah said, half amused, half annoyed, jumping down the last steps and joining them outside, “Leo, are you okay?”
“I wanna die,” Leo groaned, but at least the nausea had calmed down a little. Not fully, he still felt stuffed and his stomach was still churning, but he no longer felt like he was going to throw up right at that minute…
“You’re fine, Wendy will live,” Jonah rolled his eyes at Wendy’s little huff, but she did sigh and nod.
“Just because it’s your birthday I won’t yell at you,” she said, then in a much kinder voice, “at least do you feel better?”
“Not really,” Leo admitted, leaning on Jonah’s touch and wanting to crawl up somewhere dark and die. More people were leaving the restaurant and he wanted to hide away from their eyes, feeling like everyone knew… His stomach churned and he planted a hand on it, grimacing, “can we go home?”
Jon frowned, touching his face lightly, subtly checking for any heat, then nodded when he felt none, “yeah, of course. You guys can keep the cake, I don’t think anyone is going to eat it at home,” his voice had a slightly humorous tone and Leo blushed, but just the thought of the chocolate cake made his belly gurgle.
He groaned, “don’t even talk about it,” Leo wrapped an arm around his middle, squeezing his eyes shut as the queasiness started to come back. Luke thumped on his back in a sympathetic manner.
“Feel better, kiddo,” he smiled, “and happy birthday.”
Leo whined as the rest of their friends did the same, side stepping the mess to tell him goodbye, Wendy being the last one.
She squeezed his arm, “happy birthday, Leo,” her tone was teasing, “at least the hiccups stopped?”
“God, go away,” Leo groaned, muffling a burp in his hand and she grinned, kissing Jonah’s cheek.
“You owe me a new pair of Jimmy Choo’s” Wendy warned him, waving and running to where Vince was waiting for her on his bike.
Leo let out a sigh, falling against Jonah and groaning when his fiance let out a little chuckle at his expense. “What the fuck is a Jimmy Choo?” Leo asked, his voice muffled by Jon’s shirt, allowing the other man to pull him back to the car.
Another detective fic is here!! This time I was lightly inspired by a prompt of a character feeling fine in the morning and suddenly coming down with something. it's semi-long, so I hope you enjoy :))
--
Jack laid his jacket over his chair, placed his coffee on the desk and sat across from Harry.
“Morning.” It was barely morning anymore, but, force of habit.
Harry looked up from his desk, “Good morning. Where have you been?” He sat back from his work, folding his arms to give Jack a funny look.
“The morgue,” He pulled out a pen, clicking the end a few times before writing a quick reminder to write up the findings from said morgue trip. Jack took a sip of coffee, “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing, nothing. Thought you’d be somewhere more interesting.” Harry slumped back into his seat. Jack could see he was just pretending to write, his pen hovering just above the paper. Jack chuckled,
“Looking for gossip?” He asked. Harry’s cheeks reddened at being caught. He immediately got back into his work, hunching over to block his face. Jack really laughed now, “Don’t go all shy on me.” He joked, now leaning forward to get his own work done.
While they worked, all types of people filed into the department. Jack couldn’t help but overhear a family that had lost their young boy over the weekend, desperately asking for some help. He looked up, noticing the mother crying and the father absolutely ripping into one of the younger detectives. It was causing a bit of a ruckus. He looked over to Harry, giving him a nod.
Walking over to the couple, the mother noticed their approach. She latched onto Jack, “Please, sir, can you help us?” She shook him about, surprisingly strong. It left him feeling a little unbalanced. She cried out again. Jack put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her off him.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you need to calm down. You too, sir.” The father turned to face him, anger painted across his features. He looked down at Harry then to Jack,
“You’re detectives aren’t you? Can’t you help us?” He jabbed a finger at Harry’s chest. Jack stepped in front to avoid further confrontation. The couple noticed his stern expression and seemed to back off, remembering just who they were talking to.
Jack took a step back, “Now, if we can all calm down-”
“Calm down?!” The father was riled again, “Just who do you think you are? We lost our son and no one is helping us.” He took a step at Jack. Suddenly, Jack felt a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea what this man could do, and with his grief and anger, he figured it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Why do you need detectives?” Harry asked.
A moment of indecision came across the man’s face. His eyes bore into Jack’s and moved to Harry, seemingly debating whether or not to back down. Jack tried to keep his back straight and his feet planted. The man stepped back and Jack felt a weight come off his chest. A shallow breath fell from his mouth. The father held onto his wife, giving their attention to Harry.
“We think it was murder. He always hung around a bad crowd, we think one of them killed him.” Names were exchanged, and Harry took them over to his desk. Jack watched as they left, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t understand why that moment had caused such panic in him. His hands were clammy and his head was unsteady.
Jack trudged back to his desk. Falling into his chair, he pushed his hair back and shut his eyes. He could vaguely make out the conversation across from him, but he didn’t really care. The couple were probably just paranoid. It wasn’t a very nice thing to think, but with how he was feeling, he didn’t want to do nice. He planted his elbow on the desk, looking down at the report he was nearly finished with before the interruption. With a final few sentences, he signed off on it and filed it away with the rest of the case reports.
Without a word, he waved the file to Lawrence and left to put it in storage. The case was completely solved, with a simple explanation of drug overdose on the victim. He was walking back to his desk when a wave of vertigo hit him. Without intending to, he caught himself heavily with the wall. His eyes were clamped shut. Jack tried to breathe.
“Hey, Woods. Too hard on the booze last night?” Detective Watson strolled past, her own case file in hand. She nudged him in the arm.
Jack looked at her. She didn’t even seem to notice his distress, “Yeah, you could say that.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply and kept walking. Every step he took shook up his brain. Jack felt increasingly sick the closer he got to his desk. The couple were still there, but looked to be successfully calmed. Harry gave him a quick glance before he finished up his conversation with the couple. They thanked him profusely, but as they were leaving, gave Jack a glare. He didn’t care. He wasn’t here to please everyone.
“I told them I’d look at the file but I don’t think I’m going to find anything. Sounds like the kid was just unlucky,” Harry stuck a note on his computer screen, probably their phone number, and looked back at Jack.
Harry had just opened his mouth to say something more when the Chief came over to their desk. He had a thundercloud above his head.
“You two, we got an urgent case downtown. Just got the call, it’s fresh. You got it?” With the Chief glaring at them, Jack and Harry collected their things and set off. They took Jack’s car and got to the scene around ten minutes later. They were met with the usual hubbub as they stepped out of the car. Jack swore he felt his feet skid on the concrete, but they were perfectly stationary. He ignored it, flashing his badge to the police officers in front of the yellow tape. The body was lying face up in the middle of the footpath, eyes wide. There was an obvious stab wound in his stomach.
Harry crouched down, “Well, at least we know how they died.” He did a quick survey of the area around the body, but found no weapon.
Jack stood back, the sight getting to him. He stepped around the body and looked into the bushes and rubbish bins. No weapon there either. He tried to keep his head and body moving together to avoid any more vertigo, which probably made him look like a robot. With Harry covering the immediate area, Jack set off to go take a look around some of the alleys.
Out of sight from everyone, he allowed himself a few moments to breathe. Everything was just getting worse as time passed. His hands were perpetually sweating, his head was pounding and every little movement made the world violently tilt, and to make everything just a little worse, he was beginning to feel nauseated. He was feeling fine that morning. No headache, no dizziness, no nothing. After the incident with that couple, everything just went downhill.
He doubted that they had passed something onto him. No sickness would ever work that quickly. Jack found himself lost in thought when a scrape of a boot caught his attention. Suddenly, his brain was on overdrive and he carefully slid his gun out of its holster, bringing it up in front of him. He took quiet steps, calculating where the noise had come from. The obvious guess was from behind the big dumpster so he rounded his gun past there first. No one.
He kept moving further down the alley when the noise happened again. But from right behind him. Jack spun, assaulted by vertigo, but he kept his cool. In front of him was a young man, around mid-20s with a knife gripped tightly in his left hand.
“Drop the knife.” Jack said plainly. No use in yelling just yet.
The man’s body stuttered a bit. Like he was fighting with some invisible force that told him to put the knife down. He readjusted his grip on the weapon, “And what if I don’t?” He taunted, taking a step towards Jack.
“I’ll shoot you down. Then you’d go straight into a jail cell. You wouldn’t want that,” Jack tried to keep his words strong. He still hadn’t recovered from the spin earlier. He desperately tried to keep his arms out and stable, “Put it down.” He emphasised.
There was about five seconds of nothing, and then the man lunged forward with the knife. He was sloppy and Jack managed to dodge him. He went flying past him, so Jack turned around and shot him twice in the leg, enough to make him drop and cry out. He ran over to him, holding the gun now at his head, “What did I say? Now sit still while the others come.”
