Someone who's stomach is giving them hell and they're bloated and feeling nauseous and crampy all at the same time but no matter how much they curl and writhe and heave and push nothing would come out. So someone else who's been watching then for hours like this, maybe a friend or a roomate or partner, gives them something to "ease it". It could be a stomach relief like imodium, but maybe they do want to see the mc have a blowout disguised as wanting to make them feel better, so they give them a laxative or emetic đ”âđ«
The mc takes the medicine and feels much worse within a few hours, like loud stomach gurgling and gas or burping that keeps coming out. They're curled up and clutching their still bloated belly and moaning out about why they didnt feel better after the medicine, they feel like they're going to lose it from both ends at the same time, and the other resoponds by rubbing their lower back through the bouts of burping and gas and more moaning, feeling every gurgle and belly spasm, telling them "if you get it all out, you'll feel much better..."
B notices A cradling their bloated, upset tummy on the bumpy ride home and reassures them they're nearly there. B does everything they can to make A comfortable at home, but A's straining, gurgling belly just gets more and more unsettled and B ends up fussing over them while they spend the night throwing it all up.
Fluffy, cuddly aftermath day of belly rubs optional.
two ocs, jack & andy!! jack has been briefly featured before, but now it's andy's turn to sufferđ
jack uses he/him pronouns, andy uses they/them :)
tw for not-super-graphic depictions of nausea under the cut!
âI donât feel good,â says Andy's voice, as soon as Jack picks up. Even over the background chatter and phone static, he can detect the quiver in their voice. Uh-oh. Andy is never so forthcoming about how theyâre feeling, at least not physically. Itâs a sore point for them, even with Jack. He tries not to be too hurt about it because theyâre like that with everybody, even with Elle, whoâs their best friend in the world. Secretly, though, he savors those rare, fleeting moments when Andy allows themself to be vulnerable. Those moments happen more and more lately, and as much as Jack hates for them to be in any kind of pain or discomfort, heâs grateful that Andy is finally starting to let him in.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â he asks, already reaching to close and put away his laptop. He has a four-page paper to write for Germanâin Germanâthatâs due in two days, but God forbid he lets it get in his way of being a good boyfriend. God forbid he lets anything get in his way.
âUm, IâI had a burger for lunch earlier, and yâknow how sometimes they make me feel kinda sick? But, like, lately itâs been fine, so I just got one, whatever. But now my stomach hurts and itâsâIâmâI feel like Iâm gonna puke, like I can feel it, but I donâtâitâsâI dunno. It hurts and I donât wanna be sick, and usually I feel like shit right after eating it but itâs been five hours and I feel terrible.â Andy sounds like theyâre on the verge of tears, and Jackâs heart aches. He hates that this happens to them so often.Â
âSorry,â Andy blurts suddenly, before he has the chance to respond. âSorry, itâsâlike, Iâm fine. Iâm literally totally fine, I dunno why Iâm freaking out, I justâŠâ They pause, and Jack doesnât think itâs his imagination when he hears a tiny, queasy hiccup, the sound of spitting. Then, in the smallest voice, âI just donât feel good. And⊠and I want you.â Jackâs already shoving the last of his things into his backpack and slinging it, unzipped, over one shoulder. He walks with purpose toward the library exit and asks, âWhere are you? Iâm on my way now.â Andy sniffles wetly. Jack thinks he can hear what sounds like a toilet roll being unraveled, if the metallic clinking in the background is anything to go by.Â
ââm in the cafeteria,â they tell him. âI thought I was hungry, so I was gonna grab food with Elle, butâoh, fuckââ They hiccup again, louder this time, followed by a muffled groan. Jack picks up the pace, shouldering the door open and striding out into the bright sunshine. His eyes burn as they struggle to adjust, but he doesnât slow his pace. He dodges other students as he hurries toward the dining hall.
âGonna hang up,â Andy says thickly. âTalking isâIâmâoh, godââ A choked, guttural gag that makes Jackâs own throat burn in sympathy. ââm gonna hang up,â Andy says again, voice constricted, and then the line goes dead. Jack jogs through the last few seconds of a pedestrian crossing sign and beelines it for the nearest cafeteria entrance. Luckily, there are a few on every side, considering the building is one of the main assets on campus. The cool air from the AC is refreshing as he takes the stairs two at a time and turns a sharp corner to get to the gender-neutral bathroom. When he gets there, the little sign above the handle says VACANT in green, so he knocks once and lets himself in.
Todayâs shift has been really crazy and Riley hasnât had any time to actually stop and eat. Instead, heâs made himself grab things periodically just to have something in his stomach. Over the course of the last couple of hours, heâs had a cup of black coffee, a deli sandwich he found in the hospital cafe on the grab-and-go counter, and handfuls of shredded cheese from a bag he put in the break room fridge.
Itâs only when he takes his last fistful of shredded cheese out of the bag and leaves it empty that he realizes his stomach feels a little bit unsettled. Thereâs an uneasiness starting to grow in the pit of his stomach. Itâs a tight and heavy pressure that is growing steadily more and more by the minute.
As he pauses outside a patientâs room, he takes a moment alone to rub the lower swell of his stomach. He finds it bloated, a bubbling sensation rippling across his belly in his lower stomach. There are mild twinges there in his stomach, fleeting and light cramps that are making him just a little bit uncomfortable. He can even feel a little bit of gurgling in his intestines, his digestive system starting to grind into harder work than it had been before heâd eaten all of this.
Theyâre all little warning signs, as if his tummy is gearing up for battle. He rubs harder into the burbling lower swell of his belly, trying to settle the discomfort. A small gurgle is audible from the pit of his stomach, and he sighs, closing his eyes and trying to rub it away as his cramping begins to escalate.
The deli sandwich heâd had earlierâ salami, bleu cheese, tomato, lettuce, mayoâ is sitting in his stomach like a rock. It had just been sitting out at the grab-and-go station in the hospital caf, and maybe he should have been suspicious, but itâs a hospital. He didnât think to check if it had been out for too long or if it was past its expiration date or if it was being stored at the proper temperature. Maybe he should have, but he didnât.
Not only that, but heâs steadily eaten an entire bag of shredded mozzarella cheese. His tummy feels like itâs struggling to break it down, sitting like a heavy blanket over everything inside of his stomach. Itâs bloating him up more than he expected it would. He guesses he hadnât really been thinking about it while he was taking the fistfuls of cheese. Each fistful felt separate on its own, but now theyâre gluing together inside of him, and he feels so full and tight and uncomfortable that heâs starting to regret eating any of it at all.
âHey, Dr. Monroe, can I get your opinion on something real quick?â one of the medical students asks, and Riley suppresses a burp to nod and follow after them.
While heâs helping the med student and her patient, Rileyâs cramping stomach feels like itâs bloating even more. He can feel it pressing into the elastic waistband of his scrubs but he canât try to reach down and rub it while heâs working. He just has to ignore it and power through, pretending itâs not happening at all. Heâs really good at that when heâs working at the hospital. The work, healing, and patients all come first.
He moves through four more patients before the bloating and cramping in his stomach forces him to take note of it again. In the time heâs been ignoring his belly, itâs grown uncomfortably round with gas. He ducks into another empty hallway to try rubbing it again and finds it heavily rounded out, the gurgles he can feel inside also felt against his palm as he presses into the bloat there.
âShit,â he curses. A burp bubbles up his throat, tasting like salami and cheese and the black coffee heâd chugged barely twenty minutes earlier. âOh, fuck, goddamnit.â
A nurse scurries past and Riley makes himself go quiet, even as his stomach does not seem to get the message. It feels like itâs putting on a show as it attempts to cope with what heâs done to it. An almost-theatrical rumble growls up from the pit of his stomach as it starts to churn, trying to digest the food and lactose. He has the feeling that his stomach is like a simmering pot of soup, gases and fluids and chunky solids bubbling too quickly inside his belly.
Thereâs an uncomfortable, strained, popping sensation in his intestines then, as if thereâs a tight bloat squeaking its way through him. He tries to force out the gas, even if itâs a fart, but the rolling waves in his belly and the tight contractions of his intestines seem to refuse to let go of the gas. It seems like his belly is perfectly content to be horribly miserable.