Jack stood back, knowing the perp wouldn’t get anywhere. He stumbled back into the dumpster, his back roughly smacking into the cold metal. He shivered. Now with the adrenaline slowly leaving his body, he felt every ounce of illness and symptom like never before. He put his hand to his head, stifling back a groan as that little movement caused a fresh wave of nausea to splash against his insides.
He heard rather than saw other police officers entering the alley, all with their own guns raised.
“Over here,” Jack mumbled, vaguely pointing to the man. He heard the thump of boots run past him and then the jingle of handcuffs.
Jack had to move. The smell of rubbish wafting up from the bin was making everything worse. With all the strength he had left, he exited the alley, squinting at the burn of the setting sun. Thank god his day was nearly over, he desperately needed to puke and preferably in his own home. The suspect was kicking and screaming as he got walked out to the ambulance, blood steadily dripping down from his right leg. He gave Jack a beady eyed glare, spitting at his feet. Jack was used to it.
Detective Lawrence came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder. It caused Jack’s centre of gravity to shift, “Good one, Woods. How’d ya know he was back there?”
“Lucky guess.” He muttered. Jack politely shook off Harry’s hand, stumbling his way over to the car. He would deal with the rest of this bullshit tomorrow. He was about five seconds away from either passing out or vomiting.
Thankfully, he was somehow able to hold it all down for him to get back to the station, gather his things, say goodbye to Harry and drive home. Now that he was home though, the feeling that he felt after shooting the man in the alley was back but increased by tenfold. Every little movement caused a sickly burp to shoot up his throat, and his head to quite literally spin. He hobbled over to his bathroom, hand running along the wall, and practically fell in front of his toilet.
He spat thick saliva, “Ohh, god.” He moaned out. This was the worst thing he had ever felt in a while. His belly angrily whined at him, forcing a strained hiccup and a burp to come tumbling out of his mouth. He just needed to puke, then he would be fine. Everything was curdled in his stomach. Jack spit again, the saliva dangling off his lips.
He breathed deep through his nose, burps filtering up through his throat. Before he could even get a chance to realise what was happening, a gag tore its way up his throat and out came a thick wave of vomit. He retched again, head spinning. He very quickly realised he was going to fall over and plonked his hands heavily onto the tile. With his body stable, his belly had free rein to do whatever it needed and his cheeks puffed up to spew out another mouthful of vomit.
Jack coughed on that one, groaning as he was given absolutely no time to breathe as another gag brought another wave. His stomach contracted and heaved.
“Fuck m’ life,” He groaned, “Jesus.” His words slurred together much like the mess in his belly. Jack felt like actual garbage. He burped again and it stung his throat. However, he felt like he wasn’t about to puke again, so he gathered all of his strength and sat back from the toilet. All he wanted was his bed and sleep, just to forget about the agony of the day. His stomach was aching, and his head was reeling, nothing seemed to want to stay still when he looked at it. He moaned again, wondering how the hell he was going to actually get into bed.
With a deep breath, he pushed himself off the floor and clung tightly onto the bathroom sink. He stared at his reflection, disgusted by the pale cheeks and dark circles. Jack splashed some water onto his face, swishing some around his mouth for good measure, and made the journey to his room. Finally getting into bed felt heavenly. He simply laid on his side, breathing softly and curling around a pillow.
The day played through his mind like a DVD. The couple, the storage room, the crime scene, the man with the knife. And the fact that he had somehow gotten sick between it all. His morning was normal, his routine had no deviations. What kind of bug from Hell had he caught? It made his head spin thinking about it. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, whining a bit. He felt his body relax deeper and sleep slowly sunk her claws into him. His phone was on his bedside table, ready to call in sick tomorrow.
Another detective fic is here!! This time I was lightly inspired by a prompt of a character feeling fine in the morning and suddenly coming down with something. it's semi-long, so I hope you enjoy :))
--
Jack laid his jacket over his chair, placed his coffee on the desk and sat across from Harry.
“Morning.” It was barely morning anymore, but, force of habit.
Harry looked up from his desk, “Good morning. Where have you been?” He sat back from his work, folding his arms to give Jack a funny look.
“The morgue,” He pulled out a pen, clicking the end a few times before writing a quick reminder to write up the findings from said morgue trip. Jack took a sip of coffee, “What’s that look for?”
“Nothing, nothing. Thought you’d be somewhere more interesting.” Harry slumped back into his seat. Jack could see he was just pretending to write, his pen hovering just above the paper. Jack chuckled,
“Looking for gossip?” He asked. Harry’s cheeks reddened at being caught. He immediately got back into his work, hunching over to block his face. Jack really laughed now, “Don’t go all shy on me.” He joked, now leaning forward to get his own work done.
While they worked, all types of people filed into the department. Jack couldn’t help but overhear a family that had lost their young boy over the weekend, desperately asking for some help. He looked up, noticing the mother crying and the father absolutely ripping into one of the younger detectives. It was causing a bit of a ruckus. He looked over to Harry, giving him a nod.
Walking over to the couple, the mother noticed their approach. She latched onto Jack, “Please, sir, can you help us?” She shook him about, surprisingly strong. It left him feeling a little unbalanced. She cried out again. Jack put his hands on her shoulders, gently pulling her off him.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry but you need to calm down. You too, sir.” The father turned to face him, anger painted across his features. He looked down at Harry then to Jack,
“You’re detectives aren’t you? Can’t you help us?” He jabbed a finger at Harry’s chest. Jack stepped in front to avoid further confrontation. The couple noticed his stern expression and seemed to back off, remembering just who they were talking to.
Jack took a step back, “Now, if we can all calm down-”
“Calm down?!” The father was riled again, “Just who do you think you are? We lost our son and no one is helping us.” He took a step at Jack. Suddenly, Jack felt a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea what this man could do, and with his grief and anger, he figured it wouldn’t be pleasant.
“Why do you need detectives?” Harry asked.
A moment of indecision came across the man’s face. His eyes bore into Jack’s and moved to Harry, seemingly debating whether or not to back down. Jack tried to keep his back straight and his feet planted. The man stepped back and Jack felt a weight come off his chest. A shallow breath fell from his mouth. The father held onto his wife, giving their attention to Harry.
“We think it was murder. He always hung around a bad crowd, we think one of them killed him.” Names were exchanged, and Harry took them over to his desk. Jack watched as they left, trying to calm his racing heart. He couldn’t understand why that moment had caused such panic in him. His hands were clammy and his head was unsteady.
Jack trudged back to his desk. Falling into his chair, he pushed his hair back and shut his eyes. He could vaguely make out the conversation across from him, but he didn’t really care. The couple were probably just paranoid. It wasn’t a very nice thing to think, but with how he was feeling, he didn’t want to do nice. He planted his elbow on the desk, looking down at the report he was nearly finished with before the interruption. With a final few sentences, he signed off on it and filed it away with the rest of the case reports.
Without a word, he waved the file to Lawrence and left to put it in storage. The case was completely solved, with a simple explanation of drug overdose on the victim. He was walking back to his desk when a wave of vertigo hit him. Without intending to, he caught himself heavily with the wall. His eyes were clamped shut. Jack tried to breathe.
“Hey, Woods. Too hard on the booze last night?” Detective Watson strolled past, her own case file in hand. She nudged him in the arm.
Jack looked at her. She didn’t even seem to notice his distress, “Yeah, you could say that.” He didn’t give her a chance to reply and kept walking. Every step he took shook up his brain. Jack felt increasingly sick the closer he got to his desk. The couple were still there, but looked to be successfully calmed. Harry gave him a quick glance before he finished up his conversation with the couple. They thanked him profusely, but as they were leaving, gave Jack a glare. He didn’t care. He wasn’t here to please everyone.
“I told them I’d look at the file but I don’t think I’m going to find anything. Sounds like the kid was just unlucky,” Harry stuck a note on his computer screen, probably their phone number, and looked back at Jack.
Harry had just opened his mouth to say something more when the Chief came over to their desk. He had a thundercloud above his head.
“You two, we got an urgent case downtown. Just got the call, it’s fresh. You got it?” With the Chief glaring at them, Jack and Harry collected their things and set off. They took Jack’s car and got to the scene around ten minutes later. They were met with the usual hubbub as they stepped out of the car. Jack swore he felt his feet skid on the concrete, but they were perfectly stationary. He ignored it, flashing his badge to the police officers in front of the yellow tape. The body was lying face up in the middle of the footpath, eyes wide. There was an obvious stab wound in his stomach.
Harry crouched down, “Well, at least we know how they died.” He did a quick survey of the area around the body, but found no weapon.