A series of warm, gurgling bubbles churn up from the pit of his stomach to his chest, and he starts feeling a little sweatyâ and a little nauseatedâ as one deep burp comes up, then another, then another. Each one of them burns in the back of his throat, painful with the acidic coffee.
It feels bad. It feels so, so, so bad, and the next burning, acidic belch grabs at his gag reflex and makes him gag into his fist.
But he has work to do, and he makes himself do it. He keeps interacting with his patients and helping the nurses and the med students, and he doesnât let a stupid little upset stomach get in the way of his hard work. If someone gets hurt on his watch because of a bellyache, he would never forgive himself.
However, his stomach is still feeling worse and worse, and heâs unable to ignore it completely. Even as he continues to help patients, part of his brain canât help but notice but just how nauseated and gurgly and uncomfortable his stomach is becoming as he keeps working.
His upset stomach is working overtime to try and digest what he put into it, but itâs not doing a great job. Itâs definitely trying, but itâs a lot, and it might just be too much, heâs realizing. Heâs starting to get sweatier and a little clammy, his stomach cramps getting worse and worse, tighter, noisier, more painful, as his digestive system struggles to process what heâs put into it and is forcing it to try and digest.
Though his body is attempting to manage the overload of indigestible lactoseâ he knows heâs lactose intolerant, even if he likes to pretend he isnâtâ and the probably-spoiled sandwich and the acidic black coffee, it seems to be losing the battle. The gurgling in his belly and his intestines is getting louder and more active, everything inside him fighting against him. It almost feels like his stomach wants to eject whatâs in it, like it might empty itself against his permission, but it isnât actually doing anything yet.
Well, it is doing something. Itâs trying to process the lactose and spoiled food that are fermenting inside of it, and itâs struggling to succeed in doing so. A storm is steadily brewing in his belly, even though his shift is nowhere close to being done.
He wishes he could get his stomachache to stop. He rips open an alcohol pad under his nose more than once trying to curb the queasiness, but itâs starting to become a persistent problem.
His nausea is actually building more with every passing minute. As he moves from patient to patient, he starts getting really nauseated, like his body wants to reject what heâs put into it. His stomach feels like it has had to expand to accommodate the bloating, leaving him feeling tight and uncomfortable and dense.
His stomach cramps tightly. There are these sharp, stabbing pains that are starting to pierce into his intestines, as if every part of his digestive system is protesting the large amount of cheese and the spoiled sandwich and the black coffee heâs forcing through it.
Itâs a weird feeling. Heâs a doctor, so he knows that cheese is really high in fat and really low in fiber, and he knows that eating as much as he did would slow his digestion significantly. Itâs almost giving him a constipated, bloating feelingâ but the black coffee he chugged is trying to speed up his digestion, to stimulate it and make everything go faster, and the two are fighting against each other and making a storm brew up ferociously in his belly. His heart is starting to beat faster and deeper and he can feel it in his belly, pounding like itâs inside his throbbing tummy.
The spoiled sandwich is the real deciding factor here, and it is wreaking havoc on his digestive system. As he hides in the hospital hallway and clutches his churning belly, he can feel the way the sandwich is just wrecking him, sending his insides into turmoil.
A bubble pops in his tummy, and he groans, trying to massage it more deeply. His belly feels soft, squishy; he displaces the bloat as he presses into it though it doesnât come out in any good or meaningful way.
Rileyâs heart starts to pound too fast and too deep. His belly struggles to digest, trying to process what heâs eaten and move it through his digestive tract, and itâs hard at work with how much fucked-up stuff heâs put into it. Thereâs too much gas, too much pressure; waves of attempted digestion vibrate his belly, pronounced gurgling audible to anyone who passed by him.
The next couple of minutes feel like they stretch on forever.
Riley attempts to continue and to leave the side room, moving on autopilot. However it is getting harder and harder for him to hide whatâs happening. He can feel his pulse throbbing inside of him and his limbs buzzing with an anxious and unsettled energy. He hunches a little when he walks, trying to protect his belly. One hand pushes into the swollen throb just below his ribs, as if he could physically hold everything down if he just pushed hard enough.
Despite his best efforts, it doesnât seem to help. In fact, that added pressure only serves to make the uncomfortable, bloated gas and the shifting, unhappy contents of his stomach shift with an audible glorp. When Rileyâs stomach forces up a deep belch, he nearly chokes on it; it claws up his throat, stings his nose, makes his eyes prick. Heâs so nauseated by it that his body nearly seizes up with the effort of swallowing it back downâ and he has to swallow convulsively just to do that much.
When he manages to tuck himself into an empty room again, his scrubs are sticking to him with sweat, his stomach feels actually heavy, and he has this sensation that the contents of his belly are boiling and disgusting like hot liquid concrete.
With every step, he can feel everything inside of him sloshing, thick and wet and wrong. His burps used to taste like cheese, or salami, or coffee, but now they just taste acidic and disgusting. Another cramp tightens deep inside him, forcing a roll of nausea through his belly, and he has to grip the closest wall when his knees buckle at the force of it.
He canât do this. He hides himself as fast as he can in the empty room, slamming the door shut behind himself. There isnât a lock, so he just has to lean against the door and block it with his own big body.
His stomach gurgles. Heâs not sure exactly what is disagreeing with him, but something is, or everything is. It feels like nothing is digesting at the same time that something is digesting too fast, and he canât figure out which end everything wants to come out of. He only knows that there is a storm in his stomach that he only has to ride out. He cannot avoid it anymore.
As if realizing heâs conceding to the pain, his sick belly forces up a thick belch, then another, stirring up the storm into a riot in his belly. The gurgles are just as audible as his burps, and he just canât stop burping now that he has started.
Every couple of minutes, this rancid, gurgling bubble of air swells up from the churning pit of his stomach. It drags in an audible burbling up his spine to burst out of him. None of them are polite or little, theyâre all deep and rumbling and erupting out of him. They burn, hot and bitter and filled with acidic bile. Each one makes him more nauseated, to the point where he starts trying to swallow them back, tense every time they try to come. He swallows even harder and thicker, pressing his hands into his bloated, roiling stomach and trying to breathe through it, but he canât manage it.
Whatever is happening in his stomach, he is not getting out unscathed.
Heâs a doctor. He understands indigestion. This is not that. This is much worse than that. This is his entire system breaking down, everything inside of him fighting against itself. Thereâs an actual battle in his stomach, he thinks. The deli sandwich had to have been past its prime, and itâs like itâs speeding through his intestines, accelerating way too fast for him to even process it. Itâs making his insides churn, unable to properly digest; itâs only reacting to him, not digesting or processing or absorbing anything. All it can do is react as the disgusting sandwich decimates his insides as fast as it can.
And in the middle of it all, that cheese just sits there.
Itâs just thick and undigested and gluing everything together in a way it absolutely should not be. When the sandwich tries to fly through him, and the coffee churns everything up so horribly, the cheese just keeps everything packed into the lowest curve of his belly like wet cement, bubbling and thick and clogged up, a drain that cannot go down. The more Riley rubs at his stomach, the more he realizes how uneven the contents of it feel, and how uneven his body feels as a result: his middle is firm, bloated, without any give, but his sides are squishy and tender, and his lower belly feels heavy and weighted while his upper tummy has an airy heft to it of bloat, the air churned up and pushing upwards obviously.
The only thing his whole belly has in common is how loud it is. No matter what, everything is so loud. His system is trying so hard to process everything, and failing to process anything. His intestines are grinding into overdrive, his stomach bubbling furiously, everything in his tummy bubbling and squealing and groaning under the pressure of too much lactose and too much bacteria and too much food trying to slug its way through his system.
His body forces up a hiccup that tugs at the back of his throat, and he gags, wet but empty.
Pushing through the first door he finds, Riley finds himself in an empty stairwell. Crouching down, wrapping his arms around his stomach, he tries to breathe. He fails. His tummy keeps doing somersaults, flipping inside of him, like itâs being turned inside-out in slow motion. Another acidic burp churns up from his belly, leaving his mouth tasting like curdled milk and rotten tomatoes and heat.
âShit,â he curses as dizziness crashes over him, making the stairwell spin around him. His stomach churns heavily, his head swims, and the nausea taking over him starts pulsing inside of him. It feels like it has a heartbeat, throbbing hot and constant and in the center of his gut. He tries to rub at it and diminish it, hoping that rubbing his upset belly will either soothe it or upset it enough to do something, but neither happens. Not really. It does upset his belly, but not enough to do anything; all that happens is that he feels a tight, heavy pressure gathering in the pit of his stomach. His stomach gurgles again, complaining as loudly as it can, wet and thick and weird, and he practically feels the contents of his belly shifting inside of him.
The sandwich, the coffee, the cheeseâ itâs all one incoherent mess now, sloshing back and forth with these sickening, tumultuous turns inside of him that have thick saliva gathering in his mouth.
The storm brews up ferociously, as metaphorical as it is real. Thereâs thick pressure filling him up, and the roiling in his belly is gaining strength, everything moving inside of him in the worst possible ways. The cheese is fermenting, the gas is expanding, the spoiled sandwich is rushing through him, and the coffee is sliding slimy along his stomach lining.
His insides feel like a disaster. Another burp churns up, and Riley belches, deep and wet and thick, before he gags and dry heaves.
Nothing comes up. He dry heaves again, a third time, but nothing comes up, and he swallows thickly to keep everything down before he groans, shaking and trembling like a leaf.
His undershirt clings to his skin with sweat. His scrubs are too tight, especially around his bloated belly, and every belching breath makes his tummy feel like it pushes harder into his waistband. He puts his hands on his belly again, trying to rub it and work out some gas or soothe the internal chaos, but all he does is churn up the storm inside.
His upset belly feels like itâs yelling at him. It wonât stop churning, sloshing, bubbling; it burbles loudly, then groans, making him whine before he belches again, unable to keep it back. The burbling inside almost feels cartoonish in how wet and aggressive it is, punctuated on every gurgle with these weird, small, high-pitched squeaks of gas that is trapped deep in his belly. The sandwichâ the bad sandwich, he should have known how bad the sandwich wasâ is ripping through him like his guts are on fire, making his insides bubble like he swallowed a potionâ and yet the cheese just sits there stubbornly, as if it is a second potion fighting against the first, the lactose refusing to digest and instead deciding to feed the bacteria gurgling away in his belly, making more gas and more bloat and more horrible, thick, churning noise.
Every last bit of him is overstuffed and queasy. Heâs clammy and trembling and actually thinks he might shit himself if he takes a step, or throw up if he takes a breath thatâs too deep.
Heâs just about to try and stand up, his hands clutching his swollen and upset belly, when he hears, âRiley?â
The door to the stairwell opens just as Riley jumps to find Luke standing over him. His entire belly lurches up his throat, and Rileyâs hand flies up to clamp over his mouth as he belches. Itâs deep and wet but nothing comes up, even as he groans and takes a knee right there on the stairs, trying not to vomit or shit himself at the same time.
âHey,â Luke says. Heâs calm and measured and professional as always. âYou doing okay?â
Riley considers lying, but it wouldnât work. He just shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as his stomach gurgles again, thick and horrible. There are weird, painful, tight cramps seizing his lower belly; his digestive system struggles to process what heâs put into it, and he starts sweating, burping again, tasting the burning acid of the black coffee. It feels so horrible, disgusting and forcing him to gag before he swallows thickly, and his bloated, cramping belly has to re-accept the almost-vomit, taking it all back into his gassy, bloated, uncomfortable stomach.
His belly, all rounded-out and gurgling, tries to force up another belch. He feels so nauseated, really nauseated, and heâs starting to sweat because of it, his body rejecting what heâs put into it, refusing to actually digest it. His cramps are coming these sharp, stabbing, piercing pains, while his stomach gurgles again, loudly and heavily and bloated. It wonât stop; it canât stop churning, burbling, too heavily unsettled.
Riley is vaguely aware of Lukeâs arm winding around him, helping him to stand again. He forces him to walk, navigating him out of the stairwell and back down the hall, but everything feels dimmed and faraway and strange, as if heâs underwater and watching everything from a distance.
A nauseating vertigo starts growing inside of him, making everything spin even more severely and confusingly. A creeping heaviness settles into his limbs, pulling at his body, making every step that Luke forces out of him to feel like heâs dragging himself through a sea of molasses. His vision keeps swimming, his head throbbing, his skin prickling with a clammy cold-heat, his stomachâ
Fuck. His stomach.
His stomach is an absolute mess. It feels like a swirling, seething cauldron of thick liquids and fermenting chunks and undigested food and roiling acid and bubbling gas. Itâs heavyâ itâs so heavy, itâs too heavyâ and itâs bloating high and taut under his ribs.
But itâs not staying still.
It keeps moving inside of him, this sick, fizzling churn that refuses to stop. It twists his tummy, wrenching the contents inside this way and that, making his belly lurch against itself. Itâs like everything in his belly is physically flipping over and over itself inside of him. It just wonât settle.
âFuck,â he mumbles out loud. âIt hurts so much. It wonât settle down, it justââ He belches again, then manages, pathetic, âSomething isnât sitting right,â and clutches his belly, churning right under his hand, whatever isnât sitting right trying to claw its way out of him.
His uneasy stomach sloshes inside of him as he clutches it. When it bubbles again, the queasy feeling only increases, twisting his insides and wrenching at his intestines. His discomfort only grows as his stomach starts doing more and more somersaults. Roiling waves surge through his sick belly, twisting his guts into knots; the creeping heaviness gets closer and closer, weighing over him while his stomach bubbles up with hot, nauseating, fizzy discomfort.
âYouâre okay,â Luke tells him. Riley doesnât feel that way though, with his sickly disorientation and the way his stomach keeps trying to lurch up his throat. Heâs starting to feel this prickly, clammy feeling as wooziness claims him; the white walls spin, and he feels faint and queasy at the same time.
âIâm gonna be sick,â Riley mumbles. Heâs not even sure if heâs coherent. His words are followed up by a heavy, thick, long belch, pulled from the pit of his belly, and he doubles over. Forcing Luke to stop, he leans against his own knees; another belch rips out of him, and he groans, eyes watering, nausea building. âFuck, Iâm gonna be sickââ
âNot here, youâre not,â Luke tells him, forcing him through a doorway.
Riley whimpers softly. It wonât stop. His belly churns, and he grabs his swollen stomach, hands pressing hard into the tight swell of his abdomen. His guts gurgle so loudly that he would be embarrassed if he were more coherent. As it is, his stomach blorps loudly before a strange rolling glurg churns through it, followed by a series of sharp, squeaky little gas bubbles that rise up inside of him and shift his belly and his guts and his intestines and the contents of his sick stomach.
God, but he can feel every single little bubble of gas gurgling inside of him. Every single one sloshes, twists, turns, and adds to the uncomfortable, indigestion storm gurgling hard and fierce inside of him.
His body is basically begging him to reject everything. Itâs screaming at him, his stomach roiling, wanting to force up the spoiled meat and acidic coffee and indigestible cheese, butâ
But nothing will come up. Nothing will come out.
His cramps shift as Luke forces him onto his knees over the toilet. Theyâre not this dull, strange thing anymore. Instead, they have become these sharp, piercing jolts that stab into his abdomen in horrible waves, making him gasp and clench his arms over his belly as he folds forward over the open inside of the toilet.
âJust let it up,â Luke encourages him. âCâmon. Somethingâs making you sick, you just gotta get it out.â
His hand pats hard at Rileyâs back, forcing up a thick, heavy belch like heâs an infant being burped.Â
âI feel so sick,â Riley complains, his voice groaning and weak and pathetic. âFuck, I feel so sick, Iââ
His intestines twist themselves into knots, wringing themselves out, making his pain tighter and stranger and refusing to allow him relief. His stomach cramps and clenches hard, his nausea twisting harder, and he belches with violence. It feels like this gurgling burp comes up from the pit of his stomach and nearly brings a wave of vomit with it, ripping through him without warning. His throat burns with stomach acid, the burp long and deep and searing, and he groans heavily as it leaves a bitter, burning heaviness on the back of his tongue, inside his throat.
âEasy,â Luke murmurs, rubbing his back again. His voice is calm, close, steady, slow, and right next to his ear. âYouâre almost there. Just let it up.â
Except Riley canât let it up. It wonât come up, and Riley belches again into the toilet water, his arms wrapping tight around his stomach, clutching at his belly while his fingers dig into the bloated, rebellious, heavy curve of his tummy. His whole body wonât stop trembling, sweat dripping down his temples, his breath coming short and fast and desperate as he belches thickly again.