Jack stood back, the sight getting to him. He stepped around the body and looked into the bushes and rubbish bins. No weapon there either. He tried to keep his head and body moving together to avoid any more vertigo, which probably made him look like a robot. With Harry covering the immediate area, Jack set off to go take a look around some of the alleys.
Out of sight from everyone, he allowed himself a few moments to breathe. Everything was just getting worse as time passed. His hands were perpetually sweating, his head was pounding and every little movement made the world violently tilt, and to make everything just a little worse, he was beginning to feel nauseated. He was feeling fine that morning. No headache, no dizziness, no nothing. After the incident with that couple, everything just went downhill.
He doubted that they had passed something onto him. No sickness would ever work that quickly. Jack found himself lost in thought when a scrape of a boot caught his attention. Suddenly, his brain was on overdrive and he carefully slid his gun out of its holster, bringing it up in front of him. He took quiet steps, calculating where the noise had come from. The obvious guess was from behind the big dumpster so he rounded his gun past there first. No one.
He kept moving further down the alley when the noise happened again. But from right behind him. Jack spun, assaulted by vertigo, but he kept his cool. In front of him was a young man, around mid-20s with a knife gripped tightly in his left hand.
“Drop the knife.” Jack said plainly. No use in yelling just yet.
The man’s body stuttered a bit. Like he was fighting with some invisible force that told him to put the knife down. He readjusted his grip on the weapon, “And what if I don’t?” He taunted, taking a step towards Jack.
“I’ll shoot you down. Then you’d go straight into a jail cell. You wouldn’t want that,” Jack tried to keep his words strong. He still hadn’t recovered from the spin earlier. He desperately tried to keep his arms out and stable, “Put it down.” He emphasised.
There was about five seconds of nothing, and then the man lunged forward with the knife. He was sloppy and Jack managed to dodge him. He went flying past him, so Jack turned around and shot him twice in the leg, enough to make him drop and cry out. He ran over to him, holding the gun now at his head, “What did I say? Now sit still while the others come.”
Jack stood back, knowing the perp wouldn’t get anywhere. He stumbled back into the dumpster, his back roughly smacking into the cold metal. He shivered. Now with the adrenaline slowly leaving his body, he felt every ounce of illness and symptom like never before. He put his hand to his head, stifling back a groan as that little movement caused a fresh wave of nausea to splash against his insides.
He heard rather than saw other police officers entering the alley, all with their own guns raised.
“Over here,” Jack mumbled, vaguely pointing to the man. He heard the thump of boots run past him and then the jingle of handcuffs.
Jack had to move. The smell of rubbish wafting up from the bin was making everything worse. With all the strength he had left, he exited the alley, squinting at the burn of the setting sun. Thank god his day was nearly over, he desperately needed to puke and preferably in his own home. The suspect was kicking and screaming as he got walked out to the ambulance, blood steadily dripping down from his right leg. He gave Jack a beady eyed glare, spitting at his feet. Jack was used to it.
Detective Lawrence came up behind him, patting him on the shoulder. It caused Jack’s centre of gravity to shift, “Good one, Woods. How’d ya know he was back there?”
“Lucky guess.” He muttered. Jack politely shook off Harry’s hand, stumbling his way over to the car. He would deal with the rest of this bullshit tomorrow. He was about five seconds away from either passing out or vomiting.
Thankfully, he was somehow able to hold it all down for him to get back to the station, gather his things, say goodbye to Harry and drive home. Now that he was home though, the feeling that he felt after shooting the man in the alley was back but increased by tenfold. Every little movement caused a sickly burp to shoot up his throat, and his head to quite literally spin. He hobbled over to his bathroom, hand running along the wall, and practically fell in front of his toilet.
He spat thick saliva, “Ohh, god.” He moaned out. This was the worst thing he had ever felt in a while. His belly angrily whined at him, forcing a strained hiccup and a burp to come tumbling out of his mouth. He just needed to puke, then he would be fine. Everything was curdled in his stomach. Jack spit again, the saliva dangling off his lips.
He breathed deep through his nose, burps filtering up through his throat. Before he could even get a chance to realise what was happening, a gag tore its way up his throat and out came a thick wave of vomit. He retched again, head spinning. He very quickly realised he was going to fall over and plonked his hands heavily onto the tile. With his body stable, his belly had free rein to do whatever it needed and his cheeks puffed up to spew out another mouthful of vomit.
Jack coughed on that one, groaning as he was given absolutely no time to breathe as another gag brought another wave. His stomach contracted and heaved.
“Fuck m’ life,” He groaned, “Jesus.” His words slurred together much like the mess in his belly. Jack felt like actual garbage. He burped again and it stung his throat. However, he felt like he wasn’t about to puke again, so he gathered all of his strength and sat back from the toilet. All he wanted was his bed and sleep, just to forget about the agony of the day. His stomach was aching, and his head was reeling, nothing seemed to want to stay still when he looked at it. He moaned again, wondering how the hell he was going to actually get into bed.
With a deep breath, he pushed himself off the floor and clung tightly onto the bathroom sink. He stared at his reflection, disgusted by the pale cheeks and dark circles. Jack splashed some water onto his face, swishing some around his mouth for good measure, and made the journey to his room. Finally getting into bed felt heavenly. He simply laid on his side, breathing softly and curling around a pillow.
The day played through his mind like a DVD. The couple, the storage room, the crime scene, the man with the knife. And the fact that he had somehow gotten sick between it all. His morning was normal, his routine had no deviations. What kind of bug from Hell had he caught? It made his head spin thinking about it. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, whining a bit. He felt his body relax deeper and sleep slowly sunk her claws into him. His phone was on his bedside table, ready to call in sick tomorrow.
hello. so i’ve gotten into crime novels and detective stuff lately, and so i made these characters :)). i tried to give some little details and clues to their personalities and friendship, but i’m not the best with that lmao.
—-
Detective Inspector Jack Woods was not a stranger to gruesome and disgusting crime scenes, taking pride in never getting queasy over it. It was something he often boasted about it, foregoing his nonchalant attitude to actually brag about not getting sick over a few mangled bodies. This time, he wasn’t bragging. Staring at the body of a young man that had been shot and ran over in a hit and run was enough to get his stomach churning. It was dark and cold, but Jack was sweating.
The other officers were milling about, talking amongst themselves before one came right up to Woods’ face, expecting conversation. He tore his eyes away from the body, “Yes?”
She stiffened at his tone, “Body was found around half an hour ago, with no signs of any other persons on the premises. Do you want a closer look at the crime scene?”
Jack looked past her shoulder to the body again and shook his head quickly. He wasn’t about to go and puke in front of everyone. She gave him another strange look but left, going back to her partner. The police lights were disorienting so he turned away, breathing sharply through his nose. He could still feel his stomach twisting, his brain holding onto the picture of the boy's disfigured body. Jack stared at the ground. What was up with him tonight?
All day he had felt like he wasn’t really all there. With a tickle of a headache blooming behind his eyes and the smell of any and all food making his belly churn, he was worried he might be coming down with something. He couldn’t afford a week off work, with cases piling up left and right, and an upcoming court case, there was no way the Chief would be pleased with it. He tried to calm his thoughts when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.
“Rough night, huh? Kid looks like he got shredded.”
Jack closed his eyes, “Shut up, Harry. That’s insensitive.” The hand left his shoulder and Harry skirted round to his front.
“Alright, sorry. What’s up with you today?” Normally Jack would join in on Harry’s banter. Something to take the pressure off the situation. He was in no right mind to do so tonight.
“It’s nothing. I’m just-” He didn’t know he was going to say. He didn’t know if he was sick, but he couldn’t just admit he was getting queasy from a body. What kind of detective would he be? He settled on, “Long day.”
Harry seemed to agree, moving to stand beside him now but looking towards the crime scene. “Have you got any idea though? No leads or anything.” Jack heard him shuffle his feet, a nervous tick the other did whenever he complained. He faced him,
“I know. I think I’m gonna head back to the station, Harry. Clear my head.”
“Sure. You don’t mind if I tag along?” Harry was a little younger than Jack, and he seemed to like following him around. Jack didn’t mind much, he liked feeling useful. He often got paired with the younger detectives, although he was only 28 himself. Sometimes he wondered if the Chief thought he was older than he looked.
To answer Harry he shrugged and nodded, walking towards his car. Jack got in the drivers side although he was in no mood to drive with the way his head spun. He nearly pulled over and asked Harry to drive for him but they made it to the police station without any issues. Harry chatted his ear off the entire time, talking of his weekend and the possible suspects for the current murder. He was a good detective and Jack actually liked him. His past partners have been more often than not useless or assholes.
“What do you think Jack?”
Oh, he had been speaking? Jack was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other to even listen. He turned his head, “What?”
Harry’s face fell, “Have you not been listening? Something is up with you tonight. What is it?” He grabbed Jack’s arm, forcing him to stop. Before Jack even got a chance, a voice down the hall turned both of their heads.
“Woods, Lawrence! I hear you’ve got a pretty gnarly case on your hands.” Detective Parsons strode down the hall towards them. He was one of the older detectives and never really left the building. He was always trying to get involved, especially with them. Parsons happened to be Jack’s least favourite person in the entire bureau. He held down his groan.
“Yeah, it was bad.” Harry had still not learnt the art of short answers so Parsons was always given a reason to continue talking.
Parsons came right up to them, “Heard his head was pretty much destroyed. Got any leads?” Jack nearly puked at the reminder of the scene. Before Harry could answer, Jack quickly replied,
“No. But we’re busy so we’ll be seeing you Parsons.” He grabbed Harry’s shoulder and turned him around. Jack heard Parsons stupid mouth open again and stutter out a few words before giving up. He smiled a little to himself.
Harry chuckled a little, “You really don’t like him, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
They made it to their desks and dropped their notes (Harry’s notes) into a fresh manila folder, and decided that the night was over and that the case could wait until tomorrow. Jack sighed with relief, feeling his knees wobble a little as he picked up his coat draped over his chair. His eyes unfocused for a moment, and his ears filled with blood. He really needed to go home and lie down. Jack clocked out with Harry and they quickly left, not wanting anyone else to come up and talk to them.
Even though he was so close to being free, Jack felt his body degrading. Every step he took felt like it was plunged into glue, and pulling his leg up was impossible. He felt his shoulders slouching and his head felt like it was attached to a pogo stick. His stomach whined at him. Jack had been ignoring it all night, and now it seemed ready to give him payback. Harry had stopped talking beside him, finally recognising that his partner was not going to give him a response. As they entered the car park, Jack felt his stomach kick up a notch. He immediately stopped walking, placing a hand on his belly.
Harry turned, “Jack? You good?” His eyes flickered to the hand on his stomach and his eyebrows scrunched up. The air was suffocating him in the dingy underground car park, and Jack desperately needed a wall to lean against. He took a couple steps backwards and then spun around bent over, puke spilling through his mouth and onto the floor. He felt his body stagger and he finally hit a wall with his shoulder, stabilising him enough to continue vomiting. Jack’s mind produced HD quality images of the boy's body and he violently coughed up another round. He could barely hear Harry’s worried words next to him and the shy hand resting on his back as he heaved.
His stomach growled at him, pulling a groan from his lips. Jack bent forward more, spitting up rancid saliva and squeezing his middle. It was nearly impossible to open his eyes, knowing that when he did the concrete would be spinning. He coughed again and his stomach seemed to calm down, enough for him to twist himself around so his back was pressed against the wall. Jack let his head fall backwards.
Harry stood right in front of him, hands on his upper arms, “Hey, Jack? Jack, you with me?”
Jack groaned but gave a slight nod, one of his hands covering his aching eyes. His head felt like it was about to split open. Harry was muttering to himself about how ‘he knew something was wrong’ and ‘why didn’t he say anything?’. Jack smiled a little to himself,
“Didn’t realise you cared so much, rookie.” He mumbled. Slowly, he lowered his head and took his hand away from his eyes. Harry’s face swam into view,
“Of course. And I’m not a rookie anymore.” Harry grumbled. The other smiled a little more. God, he needed to get home. His eyes flickered to the pool of vomit beside him and he moaned at the sight, feeling like just a glance was going to send him puking all over again. He pushed off the wall, shrugging off Harry's arms lightly and took a step towards his car. Harry quickly caught up to him,
“Uh, do you need a hand or anything? Like getting home?”
Jack tried his best to unlock his vehicle, fiddling around with his keys. His hands were shaking violently and his bag weighed ten tons on his shoulder. He blew out a breath, handing the keys over to Harry as he leaned his hand on the roof of the car. The ground felt uneven and his mouth was filling with saliva again. Jack spat,
“Ugh, Jesus. Give me a sec, Ha-urp-rry.” Jack leant back, putting a few metres between himself and the car. He burped again. Just what he needed. Jack felt his belly curdle and suddenly he pitched forward and vomited up thin, yellow bile onto the concrete. It burned his throat immensely. He burped again, the rancid smell wafting into his face caused him to gag again and a little amount of foamy spit dribbled out of his mouth. He hoped Lawrence wasn’t watching this.
Jack straightened up, still clutching his abused stomach and tried his best to stabilise himself. It took staring at a random car’s license plate and a few short breathing exercises before he felt stable enough to turn around. Harry was sitting in the car, god bless, and was scrolling through his phone. Jack got into the other side, collapsing into the seat and (gingerly) threw his head back.
“Sounds like gastroenteritis. Stomach flu, duh. But uh, do you need anything before we start driving, I can probably find a bag or something just in case.” Harry rambled on. He looked over at Jack.
Jack gave him no response except for a snort. The kid meant well but if he didn’t start driving right now, Jack was going to throttle him and then probably puke on him. He mustered up some energy, “Just drive.”
—-
not much sick in this fic but just cause it’s the introduction. let me know if y’all wanna see them some more 😊😊
i’d actually requested this a while ago, and iirc it didn’t really fit with the timeline back then? when luke and vince weren’t talking.
i’d asked for a fic where lucas and vin watch leo take care of jon during a vertigo episode. like maybe they’re at jon and leo’s place and leo isn’t back from work yet when jonah gets hit with an episode. and both of them are lowkey freaking out. and leo comes in and takes over effortlessly and manages to calm jonah down so much better than either of them did
but if you’d not written this for some other reason then please feel free to ignore it! 🍄
This is probably my favorite fic so far. Maybe. Possibly. It's also long.
------------------------
“Hey, Monacelli,” Vince raised his head and saw Max tapping lightly on the half open door of his classroom. It was halfway through the day and Vince’s classes were already over. From what he had glanced at the overall teachers’ schedule, Daniels still had two more classes to teach, but Vince could go home… But that just seemed a little depressive.
His parents were busy and his sisters were in class, so going home just meant being alone and he’d much rather stay in school and finish going over the kids’ papers.
“Yeah?” Vince lowered his red pen and the blonde man pointed over his shoulder, to the sunny patio behind him.
“Your boyfriend’s here,” Max said in a smug tone and Vince’s blood immediately boiled over.
He could count in one hand the amount of transphobic shit he had witnessed with Wendy, but Vince wasn’t stupid. He was aware Doveport was fairly conservative and had been bracing for a bigoted comment for a while now.
“I don’t have a boyfriend, you asshole, I have a girlfriend,” he said sharply, dropping the pen immediately and Max jumped back, startled.
“Uhm, okay, sorry for assuming? But there’s some guy in the parking lot waiting for you,” he shrugged, seeming offended, “geez,” the blonde turned around with an exasperated eye roll and power walked away, leaving a befuddled Vince behind.
Vin grimaced, realizing he had assumed the worst for absolutely no reason and making a mental note to apologize to the other teacher, before the reality of some dude caught up with him. Weird, but a good surprise, Vince thought, packing up his bag and locking up his classroom.
He fully expected to find Luke in the parking lot and was not wrong, the guy was sitting on the hood of his green jeep, sunglasses on and chuckling about something. What Vince did not expect was to see Jon standing right next to him, also wearing sunglasses and a jacket, smiling.
Hell must have frozen over, Vince thought with a smirk, watching the two laugh. It wasn’t rare to see Jonah and Lucas laughing together, even if the two wanted everyone to think they hated each other, but today they looked particularly relaxed.
“What is going on…?” Vince asked, opening a huge smile of his own when Luke promptly jumped from the hood of the car in order to tackle him into a hug. He squeezed the guy back, half hugging Luke with one arm as they pulled apart, in order to look at Jonah, “Jon?”
“Hi,” Jonah gave him a small wave, “so uhm- Wendy showed me your birthday gift to her and uh- I wanted - I was wondering-”
It was so weird to watch Jon fumble with his words. Vince frowned, confused, then looked at Luke for an explanation. His best friend was blushing on Jon’s behalf, with a smile so gigantic Vince could see his molars.
“Oh my god, Jonah!” He exclaimed after a minute, “he wants to buy Leo a ring.”
It took Vince a second, but then he let go of Lucas, all but yelling “YOU’RE GONNA PROPOSE TO LEO!?” and rushing to pull Jon into a hug.
The other man stiffened, but he had no chance to fight Vince off, nor did he even want to and he melted into the hug for a minute, muffling a chuckle and mumbling a little sheepish “yeah… And I wanted your jewelry recommendation. I really liked Wendy’s birthday present and I think Leo would have my head if I got him a Cartier.”