âOkay, Iâve got you,â Luke promises him, rubbing his back up and down, thumping near the base of his spine. He forces up another thick belch, and Riley rocks forward over the toilet, tasting black coffee and bleu cheese and bile. âYouâll feel better once you let it up, okay? Just let it go. Youâre okay, just get it up.â
Riley belches again, deep and stinging and searing. It feels fiery as it launches up from his belly, through his chest, to this throat and his mouth, leaving the lingering bitter taste of bile and stomach acid, and his hand flies up to cover his mouth as it rips out of him. His other hand still clutches his stomach, and he knows how he must look, pale and sweating and pathetic, but he canât help it.
He breathes deeply, trying to stop himself from getting sick while knowing the fight is inevitable. His lower belly gurgles, and when he shifts, he thinks heâs going to belch again, but a deep, wet fart rips out of him instead. He gags, his stomach turning, and he hunches over the toilet.
âGet out,â Riley tries to tell him, weak and pathetic. âThis is disgusting, get outââ
âIâm not going anywhere,â Luke protests. âYouâre sickââ
ââAnd itâs grossââ
ââAnd you need me,â Luke continues, âso Iâm staying.â His hand thumps between Rileyâs shoulder blades again, forcing up a thick belch that ripples the toilet water. âThatâs it, babe. Get it up, câmon.â
Riley burps again, then groans. âI canât, itâsâ I feelâ I need to, I can feel it, but it wonâtââ He belches once more, sick and heavy. âFuck, it wonât come up, itâs justââ He rubs his belly where it is storming the worst, burbling so thickly and heavily, and complains, âItâs just churning up, it wonât move.â
Pale and sweating and disoriented, Riley belches over the toilet again. His stomach wonât stop gurgling anymore, and he feels like he needs to shit and vomit all at the same time.
âI know,â Luke assures him, steadying him, keeping him upright over the toilet. âI know. Just breathe. Youâre safe, I got you. Itâll be up soon and youâll feel so much better.â
Riley belches once more, hunching forward, arms wrapping tighter and tighter around his belly. His lower belly wonât stop rumbling anymore. Itâs full of knotted, peristaltic gurgling, deep and desperate rolls that feel like they should be dragging him towards a release of this sickness, but heâs still stuck in the middle.
Attempting to force a retch, all Riley succeeds in doing is belching again. His stomach churns, and another sick fart rumbles out of him, mortifying him.
âIâm sorry,â Riley apologizes. âYou should goââ
âIâm not going anywhere,â Luke stops him. âJust let it happen. Itâs not your fault, youâre sick. Just let yourself be sick and get it up.â
âI canât,â Riley complains, shaking like a leaf. The pressure intensifies, the cramps worsen, and his belly tightens with churning gurgles. Groaning, Riley tells him. âFuck, itâs like Iâm full of hot, bubbling concrete. It wonât come out.â
âWhat did you eat?â Luke asks. Riley moans, and Luke insists, âTell me so I can diagnose you. Itâll be over in a second.â
Riley swallows thickly, then confesses, âI ateââ He belches, tasting mayonnaise and coffee and cheese. Sitting up and away from the toilet, trying to rub his swollen upset belly, Riley tells him, âI had a sandwich from the cafââ
âWhich one?â
âSalami,â Riley tells him, tasting it as he says it. âWith bleu cheese, tomato, lettuce, mayoâ Fuckââ
âKeep going,â Luke insists, rubbing his back. âTell me everything.â
Riley belches over the water again, then continues, âI hadâ I had a coffeeââ
âBlack coffee?â
âYeah.â
âOkay,â Luke encourages him. âAnything else?â
Riley pants over the water before he admits, âI ate a bag of shredded cheese.â
Thereâs a pause that feels as thick and heavy as the bag of shredded cheese inside of Rileyâs belly.
âDonât be sorry,â Luke stops him. âIâm glad you ate. Iâm just sorry itâs upsetting your belly so much.â His hand sneaks around Rileyâs stomach, stroking slowly, coaxing up another gassy belch. âThat must feel awful inside of you. Youâre so bloated.â
He pushes in, and Rileyâs upset stomach forces up yet another rumbling burp, just as gurgling as the rest of his stomach. A weird, tight squelch squeaks along his belly, and he rubs at it, trying to coax up something further. All that happens is a thick gurgle runs through his belly horizontally, and he canât do anything to soothe it.
âOkay,â Luke murmurs. âI think the cheese is probably slowing everything down.â He says this as something gurgles in Rileyâs midsection, loud and fast before it makes something thick ripple in the lower right of his belly. âYeesh. All that fat and no fiber? No wonder nothingâs moving through you. You canât digest all that when youâre this blocked up.â
âYeah, no shit,â Riley mumbles. Another gurgle starts in the center of his belly and squeezes to the side; it doesnât go up or down, doesnât offer relief. Just churns.
âYour body knows what it needs to do,â Luke coaxes him. âItâll figure it out. Donât fight it. Itâs not going to digest, you need to get it out.â
Another thick, heavy cramp pierces his belly, and Riley lurches forward over the toilet again, panting as saliva fills his mouth. He spits out a mouthful of thick, ropey, syrupy saliva.
âJesus, your stomach is bloated,â Luke comments.
As if Riley doesnât know. He doesnât need his boyfriend to comment on it. He knows how big and huge and bloated his belly is now, so distended and taut under his scrubs that he can see it straining the thin fabric. Heâs visibly bloated, and his stomach is gurgling so constantly that itâs actually making these weird little rippling motions every time it burbles, like his insides are moving around and trying to rearrange themselvesâ or like everything in his stomach is trying to make space for itself when there isnât any space left for it.
Through it all, Rileyâs gut keeps trying to move and digest and function and work and process, but all it is actually capable of doing is bubbling, and burbling, and gurgling, and churning, and attempting to digest in this slow, agonizing way.
And failing.
Itâs so weird, but Riley thinks he can feel everything melting together in his belly. The spoiled sandwich, like a fucked-up soup swimming in sour stomach juices; the massive amount of cheese, unable to digest, thick and curdling and stuck inside of him; the bitter coffee, liquid and gurgling and sloshing around inside his sick belly like some sick acidic potion in a beaker.
The bacterial, chemical disaster inside of him is getting worse, and worse, and worse. The slow-brewing storm isnât a storm anymore, itâs a hurricane, and itâs getting worse with every passing minute.
The contents of his belly are fermenting. He can feel it, especially the way that the fizzy, bloated pressure of the lactose absolute refuses to digest and instead sits in him like a sticky, heavy rock, churning up gas the longer it sits there. His intestines stretch to accommodate the uncomfortable gas, twisting his guts into tighter, more painful knots. They force out a heavy, painful fart, and he moans, burying his face in his arm, hunching over the toilet again.
âYou okay?â Luke asks, as if the answer could possibly be yes.
Riley feels like heâs going to be sick from both ends, but he canât move. Not even a little bit. His nausea is rising and sinking at the same time, slow and hot and steady. It climbs up the back of his throat and sinks down through his lower belly. It feels like itâs pumping out of his stomach in both directions, and his stomach spasms, lurching in both directions, contracting sickly as his mouth floods with saliva.
âIâm going to be sick,â Riley whimpers. âFuck, Iâm going to be sickââ
He belches, cutting himself off. It tears up from the pit of his belly, and a heartbeat later, his body forces out another fart that makes his stomach audibly gurgle.
âOkay, up, get up,â Luke instructs him. He hauls him up with an arm underneath his, forcing him to sit on the toilet while he shoves the bathroomâs trash can between his thighs. âJesus, what the hell is going on inside you? Is that really all you ate?â
Riley belches heavily again, tasting salami and coffee and cheese. âYeah.â
âYou feel like you ate an entire Thanksgiving dinner,â Luke comments, rubbing his hand over Rileyâs bloated, bare, exposed belly, now that his pants have been tugged down and he can push his scrub top up. âDid you eat one sandwich or one hundred?â
Again, Riley burps, his stomach gurgling ominously inside of him. He whimpers as another burp tries to come up but he swallows it down, though he doesnât know why.
Well, he does. He doesnât want to do this, doesnât want to lose control, but he doesnât think he has a choice.
âItâs okay,â Luke promises him, rubbing his back, still at his side despite how disgusting he is. âJust let it happen. Youâll feel so much better once itâs all out of you.â
âIâm sorry,â Riley whines. âThis is so grossââ
âHey, youâre a doctor, Iâm a doctor,â Luke stops him. âWeâve seen it all. You just gotta do whatever will make you feel better, thatâs the whole point. Okay?â
Riley hesitates. Then he agrees, âOkay.â
âOkay.â Luke thumps him between the shoulders, forcing another deep belch out of him. âGet it up, babe. Come on.â
Riley tries to bear down, or force up another belch, but his stomach just wonât release.
And it wonât stop gurgling.
Itâs non-stop, and itâs loud, itâs cartoonishly and humiliatingly loud. Something protests in his guts, and then his belly starts up all over again, groaning and bubbling and popping like itâs a boiling cauldron beneath his ribs, filled with potions and chemicals that arenât meant to interact. As he clutches his belly, he can feel the bubbling continue in his belly, a burbling that pushes against his palms and makes audible pops and groans as he feels and sees it ripple under his hands.
âFuck,â Riley complains, leaning forward, arms wrapped around his belly as it continues gurgling like a pot of soup, chunky and wet and thick. âShit, I think the cheese is blocking me up. It wonât stop gurgling inside me.â
âYeah, it sounds like that,â Luke agrees. His hand comes forward, rubbing slow circles over the front curve of his bloated belly, just over his belly button. Another desperate gurgle churns up, bubbling just under his hand in a way that Luke can feel, and Rileyâs hand shoots out to grip the edge of the sink next to him, whimpering through it. âShit. Howâd that feel?â
âBad,â Riley confesses. Something gurgles in his exact center. It should be too deep for Luke to feel, but it works its way out to the front of his tummy before going down and coming out as a sick, strange fart that turns his bowels and stomach all at once, bubbling yet again. âFuckââ
âLet it up,â Luke encourages him.
âIâm trying,â Riley snaps at him. He doesnât mean to be short-tempered, but he feels so sick he canât help it. His lower belly keeps rumbling so much, too much, itâs so bloated and keeps forcing through little bubbling pops and it feels like he should be able to get everything out, but he just canât do it. He just feels so full and uncomfortable andâ
And still, he just canât get it out.
âHeyââ Luke starts, crouching next to him, rubbing into Rileyâs stomach more firmly, but he forces up a heavy belch that makes Riley surge forward over the trash. Nothing comes up, ultimately, and he burps again, his belly churning heavily inside of him, noisy and throbbing and audible.
âOh, shit,â Riley complains. âI needâ I need to get it out, whyâ why wonât it come outââ
âItâs okay,â Luke assures him, calm as patient as always, even as a sharp, stabbing cramp seizes Rileyâs gut and makes it gurgle audibly, thick and moving under Lukeâs palm. âDonât fight it. Just listen to your body. You know what your bellyâs trying to do, youâre a doctor. So, let it do it. You know what the point is. It needs to get rid of whatâs making it sick.â
Heâs right, and Riley tries to process this. He is right. If this were his patient, he would know that this much belly movement and gut involvement and belching and farting and illness would indicate that something indigestible is upsetting his patientâs insides, and once it came out, they would start to feel better. Itâs just harder when itâs his own stomach, fighting against what he chose to eat, rippling noisily under his own hands.
Riley groans as another gurgle pushes through him. He presses down harder on his belly, hoping that he can move somethingâ the gas, the upset contents, the churning spoiled food, anything. He just needs it to start happening and stop sitting there being so sick.
âItâs right there,â Riley tells him. âI feel so full, I justâ Itâs all right there and I feel so full and I just want it to come out.â
âYeah, I know,â Luke says. âYouâre all backed up. Itâs probably the bag of cheese, babe.â Riley groans, tasting it and feeling it all at once, gluing his insides together. âYeah, thatâs it, I think. That sandwich was shit for you and then the cheese just plugged you right up. Your gut wants to get rid of whatâs making it sick, but it canât. You overloaded your system, likeâ like youâre a clogged drain.â
Riley certainly feels like a clogged drain. He even sounds like one, his belly bubbling in the same way a clogged drain would, burbling heavily right in the pit and forcing its way up.
His belly lets out another long, rolling gurgle, like a bottle of soda abruptly turned upside-down and made to glug all over the ground. Riley moans low in his throat, clutching his swollen belly. His lower tummy and intestines churn, desperate to empty themselves, gassy and swollen and so bloated that he canât stand it. Thereâs so much motion inside his tummy, muscles throbbing with peristalsis, his gut wanting and trying and begging to clear itself out, but it just keeps hitting the thick, gluey wall he stuffed inside himself.
The gas builds, and builds, and builds, and only occasionally forces itself out in a deep fart or a wet belch. Otherwise, it refuses to release, even when Riley tries to bear down to force something out of his body.
All he gets is this weird, wet, crackling gurgle that surges through his lower belly and a sharp, painful cramp that twists his stomach like a knife.
âFuck,â he pants. Rocking forward, he admits, âI canât. I canât get it up, I canât, it feels like it should be moving, butââ His stomach groans loudly, churning before it bubbles and pops near the crest of his belly, and he moans as he tries to rub at the protesting, swollen swell. âIt just wonât move out. It just keeps moving inside of me.â
Luke lays a steady palm against his back, right in the center, grounding him. âYouâre okay. Just breathe.â
No, he is not okay. He is a disasterâ or, at least, his stomach is a disaster.
The bag of shredded cheese is clogging him up, filling his guts like a long, heavy lump of congealed glue, and the sandwichâ Oh, fuck, the sandwich is fermenting in his belly just above it, unable to move through him, the spoiled meat and off vegetables and warm mayo bubbling inside of him, fizzing and popping and rotting in real time. Every two seconds, it feels like, another sick-slick gurgle rolls through his stomach and either moves up or down, bringing with it either a deep, choking burp or a wet, sour fart, everything heavy with stomach acid and illness.
His body fights itself from both directions, and Riley is the one losing.
And his belly is raging.
As he sits there, trying to rub and soothe it, it growls at him, furious at what heâs done to it. In its churning, it feels like it roars at him, thundering like the storm it is inside of him. He shifts, forcing up another burp, and his belly glorps, glugging like a clogged drain, every piece of his digesting system screaming at him to be emptied.
However, he is locked down far too tight. He is like a locked pressure cooker, nausea churning up more and more heavily, something sick and loud squelching across and through his belly in a squeal.
His mouth fills with saliva that he has to swallow down thickly. His belly churns, protesting even that joining the contents in there. âLuke, Iâ I donât feel good.â
Understatement of the century.
âI know,â Luke tells him. âGet it up. Itâll be so much better.â
Riley closes his eyes, dizziness and disorientation surging. It feels like heâs floating halfway out of his body, woozy and weird; his body is clammy, flushed, pale all over, and his muscles keep tensing, especially in his abdomen as he gags and his belly gurgles loudly, filling the hospital bathroom and echoing.
âLet it go, honey,â Luke encourages him, rubbing his belly harder. It seems like he pauses for a second before heâs reaching out to vigorously rub his stomach, so hard and forceful that a heavy belch rips out of him, loud and upset and making his nausea furious. âCome onââ
Riley forces his hands away, another burp rocketing up so hot and thick that it burns inside of him. His belly squelches in the center, a non-stop mess of indigestion and nausea, and he belches again, a deep, gagging heave following that forces his body to curl forward over the trash bin.
Another belch comes up.
And another.
And another.
Theyâre getting worse, heavy and disgusting and churning up the storm in his belly. His ass clenches, and he wraps his arms around his belly with a groan.
His next retch is wet, painful, so loud and violent that it echoes off the bathroom tiles. His belly clenches mercilessly, forcing another loud gurgle through it as it tries to do something, but it canât do anything. The cheese and sandwich and coffee are just tearing him up inside. Thereâs no way heâs actually going to process anything inside of him right now; it has to come out.
Riley gags again, and a mouthful of something comes up. He spits into the trash can, gag reflex making him belch sickly, but itâs not much. Itâs just discolored froth and thick saliva.