“And he wants our help to pick,” Lucas completed the unspoken truth and Jonah glared at him, turning a shade darker with a blush.
“Shut up-”
“Yeah! YEah, of course, of course!” Vince interrupted the bickering, all but bouncing on his feet, his voice breaking and going up a note, “Leo’s going to explode with happiness-”
It took Vin a moment to calm down and then yet another moment as they figured out the logistics of it all. Vince still had his motorcycle, so they decided he should just stick with it and drive ahead of them, Luke and Jon following in the jeep.
The local jewelry shop where Vince had bought Wendy’s birthday was also owned by Italians. The old owner was a friend of Vin’s mom and he lit up as the three men walked into his store.
“Back for more so soon, Vicenzo?” he asked in a thick italian accent, “I told you, there’s no coming back from the first diamond you get her.”
“No,” Vince shook his head, planting his hands on Jonah’s shoulders and shaking him like a rattle toy, “today I’m here just as a helper. My friend wants to buy his man a ring.”
“Hi, I’m Jonah,” Jonah tried to shrug Vince off, offering his hand to the owner.
“Niccolo Fanucci, it’s a pleasure.”
Luke was already inspecting the rings on display, crouching down to get a better look at them, “Leo wouldn’t want anything too flashy,” he said, tunnel vision fully on, “so what are you thinking? Yellow, silver? Tungsten?”
Jonah wrinkled his nose, “tungsten?” he scoffed, “I’m not buying my fiance a tungsten ring.”
“What’s wrong with them?” Vince frowned, completely out of his depth. Buying Wendy her birthday gift had taken him hours and he still wasn’t convinced he had done a good job. Probably had, Jonah wouldn’t be there if he didn’t think the quality and design were good enough.
“Tungsten is extremely durable, almost impossible to scratch-” Luke shrugged and Jonah glared at him.
“And cheap,” he said sharply, “I want a real ring for Leo.”
“How real?” Vince raised his eyebrows, noticing Niccolo — the owner — visibly perk up as it became clear Jon was down for purchasing the whole store if needed.
“The best. I want a diamond. Or a bunch,” Jonah leaned over the display, as Niccolo hurried to get his best stuff out of the safe, as well as his design magazines.
“You want personalized, son?” the man asked and Jon shook his head.
“No time, I want to propose before his birthday,” he explained, “and that’s next month.”
“We could design something in time,” the man shrugged, opening the bunch of magazines, “how’s this boy of yours? Flashy? Shy?”
“Shy,” Luke got up from his crouched down position, “Leo would rather die than walk around with a huge sparkly ring, Jon, you know that.”
Jonah pouted, “but I want it to be a wedding ring,” he stressed, “I want everyone to know he’s married from across the court.”
“Lawyer?” Niccolo raised an eyebrow, shutting his magazine and throwing it to the side, opening a much older one, “is he traditional?”
“More or less…” Jonah shook his head, while Vince interrupted him, nodding.
“Yes,” he flicked at Jon’s ear, “he’s shy and not flashy at all. He also doesn’t wear jewelry, so it has to be comfy.”
“It has to be yellow,” Jon didn’t argue with Vince, despite grimacing.
Luke frowned, “he’s blonde and super pasty, white gold would look prettier-”
“I want yellow gold, I want it to be clear it’s a wedding band.”
“Don’t be silly,” Niccolo shook his head, “it can be white gold or platinum and still look like a wedding band.”
“He’s in a straight dominated field where men wear rings, if he has a silver band people will assume it's just some ring,” Jonah groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this is pretty.”
“Absolutely not,” Vince and Luke chorused, looking at the yellow band Jon was pointing at, with three baguette diamonds in the peak.
“Alright, so yellow gold,” Niccolo flipped through the pages, “and not flashy, but flashy enough people know.”
“It has to be something he likes,” Jonah sighed, studying the rings, “he’s gonna wear it until he dies, so.”
Luke let out a snort, “or not,” he mumbled, only to immediately recoil and jump back as Jon turned to face him like a snake, “because he might get a new one!” he exclaimed, hands raised as if his friend was gonna hit him, “relax!”
“Shut up, you don’t know Leo enough. What do you think, Vin?” Jonah turned away from Luke and Vince grinned, noticing the other man pout behind Jon.
“I think I agree with you about the yellow,” he shrugged, “but the diamonds are a bit much, man. Let’s focus on how thick it is, how about?”
Jonah didn’t know it could take so long to pick a ring. He had expected it would take more than a couple of minutes, after all he was a perfectionist and not willing to compromise in this matter, but at every little thing he said, Luke and Vince had twenty different arguments.
Finally, after about two hours of back and forth, they settled on a yellow gold ring, with a brushed finish instead of smooth polish and with a baguette small diamond sitting in the middle of it.
“Now you need to pick the thickness,” Niccolo said, “wait a minute while I get my kit. Sit around, Vincenzo knows where the coffee is. Have a torrone.”
Jonah snorted quietly to himself, he had never been to a jewelry shop that offered a torrone or any type of sticky, sweet food. But then again he had never been in a locally owned shop.
He walked outside, hearing as Vince and Luke bickered over the gem cut — Vince still thought the pear one was prettier, Luke was team no gem and partial to some design fussiness on the band — and then pressed his forehead to the brick wall outside the store and picked out his phone.
There wasn’t a text from Leo, they had last spoken that morning, when Jonah had lied through his teeth that he had a surgery to watch that evening and so they couldn’t have lunch together.
Jonah rolled his shoulders, letting out a breath. He felt stiff all over from stress, the huge weight of picking something that could make or break his proposal making him sweat. He felt nauseous too, but in all truth he had been feeling sick to his stomach with nerves ever since Leo got his promotion and Jon made up his mind about proposing.
That had always been his plan, after all. Wait until his boyfriend got the promotion that would put them on equal pay, so Leo wouldn’t have a breakdown over wedding prices or feeling like he was being given anything when Jackie inevitably tried to hijack the bill…
“You okay?” Luke planted a hand on his elbow.
Lucas was almost levitating with how happy he was. It was like he was the one getting married, the dude simply didn’t seem able to stop smiling, even now looking a little concerned and holding a paper cup of coffee.
“Yeah,” Jonah wiped the sweat off and straightened up, “Niccolo is back?”
“Yep, we’re just waiting for you,” Luke chugged the rest of the coffee that his hyper ass definitely didn’t need and squeezed Jon’s bicep in a cuteness aggression fit, shoving him further inside the store.
The old owner was holding a large hoop, with a bunch of silver rings on it. Upon Jonah arriving, he opened the hoop, so he could remove the rings one by one, “you said he’s traditional and shy, but not so traditional —” the man said, barely looking up, with that certainty of someone who’s been doing their job their entire life, “and you’ll have a diamond on the band, so you need some thickness, especially if you don’t want the bling to stand out that much…”
He carefully pushed two bands towards Jon, “try these on and tell me what you think, son.”
Jonah went to grab it, only for his hand to completely miss it. He blinked a couple times, feeling Vince grab him by the elbow.
“Jon, hey- You wanna sit down?”
“No, I’m fine,” Jon shook his head, swallowing down the heightened nausea and grabbing the ring on the left. It was too large on his hand, he had thinner pianist fingers, but the important part was the width, “looks a bit bulky… What size is the rock again?”
Niccolo grabbed a tiny piece of sticker paper and measured, cutting it out and then planting the paper in the middle of the band, “this size.”
“Yeah, no…” Jon shook his head, “not this one.”
“That’s a 5.5mm, try the 4.5mm one,” Niccolo took the ring back, once again doing the paper trick, “that’s a more old fashioned groom width.”
“I think it looks better,” Luke said, as if someone asked him, poking his head in. Jonah nodded, suddenly feeling too woozy. He darted out a hand to grab on something… Anything… Then landed on Vince’s forearm and squeezed.
“That’s the one,” Jon determined, dead set on getting the bloody ring before vertigo took him out, “uhm- Luke, can you…?”
“Yeah, yeah, I can,” Lucas stepped in front of him, smiling to the confused old man, “I’m buying.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Jon overheard Niccolo say, but there was a ringing in his ears starting to drown everything out. He squeezed Vince’s arm, “help me outside…”
Vince helped him the couple of steps it took for them to get to the door, then he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Jon almost off his feet, dragging him to a bus stop bench.
Jonah crumpled, spreading his legs and grabbing on the plastic of the bench with all his force, breathing through his mouth, “Fuck,” he sighed, cold sweat spreading down his back, “of all days…”
“I’m sorry, man,” Vince squeezed his nape, “help me here, what do I do?”
“No-nothing…” Jonah leaned forward even more, as his stomach rolled, the world turning into a complete blur. He let out a whimper, feeling like he was falling forward, except the ground never met his face, he just kept falling, falling-
“Should he be lying down!?” Vince’s voice broke through the fog, “I don’t know what to do, you’re the one who’s good with sick people!”
“Not sick like this!” Luke’s voice answered and Jonah groaned, blindly trying to grab at Luke and shut him up.
“Ssssstop-” Jonah slurred, realizing his mouth felt super sticky and his pants humid. Oh no. Had he wet himself?
Mortification caused Jon to open his eyes, only to realize the wet spot was just the fact he had puked the McBacon he had had with Luke on their way to Doveport all over the ground and his pants.
The sight of the chunky brown mess caused his stomach to flip again and Jonah heaved once more, the movement ruining the sliver of balance he had regained and sending the world spinning on its axis once more.
“ — My place?” Vince, his voice much closer now, as if he was talking in his ear. Jon let his head roll towards the sound and his cheek met something soft- Vince’s thigh? Stomach?
“I guess!?” Lucas, sounding more than a little nervous, “should we call Leo? Wendy? Hell, your mom?!”
Jon groaned. He wanted none of these people, except maybe Wendy. He desperately wanted Leo’s comfort and the fact his boyfriend wouldn’t be freaking out like the two idiots, but that would mean telling Leo what he was doing in fucking Doveport and-
“Noo,” he slurred, his voice muffled by something, probably Vince’s shirt, “no k- no calling-” his stomach was done with his words and Jonah coughed again, as liquid rushed up his throat and world tilted completely to the left, then right-
“I’m calling Leo,” Lucas, all decisive, “there’s no way this is normal, right? I’m calling him.”
“The fuck will Leo do if this isn’t?” Vince, sounding far away now. Jonah tried to cling to his voice and make himself responsive, but he just… Couldn’t. When he tried to open his eyes again, he realized he was in a completely different place.
A pink room?
The black spots clumped in front of his eyes and Jonah let out a whimper, scared and humiliated, and then darkness swallowed him up.
-----------------------------
“Where is he?” Leo’s heart was hammering in his ears. He didn’t suppose anything was scarier than hearing the person you loved the most was completely down for the count, hours away.
Luke’s call had come at the very end of his day, just as he was packing up to go home. Leo had never made it home, he picked it up on the elevator and felt his heart plummet down to his stomach.
During the four hours of drive he had plenty of time to think, but had actually done none of that. His head was spinning, nothing made sense, but he didn’t actually give a shit about puzzling things together until he got a look on Jon, because from the way Luke described it, all panicked, it sounded like his worst case yet.
In fucking Doveport.
He hadn’t been to Vince’s new place yet and for a second Leo felt completely out of place, standing outside of the small one bedroom apartment. Then Luke stepped out of the bedroom, the front of his shirt with a huge wet spot on it and looking visibly worried and Leo’s confusion melted straight into worry.
“He’s here, but he’s really out of it,” Luke leaned on the doorway as Leo walked past him, storming into Vince’s bedroom.
Jonah was a sight to behold. His six foot tall boyfriend was curled up on his side, almost in a fetal position and looking terribly tiny.
“God, Jon…” Leo walked closer, sitting on the bed and touching the other man’s naked shoulder. Luke and Vince had stripped him down to just his boxers, but he had no fever, in fact he felt cold and clammy to the touch, “why did you dumbasses remove his clothes?”
“Uhm- He kinda, hurled all over ‘em?” Vince scratched at his cheeks, seeming embarrassed, “we didn’t know what to do, once we got them off every time we tried to move him to get him dressed he just seemed to get worse…”
“Great, that’s just fucking great,” Leo scoffed, scooting closer and stroking Jon’s cheek, pushing his tight curls back, “did you get any water in him? When did-”
“It was around 4 PM,” Luke answered, while Vince shook his head to the previous question.
Leo glanced at his watch. 9:26 PM. Amazing.
“Get me some water, the meds that are in my car, in the glovebox, and a straw. And an empty bowl. And a big sweater, he’s fucking freezing,” he glared at the two, before returning his gaze back to Jon, stroking his head again, “Jonah…” he whispered, leaning in, “angel, I need you to wake up.”
His boyfriend was completely out. His breath smelled sweet, causing Leo’s nose to wrinkle, and he was shivering violently. Leo smoothed a hand down his naked back, moving even closer and feeling Jonah’s steady heartbeat.
“Hey, Jon,” he pressed his hand in, instead of shaking him, “baby, wake up.”
It took another minute of gentle pushing and calling until Jon’s eyes slipped open. He was out of it and his eyes rolled back, taking another thirty seconds to fully focus on Leo.
“Oh no,” he groaned, curling up more, “not you.”
“Yeah, me,” Leo rolled his eyes, pushing the flash of hurt he felt at Jonah’s words away and grabbing the items Luke had planted on Vince’s bedside table, “I need you to drink some water, okay?”
“Won’t stay down…” Jonah whispered, closing his eyes again, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows as if he was in pain, “Leo, I don’t feel well…”
“I know, angel, I know,” Leo’s heart squeezed in sympathy and he leaned in, planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s brow, “trust me here, okay?” he squeezed Jon’s arm, before turning slightly around in order to dissolve the little pink pill that was supposed to help with the vertigo episodes in the glass of water.
Technically speaking, Leo was aware he shouldn’t do this. Wendy had scolded him once about it… But so far it worked like a charm every time and Leo was not about to listen to Wendy when the matter was Jon.
“Okay, just a tiny sip,” he held the straw between his fingers, pushing it in Jonah’s mouth and grabbing the man’s pillow in order to tilt his body up just enough he could swallow without choking, “just one, baby.”
It took some prodding, but eventually Jonah took what Leo counted as a fourth of the water. He glanced at his watch again. 09:41 PM.
“Try to keep this down and we’ll try the rest in a bit,” Leo whispered, draping Vince’s older sweater around Jonah’s naked shoulders and continuing to pet his hair.
Luke entered the room, every bit like a dog with his tail between his legs, “is he okay…?”
“He will be,” Leo rolled his tense shoulders, then turned his head until his jaw clicked, holding all the tension on his mouth, “what the fuck is he doing in Doveport?”
Luke and Vince exchanged a look, then they both shrugged.
Leo squinted at them, “well?”
“I called him,” Vince said, his whole face turning red, “I called them both, I’m sorry, I just- I was having a bit of a breakdown over Wendy and Jonah just came over to say I’m stupid and-”
“And he brought Luke?” Leo didn’t buy this for a second, but most importantly, the fact Vince was lying to his face only made him feel more furious, “okay.”
“He did! Because he knows I’m the only one who can get through Vince!” Luke sounded so smug about the lie, Leo stared at him, unimpressed. He let his eyes drift away from the dark haired men, looking around the room.
Jonah’s clothes were folded on top of Vince’s little office table, alongside other papers and all sorts of school items, like stickers and scissors. One of Vin’s bedroom walls was painted dusty pink.
“You called Jonah first?” Leo asked, feeling his blood turn to ice in his veins, as Vince nodded enthusiastically.
“I mean, it was about Wendy,” he said, as if that explained everything. Leo nodded, looking over his shoulder. Outside the window he could see Luke’s green jeep parked all crooked in front of the place.
“Yeah, of course,” he agreed through his teeth, turning mechanically and grabbing the glass of water, “Jon, let’s try another sip, baby.”
It took nearly one hour to have Jon fully draining the glass and by then Leo was in full automatic pilot. If he thought too much about the lies, then his thoughts turned a dark, spiraling path that he didn’t enjoy and he didn’t want to indulge.
Because lies or no lies, he knew Jonah would never do any of the things his brain kept sprouting up. Break up with him. Cheat.
“I’m fine,” Leo overheard Luke say across the house, as Vince ordered all of them food from the living couch, “no, Bell, I’m really fine, I promise. I’m with Vin, Leo and Jon.”
Leo gulped down the knot in his throat and glanced down, to Jonah napping near his thigh, still all curled up. At least now he had quit shivering violently and none of the medicine had made it back up, so it was well into his bloodstream.
They were out of the woods, as soon as Jon woke up he’d feed him another round of meds and then-
“Leo?” Jonah whispered, curling up even more and pressing his forehead to the blonde’s knee, “Leo?”
“Hey,” Leo leaned in, folding in half and forcing his voice past the lump in his throat, “I’m here.”
“Uhm,” Jon let out a little pleased noise, then opened his eyes, “I wanna go home.”
“In a little bit,” Leo kissed his cheek, squeezing his arm, “let’s try sitting up first, okay? It’s a long trip, you really don’t wanna be in the car in case you’re not feeling your best-”
“Leo,” Jonah frowned at him, pushing himself up and letting out a moan, getting a gray cast as he paled, “what’s wrong?”