God, his stomach just wonât stop gurgling. The nausea is relentless, loud and messy and wet-sounding, like a pot of soup boiling over inside his belly. Each noise rolls over the last one, sloshing and churning deep inside him and rumbling up to echo off the bathroom tiles as Riley attempts to breathe through them.
Attempting to shift and find a position that doesnât make everything worse, Riley finds this is impossible. Everything feels worse. His abdomen is so swollen with indigestion, bubbling with gas, churning with sick overfull undigested food and plugged up with the stupid amount of lactose he ate. His guts are making so much noise it sounds like thereâs something alive inside of him, fizzing and bubbling and trying to claw its way out, making its displeasure known.
He can feel what Luke was telling him now. He can feel what the cheese is doing to him. All that heavy lactose that he ate so fast is just sitting undigested in his belly like the powder keg it is, clogging him up so bad itâs forcing the sluggish mess of his spoiled sandwich and stale coffee to ferment more than it ever would otherwise. He can almost feel the chemical reactionâ fuck, he can feel his own colon, attempting to fight against stomach contents it was never meant to digest. In return it releases gas and fluid and fire and all Riley can do is suffer.
His digestive system is still trying so hard to work overtime and contain the damage.
Itâs failing.
A thick wave of nausea creeps higher in his throat like a rising floodwater, slow and heavy and inescapable. His belly lurches, a low twisting clench that forces him forward. A shaky breath escapes him as his stomach grumbles again, a loud churn that bubbles inside of him and ripples his bare belly in a visible way from the outside.
âRiley, honey, youâre so pale,â Luke murmurs.
âI feel like Iâm gonnaââ Riley starts before a belch rips out of him, his stomach gurgling so loudly itâs nearly louder than his actual burp. âOh, fuck, I feel like Iâm going to explode, but I canât, Iâm justâ Fuck, Iâm so bloated, I feel so sick, I canât, I canât, Lukeââ
His stomach gives a loud, gloppy slosh, and then a deep blorp that feels so painful that itâs almost offended. His belly twists in slow motion before his intestines rumble, another gassy swirl pushing through it and making him groan loudly as his belly groans the same way, if not even louder.
Really, heâs not even bloated anymore. Itâs bloating, yes, but itâs more than that too. Itâs the kind of internal storm that can only be a punishment. He had known the sandwich had tasted a little off, he had known dairy hates him, he had known that eating that much cheese and drinking that much coffee and eating a sandwich like that might do something, but he didnât care. It didnât seem like it could happen to him, and he had been hungry and stupid and running on three hours of sleep and half a brain cell. He has eaten things like this before; surely heâd be fine and be able to digest it.
He canât.
He couldnât.
And now, heâs paying the price.
His stomach growls again, snarling like thunder, deeper than any gurgle heâs endure before now. It takes a longer time, too, and feels like it starts in the base of his throat before it rolls through his belly to the pit and through his intestines. It ends with a frothy, fizzling churn low in his gut, between his hips, in the pit of his stomach, like someone shook a bottle of soda and cracked the seal and is waiting for something to happen.
âI think itâs justâ fermenting inside of me,â Riley gasps. He whimpers through the next gurgle. Itâs medicinal of him to say. âI feel likeâ I can feel the fermentation. The gas building up, theââ
He belches, everything inside of him proving to be incompatible with his system. Nothing is willing to sit right, struggling to digest inside of him, making him feel bloated and full like his stomach has a heavy balloon full of cement inflating inside. The pressure is too much and wonât ease or release no matter how he moves or how much he belches or farts. A rolling, uneasy queasiness rumbles through his belly, gurgling loudly. Itâs almost like carsickness, the unsteady and strange nausea bubbling through him, churning up his tummy so loudly that he feels like he needs to keep burping, even if it isnât helping. Everything is fermenting so sickly that each belch is sour and unpleasant and thick; the longer the food just churns up in his belly, the more it tries to digest, and the more acidic and nauseating it becomes. He feels sluggish and sick and strange as he belches again.
It all tasted okay going down, but it feels horrible now that itâs inside of him. His belly is gurgling so loudly, bubbling that sounds like heâs a broken washing machine on spin cycle. All the cheese in him fermented too fast and gurgles too much, while the salami clogs him up and the coffee speeds him up all at once. Thereâs too much inside of him, and too many noises as his belly tries and fails to digest.
The volume is a problem. He mixed up too many things, too many dense and hard-to-digest foods consumed at once. His digestive system is working overtime and still failing, rumbling through his intestines and trying to get everything out in the most miserable of ways.
Another sour belch bursts out of him. The immense bloating and pressure in his belly, especially in his upper tummy, wonât go away. In fact, the queasiness only increases, at the same time his stomach noises do.
Heâs a doctor. He knows whatâs happening: indigestible lactose is untouched by any digesting enzymes in his belly, itâs meeting his gut flora, and itâs fermenting in real time. The salami he ateâ and the bacteria and fungi that were clearly attached to itâ are breaking down inside of him, releasing acids and gases and toxins. His digestion is slowed to a crawl because of it and the sheer amount of cheese inside of him, making him feel bloated and queasy and nauseated.
The coffee couldâve helped in another situation. But right now, when his belly is attempting to deal with so much already, that much acid is upsetting things so much worse. He can feel his colon inside of him as his belly gurgles again, a loud and thunderous sound before he groans. He feels something popping deep in his belly, and he leans forward, clutching his stomach, feeling the intense bloating and cramping rumbling inside of him as things get pushed through him undigested.
The coffee is amplifying the fermentation and noises already happening inside him, like giving his belly a megaphone as it gurgles and churns louder this time. He groans, clutching his belly, and doubles over his own lap.
Fuck, his belly is so loud.
A huge, rumbling blorp rolls across his lower belly. Itâs followed immediately by another audible, heavy slosh, and then a drawn-out warbling gurgle that sounds like a clogged drain tying to empty, gargling around a stuffed pipe.
And it hurts.
Riley grabs his stomach, his belly feeling and looking so round and swollen with stomach upset and unreleased gas that itâs like a balloon about to burst. Pressing his hand just below his navel, a bloated ache radiates out, pulsing waves of nausea and discomfort following.
His nausea is all he can focus on. His throat feels tight, his mouth waters, and his stomach gives a high-pitched glug. Itâs followed by a loud, roiling churn that sends ice water through his veins in a sudden freezing chill.
âOkay, let it up,â Luke encourages as another enormous growl tears through Riley. Itâs thick and wet, like something shifting beneath the surface of a murky swamp, bubbling just the same way. His stomach clenches, then sloshes, a full-body heave rolling through him as he belches into the trash can between his legs.
âHelp me,â Riley begs. âPleaseâ Help meââ
Luke doesnât hesitate, pressing his hands into Rileyâs belly, trying to force something up. His angry stomach protests, and he inhales deeply, trying to swallow down air to force up another belch. He inhales the scents of sweat and bathroom bleach and his own belching, the phantom taste of his sandwich thick in the back of his throat, and it forces him to retch again.
Still, it doesnât bring anything up. Itâs just another horrible burp that makes his belly rumble, all wet and all awful. He hiccups.
âFuck,â he moans. His stomach gurgles in agreement, a thick and drawn-out continuous glorping that sounds like a thick potion being stirred. He coughs and gags, the pressure swelling and forcing up another burp before his stomach gurgles, fizzling like an opened and shaken soda can.
His nausea no longer comes in waves, but exists now as a constant rising tide. It is everywhere and everything, and he burps again before his belly roars, wet and urgent and giving him a warning.
âI thinkââ he manages before he burps again, his stomach gurgling right in the center, foaming up. âLukeââ
His body lurches forward of its own accord, and another bubbling retch rips out of him, forcing up a mouthful of sour spit. His stomach sloshes, but refuses to let anything out; every sound is thick and wet and gurgling and horrible and unfinished.
âCome on,â Luke encourages him. âJust let it out. Yââ
âIâm trying,â Riley insists. âIââ
Another loud gurgle from his belly cuts him off, so loud and so thick and so wet that they both freeze. Rileyâs eyes are wide, and he can feel that both ends want to let go at the same time.
His lower belly cramps hard, his muscles all twitching at once. At the same time, his upper belly churns up a gurgle, and he belches, shivering. âI canâtâ I canât hold itââ
âDonât hold it,â Luke encourages him. âJust let it happen.â
Riley belches again, leaning forward over the trash can. His belly actually heaves, both inside of him and physically visible from outside. Another thick belch burbles out of him, his whole belly sloshing, every moment wet. With his next deep, brassy belch, something shifts behind his ribs, and he feels something loosen.
Every muscle in Rileyâs belly quivers, clenching hard against the storm thatâs trying to release itself and escape him. He lets out a small, broken whimper as he belches again, wet and gagging.
Fuck, his stomach sounds so horrific, churning like boiling soup, so loud and frothy and furious. Thereâs no rhythm or reason to it anymore, itâs just an unpredictable mess, overlapping layers of groans and pops and sloshes and glorps and glurks that seem to rise up from the depths of his belly and crash against each other. The sounds overlap and echo through his belly, storming like thunder.
Suddenly, thereâs a harder, deeper soundâ a wet blorp that seizes his whole belly, from his throat to his ass, and rumbles his belly so significantly that a ripple surges visibly through it, under his hand and Lukeâs.
âJesus,â Luke comments just as Riley stiffens.
Another sharp, wet squelch erupts from Rileyâs lower belly. He doubles forward, arms wrapped around his gurgling stomach, and he whimpers, âLukeâ Lukeâ Fuck, Iâ I canât keep it downâ Itâs not sitting right, I canât keep it down, I canât, itâs gonna come back upââ
Lukeâs hands are steady on his back, grounding and warm, comforting even through the sticky sweat of sickness on him. âHey, itâs okay. Just breathe. Donât fight it, let it up. It doesnât want to stay down, thatâs why you donât feel good. Itâs not sitting right because youâre not meant to digest it. Let it come out.â
Riley belches heavily again, thick and long, tasting salami and cheese and coffee so thickly that he canât help the sick, strange, gagging burp that follows. His stomach churns in a hollow, deep way, and he farts, clutching his belly.
Itâs too much. His whole belly is so heavy and taut and it aches, so filled with sick contents and squelching gas and hard pressure that wonât come out. His belly groans loudly, squealing and glorping, like something trapped inside of it is alive and trying to claw its way out. His nausea deepens, surges, and he gags, then retches, a fiercely wet heave that curves his body over the trash can again.
His whole body contorts, and he belches again, tugging in the back of his throat. His stomach wonât stop gurgling as he feels more and more nauseated, and as that nausea grows more persistent and overwhelming. The lactose in his gut remains undigested because he just cannot digest it. Instead, it ferments, making him so gurgly and bloated and uncomfortable while his digesting system is already working overtime to deal with the negative consequences of everything he ate.
His storming belly rumbles, growling way too loudly as it decides itâs going to force everything up. A long, low churn glugs through his belly, the soupy swamp of contents inside bubbling and burbling as he belches and feels the storm inside him actually swirl. When he belches again, his gassy insides fizzle, a loud roar thundering through him before he belches again. The sound gargles through his intestines and sloshes through his tummy, fighting against everything he ate: the sandwich that was definitely out too long and past its prime, the entire bag of cheese that refuses to digest and makes his stomach so noisy and upset, the black coffee that is making everything slimy-slick and horribly gassy inside of him.
Another horrible burp comes up, and another, and another. He canât stop them, and they refuse to be stopped as he spits up another mouthful of thick, weird saliva into the trash can.
âGet it up,â Luke encourages again. âThatâs it, come on.â
It doesnât feel like Riley has a choice. His upset belly is making him feel more nauseated than he ever has before, loud and messy and unstoppable. It releases another cavernous, horrible, loud glorp of a sound before it feels like everything inside of him actually just breaks apart.
His stomach clenches hard, gurgling loudly, and then everything gives.
A sharp, wet noise erupts from his ass. Itâs hot and sudden and humiliating, but itâs also such a release of pressure that he canât help but sob through it. His bowels release, burning liquid pouring out of him as he doubles forward with an immense surge of nausea and gags, spitting up a thin wave of vomit that tastes far too much like salami.
Itâs too much. The dual sensation of his body emptying from both ends at once is overwhelming. Thereâs too much pressure, too much movement, too much pain, too much relief, too much misery.
âFuckâ Iâm sorryââ Riley pants before he hiccups and belches up his first real wave of vomit. His voice sounds wrecked and watery as another burst erupts from below, feeling like heâs vomiting from his mouth and his ass at the same time.
âHey, nope, none of that, donât apologize,â Luke insists. His arm slides around Rileyâs waist while his other hand comes to his belly again, stroking across the front of his swollen tummy slow and steady. âYouâre okay. Itâs just food poisoning. Youâll be okay once itâs out. I got you.â
The pressure of his hand on Rileyâs belly makes him belch again. Now that his body has agreed to let everything go, his tummy clenches again, and another wave of nausea forces him forward. He burps up a small mouthful of vomit, then retches, bringing up a huge wave of cheese and salami and mayo and coffee, half-digestedâ and the other half releases in liquid form from the other end, absolutely loosening and emptying out of him as he belches again and sobs.
He can barely hear Luke. Everything is the roar of blood in his ears and the gurgle of his stomach inside of him. Itâs all hot and wet and heavy as he shakes. Every inch of him feels so sick and sour and the slop inside of him cascades out from both ends, and he belches again before a wet fart forces more out, miserable.
And even through it all, his stomach wonât stop roiling. It just keeps gurgling the entire time, punctuated by these miserable, suffering gurgles and weird churning squelches. His stomach forces up a continuous stream of sick from between his lips, while from the other endâ wet, loose liquid forces out of him, while unpredictable and throbbing cramps wrack his lower belly and force everything out in one way or another.
He loses track of time. All there is is his belly churning and forcing something out one way, or another, or both. By the time he can actually take a breath, heâs covered in sweat, the bathroom smells horrible, the trash can is full, heâs panting for air, and his belly is still loudly and audibly churning. His mouth tastes acidic, his skin is damp, and his bellyâ
Well, his stomach isnât like it was.
Before, it had been hard and rounded out and swollen with how much was in it. Now, itâs softened, some of whatâs inside of it out nowâ
âBut it doesnât feel like everything.
Despite how much Riley just was forced to expel from his system, it feels like heâs still full. Whatever is making him sick is doing a number on him, because his soft, grumbling belly keeps gurgling, still uneasy despite how much it has just erupted out of itself.
âOkay,â Luke whispers. A cold washcloth presses to the back of his neck. âYouâre okay. Itâs all done now.â
Riley swallows thickly, slumping backwards. âI donâtââ He burps, his hand coming up over his mouth, weak and slow. âUgh. I donât feel okay.â
âYou will.â Luke kisses this cheek, then brings the washcloth around to wipe over his face. It feels so nice and cool, and Riley closes his eyes with a sigh and a tilt into his hand.
Another faint glorp rumbles through Rileyâs gut. His tummy churns with an audible squelch, rumbling just under his hand where it rests over his navel, and he groans, pathetic, as his stomach gurgles with renewed queasiness.
âNot yet,â he mutters, miserable.
âNo, not yet,â Luke agrees. âSoon, though. Just let it all up.â
Riley laughs a little before he groans, rubbing his hand over his stomach as slow and steady as he can. Itâs not really doing anything, and itâs not even that easy to do. His arms feel limp and jellied, every inch of him totally wrung out, hollow and sore and weakâ
âExcept his stomach.
His stomach is the only part of him that doesnât feel hollow. It still feels way too full, and it wants him to know this, refusing to stop making noise even after he feels like it should be totally emptied out.
As it turns out, his belly isnât anywhere close to being emptied out.
Despite how much heâs just shit out and thrown up, his stomach churns on, bubbling and squelching like there is still something living inside of him that is fighting to escape. It is probably something aliveâ something fermented, somethingâ something bad, mold or fungi or something that thinks it can live inside of him, because thatâs the only explanation for how ferocious his belly feels. Something must be trying to destroy him; thereâs no other explanation.
The pressure is different, shifting. Heâs able to get the gas out now, and cannot stop burping. Each belch seems to release some of the pressure and air, which should be helping, but instead he only feels sicker and more nauseated with every burp. His stomach without gas is only motion and movement, churning unsteadily, fizzling shifts of acidic liquid and fermenting cheese and sick sandwich swishing through his gut with the sick air. Now that heâs emptier, everything is louder, too much space for even more sounds.