“My boyfriend is sick?” Leo rolled his eyes, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice, “how’s sitting up?”
“It’s fine,” Jonah raised a shaky hand to his face, rubbing the sleep off his eyes, “I wanna go home.”
“We’re leaving in a bit,” Leo said more firmly, pushing back and collecting his dignity. He felt terrible, equal parts worried and furious and intrigued and terrified – “drink some water, will you?”
Jonah obeyed, frowning, but he was right. He really was as fine as he was going to get so soon, even if weak and shaky, clearly nauseous still.
Leo managed to keep him down for another one hour and a half, but by the time midnight rolled on — Vince flipping through the TV channels clearly trying to be a decent host, while Lucas had passed out on the floor next to the couch, his head tipped back as he snored —, Jonah glared at him and said in a firm voice, “I wanna sleep in my bed. Can we please go home?”
Leo nodded, rubbing his eyes and trying to feel a little less sleepy himself. He wasn’t so sure he could drive, but he was feeling too proud to admit to that.
“Are you sure?” Vince yawned, stumbling up as he saw Leo helping Jonah put on his clothes – they had already been washed and dried long before, “you can stay the night, guys, take my bed and I’ll take the couch and-”
“No, we’re leaving,” Jonah shook his head, holding tightly on the wall to stay upright, “thank you, for everything, but no.”
Vin didn’t look one bit pleased, “this is a horrible idea, it's super late... Leo tell him it’s a horrible idea-”
“We’re going,” Leo couldn’t feel a shred of sympathy for Vince. He was trying, but failing miserably. Now that Jonah was up and stubborn as ever, concern was quickly getting replaced with simple, unmitigated fury.
“Please call me when you get there,” Vince hung at the door, “please? I’m gonna be up.”
“We’ll call,” Jonah agreed, stumbling to Leo’s car and bracing against it, breathing through his mouth. For a split second Leo considered staying, ignoring Jon’s stubbornness and his own pride and the anger and fear bubbling at the pit of his stomach and just stay and think all of this through in the morning-
“Goodnight guys,” Vince said in a small voice and Jonah waved, opening a little secret smile to the guy and Leo’s second thoughts burst like a bubble.
They needed to head home and only then he’d be able to think things through clearly.
Leo’s fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel as they hit the road, Jon curling up against the window and watching the cars zoom past them. Headlights turning into lines of yellow and white and red.
“Why were you there?” Leo asked, one hour into the trip, when he could no longer hold it in. He turned up the heater, just a bit, noticing Jon was trembling again.
His boyfriend shrugged, but didn’t say anything, and Leo squeezed the steering wheel with a bit more force.
“Jonah,” he said, his voice dropping, “I need you to talk with me, because I’m freaking out-”
“I can’t tell you,” Jonah’s voice was shot, “I can’t, okay? You just have to trust me-”
“You already lied to me today, so cut the crap and tell me what were you doing in Doveport and not in surgery like you said-”
“Vince told you!” Jon exclaimed and Leo looked away from the road, his eyes wide in complete shock and anger.
“You mean the lie he told me!? Do you think I’m stupid?!” Leo forced himself to look ahead, “Vince cannot lie to save his life and you want me-”
“It wasn’t a-”
“He called you first, but it was Luke’s jeep outside, not your car. In his story, you picked up Luke,” Leo hissed, starting to see red, “you lied to my face this morning, Jonah, so this was not some random, panicked call you got in the middle of your day. This was premeditated and-”
“Can’t you just please trust me?” Jonah glared at him, “Leo, what reason do you have not to trust me-”
“The fact that you’re LYING!?” Leo exclaimed, pulling the car to the dust shoulder and causing Jon to let out a whine at the sudden motion. He couldn’t drive like this, barely paying the road any attention.
Jon was breathing through the dizziness when Leo turned to him, panting as he tried to keep his emotions at bay, “Jon, just be honest with me-”
“Please, please just drop it. It’s nothing bad-”
“Are you cheating on me?” Leo said without thinking and felt pathetic as he heard the words said out loud. He knew this wasn’t it, he knew it deep in his bones that whatever Jonah did, it would never be that.
It didn’t stop the intrusive thought from continuously sprouting up.
Jonah’s head snapped and he glared at Leo, all vulnerability slipping away for a second and being replaced with anger, “oh my god, listen to yourself, Leo! You really think, I- God, you’re being fucking- You’re ruining everything,” he pushed the passenger door open and pushed himself out, causing Leo to jump out of the car as well.
“I don’t know what to think! You’ve been acting weird for days and now you’re lying to me and your little buddies are all helping in the lie and I’m here, fucking nursing you-”
“I DIDN’T FUCKING ASK YOU TO COME!” Jon yelled, hitting the car with a hand and Leo jumped at the explosion, his eyes wide and his heart speeding up, only to suddenly stop as Jonah’s shoulders shook and he folded in, grabbing on the top of the car with both hands and letting his head hang.
Leo took a second, trying to make any sense of the scene in front of him, but then his body was moving before his mind caught up. Grabbing Jon by the shoulder, feeling his whole frame shake with sobs.
“Jon- Shit, shit, shit, Jonah I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Leo mumbled frantically, his thoughts clearing up due to the searing certainty he had just messed up severely, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby, shit-” he cupped Jonah’s face and tried to wipe away the tears, only for the other man to shove his hands away.
“Stop- Stop fucking t-touching me-” Jonah groaned, stumbling and falling sit on the passenger side, his legs still out of the car, covering his face with his hands as he continued to cry, “I can’t be-believe you think I- I would never- I-”
“No, I know, I know,” Leo sunk to his knees, mind reeling as he ignored Jon’s plea to stop touching him and grabbed his boyfriend’s wrist, “Jon, I’m so sorry, I’m an ass, I know you wouldn’t-”
Jonah’s whole frame shook with a sob and he angrily shoved Leo back, but in his movement the blonde got a decent look at his face and his heart broke in a billion pieces. Jonah looked genuinely hurt, tears streaming down his face and clinging to his chin, green eyes all red due to the crying-
“I’m so sorry,” Leo leaned in, pressing his forehead to Jonah’s and cupping his face, “baby, please stop crying-”
“I- I was-was,” Jonah pulled back, angrily wiping the tears and Leo let out a whine at the loss of contact.
“I don’t wanna know,” he cut him off, “you’ll tell me later, a- another day,” Leo forced himself to say, “it’s fine, I don’t wanna-”
“I was buying your fucking proposal ring,” Jonah spat, glaring at him, his voice raspy, “and now you ruined it.”
Leo’s ears rang and he fell back on his ass in the humid grass, feeling like suddenly he was the one who had vertigo. He opened and closed his mouth, then felt tears springing up, “my proposal ring?” the question didn’t even sound like his voice.
Jonah scoffed, nodding, “yeah. You jackass, your proposal ring. Happy now? I was gonna propose at your birthday and they were just helping me and now you fucking ruined it and-”
“Yes,” Leo answered, without thinking and causing Jon’s mouth to snap shut, then open again, then shut in a tight line.
“No,” he glared at the blonde, “I’m not-”
“I’ll ask then,” Leo rolled his eyes, moving forward so he was resting on just one knee in front of the car door, “you can’t un-propose, you bought me a ring, I- I’ll ask. Are you gonna say no?”
Jonah frowned, clearly stuck between the rock and the sword, because he really didn’t want to propose on the side of the road, with his head throbbing from crying and puking, still wanting to strangle Leo and feeling wounded as fuck- With the ring on the pocket of his jacket… But there was simply no world or reality where he said no to Leo asking him to marry him.
“You can’t steal my proposal,” Jonah scoffed, grabbing the box in his pocket and grossly sniffling, wiping the tears with the back of his hand, “you’re such a dick,” he opened the box.
“You’re a romantic,” Leo grinned, then chuckled, “I can’t see the ring, it’s too dark.”
“SEE!” Jonah exclaimed, angry, “it’s a horrible proposal and you’re the one who ruined-” he never quite finished the complaint, as Leo leaped and kissed him, pushing Jon flat on his back inside the car.
“I don’t need to see the ring,” Leo groaned, kissing him again and again, "the answer is always yes, Jon. Ring, no ring, it's always yes.”
thanks for the ask, another anon also asked for this so here you go :)
—-
Alistair was used to getting stomach aches; he often ate food that he knew would upset his stomach, ate too much, or just was chosen that day to suffer with a tummy ache. He was very brave about it, okay! However, bravery was lost for this stomach ache. Along with an achy belly, he was feeling lightheaded, sweaty, nauseous and couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. There was no doubt about the fact that he was definitely sick.
He was unsure where he would have picked up a stomach bug. It could have been from stress, as right now his drama class were preparing for their annual production and he was one of the lead roles. The line learning stage had passed, but they were still touching up some of the blocking on some scenes, which meant he was focusing very hard to quickly write everything down before the director moved on. As he was writing, he could physically feel his pencil slipping in his grip; his sweaty hands making writing nearly impossible.
The others around him were already finished writing in their notes when he looked up, and were staring at him. He felt his insides curdle.
“Sorry, butter fingers today.” He joked. Most of the cast giggled a little, but the director was giving him a stern look. Alistair needed to pull himself together, he only had another hour to go. He could do this.
The scene played out more, and Alistair was now giving one of his monologues. He tried his best to not look down at his script, and project to the audience. Nikau was down there, watching him while he waited for his part. Alistair’s couldn’t help but move his eyes over to him, smiling and looking proud of his boyfriend.
“Alistair! Focus please, we need to see more emotion. It sounds like you’re reading from the script.” The director yelled, cutting off his words. He looked over to her, the room spinning. He stumbled a bit,
“Yep.” He quickly said, trying to keep his stomach in place. Standing up for so long was terrible for his head, his feet weren’t his own and he swore the stage lights were making little figure eight movements. Alistair looked down, desperately trying to compose himself. He wasn't about to have a ‘Pitch Perfect’ moment.
Thankfully, he got through his monologue without any more issues and he was allowed a break. He rushed off stage, one hand sitting gingerly on his belly and the other carding through his sweaty hair. Alistair felt like he was dying, the air around him was too warm and suffocating, the smell of old costumes and props filled his nostrils and he nearly gagged. Without even thinking, he went out the backstage door and into the carpark, breathing heavily through his nose.
The fresh air did wonders for his head, but now the smell of petrol and rubbish replaced the mothball stench and he doubled over with a hearty heave. Nothing came up. His chest seized and a cough sputtered out of his mouth. Alistair had to stabilise himself on the wall next to him, forehead meeting the cold concrete. Stomach now worked up, he felt his lunch bubble and churn inside him, desperate to be out.
He moaned, “Fuckk,” rubbing his stomach did little, he was going to throw up in this grotty car park like a drunk, “Where’s Nikau when I need him.”
Alistair was swallowing thickly and rapidly, holding back burps and gags like his life depended on it. The cool wall was doing little for his scorching fever and he forced himself to crouch down as the nausea ramped up to a 10. He whined, saliva gathering in his mouth. It hit him in an instant; a burp and then a loud gag and suddenly his lunch was splattered in front of him. When the first lot came out, it prompted everything else to and soon enough he was spitting up more vomit.
It burned his throat and chest, and his gags were throaty and knocked him off his feet. His knees hit the ground harshly, and he quickly caught himself with his hands, splashing into the puddle of vomit. He lost control and coughed up another round, disgusted with himself and the mess he was making. He wondered if any passersby were staring at him. Alistair groaned at his stomach churning, still nauseous and angry despite most of his lunch being in front of his face.
At least he had crouched down first before he got sick, with the way his head was spinning he didn’t think he would have been able to stand up properly. He was also thankful it was cloudy today; having the sun shining down on his overheating body would have tipped him over the edge.
Alistair spat a little before sitting back on his feet. His hands were splattered with sick, and he shook them a little before letting them sit palm up on his thighs. He was a pitiful sight. He swore he was swaying on the spot, ground sloshing around like the bile in his tummy. He thought about going back inside, but then made eye contact with his vomit soaked knees and thought maybe it was better to just stay out here. Perhaps he would die out here, covered in vomit. God what a sight that would be.
His stomach gurgled. It was still very upset and hurt like a bitch. Alistair threw his head back, closing his eyes as the cramp tore through his body. A lone raindrop landed on his forehead. Well, at least the rain could clean up his mess easily. More rain fell and soon Alistair was just sitting out in the rain, sick and tired. His classmates were probably wondering what he was doing. He didn’t really care. He just needed his bed, and maybe his boyfriend.
His boyfriend. Nikau was definitely wondering where he had gone. Alistair’s phone was in his back pocket, and with now semi clean hands he pulled it out. He flicked a text to Nikau and waited. The door flew open, hurting Alistair’s head. But then, he saw Nikau crouching down next to him, touching him all over and wiping away some of the hair stuck to his face.
“Oh my gosh, Star, have you been out here this whole time?” He looked at the remnants of vomit on the concrete, “Oh, jeez. I had a feeling. You didn’t look so good on stage.”
Alistair looked at him, giving a small smile, “Yeah. Feel awful,” His stomach chose that moment to gurgle and cramp again, and he winced. The rain was now starting to make him shiver, and he was pissed that his jeans were now wet, “Can you take me home?” Nikau nodded and muttered ‘yes’ before gently lifting Alistair up.
“You’ve got a bad fever, sweetheart. You’re like a heater.”
“Yeah.” He leaned into Nikau, using Nikau’s steps to make his own. He kept his eyes closed, needing the darkness to not throw up again. He heard the whispers of his classmates and tried his best to focus on Nikau’s hands.
He opened his eyes and recognised the carpet of the audience seating, and waited for Nikau to gather up all their stuff. The director came over to the two.
“Alistair? Where have you been?” She looked him up and down, noticing his saturated clothes.
Alistair shuffled his feet sheepishly, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling very well Miss. I need to head home.” He said those words and she took a couple steps back, but spoke with a gentle tone.
“That’s okay. Email me if we need to call in your understudy.” Alistair saw a small smile on her face and then she was gone, shouting again at the rest of the cast. Nikau rubbed his arm with his knuckles,
“Ready to go?” Alistair nodded, turning to his boyfriend. Nikau guided him out of the door and to the car. It was bliss to sit down, and he leaned back in the seat. However, he wasn’t excited for the drive home.
“Try and drive careful?” He asked, already holding his belly. Nikau hummed in confirmation and set off.
As they were driving, Alistair could feel every little movement the car made and it translated to tidal waves in his brain. He was so dizzy. It was a mission to keep his head still, while also feeling like his stomach was going to explode out of him once again. Alistair’s hands were shaky and warm, fingers digging into his cramping stomach.
Because he had terrible luck, the underlying nausea turned into full blown nausea and he jolted in his seat. Suddenly, it felt like he was being thrown into lava and was seconds away from puking. He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, hand tightly over his mouth. He heard Nikau curse, and then a bag was in his lap. Without questioning where he got it from, Alistair promptly puked into it. His back curled, his fingers held onto the bag like a lifeline.
The cars movement did nothing for him. No matter how hard he tried it felt like he was spinning, “Oh, Nikau, I’m-” he gagged, “everything is spinning.” He whined, unable to say anymore as he gagged again. Nikau had rolled the windows down, cool air washing over him. Alistair sat back as far as he could, holding the bag up to his mouth just in case. He needed stability.
“That’s it, Star. Just breathe. Relax, you’re sitting perfectly still.” Nikau’s words calmed him a little. He moaned as he felt the urge to gag again, and spat up a little more bile. He dropped one hand to his stomach, if he didn’t hold it he felt like it would slip out from inside him. The nausea slowly passed, and he was able to tighten off the top of the bag and hold it down by his feet.
“You good?” He was at a red light.
“Yeah, I think so.” Alistair murmured. His throat was scratchy and sore, his body was aching. He kept his eyes closed, and when that didn’t work he chose to look out the window. He kept his eyes locked on one spot in the horizon, and watched as the roads slowly got smaller and soon he was looking at their front door of their flat. Nikau’s hand was heavy on his knee.
“Come on, sickie. I know you’re feeling terrible.” Alistair whined at him. It was heavenly to finally get inside and lie down, with clean, comfy clothes and Alistair curled up on his side. The day’s events finally caught up to him and he felt his muscles slowly lose their tension. Nikau knelt down next to his face.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but I wanna get some medicine in you. That fever is concerning,” He touched Alistair’s forehead, warm and sweaty. He tsked through his teeth, “You should’ve told me sooner you weren’t feeling good.”
Alistair murmured. Nikau was right, “Sorry. I thought I could get through rehearsal.” His head spun, a quick bout of vertigo forcing him to close his eyes.
“It’s okay. Are you dizzy?” Alistair nodded his head minutely, whining a little. He felt Nikau’s warm hands travel down his body and then he felt a kiss planted on his forehead.
Alistair felt Nikau’s presence disappear, and so he rolled onto his back gingerly, keeping his head still and placing a hand on his stomach. It was still hurting him, and was bloated and gross. The gurgles were sickly and he was probably going to be puking all night. Oh, he was so excited. Nikau returned, carrying the proper materials for a sick night. He gently forced Alistair to take some medicine, and then to make up for it, he lied down next to Alistair with the promise of rubbing his belly.
“I’m sorry you’re so sick, sweetheart.” Nikau whispered into Alistair’s hair.