Beside him, Luke readjusts his crouch, then puts his hand on Rileyâs bare belly again, stroking slowly. The noise beneath his hand is immediate and awful, a churning glorp and squelch that he can feel rippling under his palm before it gurgles downwards into a burble in his lower guts that squeals and then pops loudly, making Riley groan with a wave of queasiness and another gurgle in the center of his stomach.
Riley lets out a helpless, nauseated whine.
âIâm not done,â Riley gasps. âIâm not done, Iâm gonna be sick again, I feel so sickââ
âItâs okay,â Luke lies, because how can this possibly be okay? âYour bodyâs just trying to get it all out. Thatâs a good thing. Get it out, itâs okay. I got you.â
Riley belches again, clutching the trash can once more. His own vomit is cooling in the bottom, and the sight and smell makes him gag again, another loose torrent releasing from his other end in the process.
âUgh, I hate this,â Riley groans. âI feel like a broken faucet.â
âTwo broken faucets,â Luke corrects. Riley belches weakly again, glaring sideways at him as he spits thick saliva into the can. âOr two erupting volcanoes. This is apocalyptic.â
Riley would laugh if he could. Instead, he retches againâ sudden and violent, gagging, no warningâ and belches up another wave of watery vomit into the can. His shoulders shudder, and the next belch comes fast, his belly churning loudly as it squeezes up a mouthful of mucus and foam and vomit.
His stomach twists around the sick remains inside, and he sobs hoarsely before he heaves again. Another deep cramp seizes his lower belly, thick tension that coils low, and he groans.
âNo, no, noââ he whispers before his stomach squelches. He can feel exactly where every organ in his body isâ his stomach, his intestines, his colonâ and he vomits into the trash can at the same moment that his other end releases, splattering wetly and embarrassingly. It feels like every hole he has is streaming something, and he sobs through it, his stomach convulsing as it tries to empty itself in every direction. His bowels cramp, and his stomach gurgles, and messy, loose, seemingly endless waves fall out of his mouth and his ass all at once.
He doesnât even have the strength to apologize anymore; all he can do is let it happen. At least Luke just holds him, calm and patient and kind, not asking for any apology or even seeming to comment on how gross it all is. He just keeps telling him heâs okay, even though itâs obviously not true, until his body gives up on emptying itself.
Eventually, the cramps and spasms and convulsions slow.
The gurgling doesnât actually stop. His belly keeps making these soft, horrible, miserable soundsâ these fluttering kind of glorp noises followed by these long squelches of trapped gas and these loud, thundering churns of the little that remains inside his storming tummyâ but the violent, projectile expulsions do slow down into trembling and gags and the occasional heavy fart or belch that doesnât become more anymore.
Riley slumps backwards, head lolling, trying to catch his breath. Tears cling to his eyelashes.
âSorry,â he croaks, voice raw and rough. The effort of talking nauseates him, and he closes his eyes as another belch rolls up, his stomach gurgling. He puts one hand over his soft, rumbling belly, stroking back and forth slow and steady, trying to soothe whateverâs left in there. âFuck. That was⊠Fuck.â
âYeah, it was.â Luke kisses his temple. âYouâre okay now. Wanna clean up and lay down?â
Riley considers the state of himself. âI think Iâm dead.â
âYouâre not,â Luke informs him. âYour bellyâs gurgling too loudly for you to be a ghost. You wouldnât get away with it.â
Riley huffs a laugh, weak and wet, and it makes him burp. The belch is long and thick and nauseous, and he groans, his hand digging in a little harder as he rubs his belly.
âDonât make me laugh, I donât feel good,â Riley complains. âFuck. I feel so sick still. How do I still feel so sick?â
âBecause you are still sick,â Luke comments. He wipes sweat away from Rileyâs forehead, vomit away from his mouth. âYouâre not going to magically heal once itâs out. Your body suffered for way too long. Itâs trying to fix what that mess did to it.â He dabs at his chin. âWhat were you thinking, by the way? That much black coffee, a bag of shredded cheese, and one of those slimy salami sandwiches from the caf? Whatâs wrong with you?â
Riley groans, his stomach gurgling in protest, squeezing his eyes shut harder. âUgh, and it was so soggy. I should have known.â
His stomach rumbles loudly, a thunderous gurgle like it echoes the regret heâs feeling. Thereâs another sensation like heâs a clogged drain, the sound deep and restless and twisting. Thereâs a sudden pop, then a slosh deep in his gut, the queasiness brewing back up and gurgling to distract him. A low rumble rolls through him, then another, then another, before theyâre overlapping in a newly relentless symphony of wet churns, gurgles, groans echoing out of him, rumbling through his tummy like an overboiling cauldron, despite the fact that he should be empty.
âFuck,â he groans again as his stomach bucks, protesting every bite he swallowed earlier. Another sharp pang stabs in his lower gut, the cramp followed by a long, rumbling, ominous squelch that sounded like someone slowly stirring macaroni and cheese inside his belly.
âOh, that sounded awful,â Luke comments. âWhat the hell is still in there? âCause whatever it is is not sitting right, it wants out.â
Riley absolutely knows this already, rubbing harder at his belly as a sloppy, deep blorp burbles up from deep inside of him. Sweat prickles along his temples again and his belly rumbles so loudly he almost doesnât even hear Lukeâs comment.
Another vicious gurgle rolls through him like thunder as he attempts to speak. When he can talk, he tells him, âI donâtâ I donât feel good, Iâm gonna be sick againââ and then belches heavily.
âItâs okay,â Luke promises him. It canât be true, but he still promises. Riley feels the pressure increasing in his belly again, so he shifts, and he feels everything inside of him shift at the same time. His stomach gurgles, and a deep bworp rumbles up out of it as his belly churns and sloshes angrily at the movement.
Riley stiffens, his hand stilling as he clutches his soft, rumbling belly.
âNo, no, no,â he mumbles. âOh, noââ
Another cramp tightens his lower belly, and his tummy growls so loudly he can feel it through his ribs. His whole body starts shaking, all of him sweating again, and he farts, and he belches loudly, but his body wonât release again. He retches softly, though nothing comes up; his stomach flutters inside of him, then rumbles loudly, squelching in the lower pit, like itâs deciding still whether or not itâs actually done.
Itâs a few minutes of this with nothing productive happening before Riley slumps. Looking up at Luke, he asks, âCan we go home?â
âCan you make it home?â he asks.
Riley considers this, then shakes his head.
âOn-call room it is,â Luke tells him.
He helps him up. To his credit, he helps clean him up, and wash himself down with cloths and the sink, and then rinse his mouth. Itâs all disgusting. And yet, Luke doesnât flinch. He just helps him through it all before helping him out of the bathroom and to the bed in the on-call room.
Cleaning up helps a little, but not that much. It definitely doesnât help his nausea, though. His stomach protests through the whole thing, gurgling wet and sharp and loud through the whole process. Still, it makes him feel more like a person and less like a leaking meat sack to be clean and redressedâ and Luke even helps wash his hair for him in the sink, and doesnât comment when he leans forward to get rinsed and his stomach churns so loudly it sounds like heâs about to shit himselfâ which he miraculously does not.
By the time Luke is helping Riley collapse into the thin single cot in the on-call room, heâs cleaned and dried and wearing one of Lukeâs sweatshirts. Itâs too small for him, but he likes how it smells, and he keeps burying his face in it as he curls up on his side in bed with a groan.
As he lays down, his belly rumbles loudly, and so he curls around it, winding both arms around his belly. It gurgles again, a loud squelch forcing through it, and itâs just so loud. Itâs so embarrassingly loud, itâs justâ not quiet little gurgles or demure digestion, but a full, loud storm, even still now. His stomach glugs and churns like a washing machine full of cement and a bunch of bricks, heavy and messy and horrible even after heâs theoretically emptied himself out. These wet, sloppy sounds keep sloshing through his belly, followed by high, squeaking fizzes of gas that shift through his gut like his intestines are carbonated and boiling near his belly.
When he turns his head into the pillow, his body forces up another belch, deep and wet, and he tightens his grip on his soft, rumbling belly.
âFuck,â he groans. âWhy is it still doing that?â
Luke sits on the edge of the bed, running his hand through Rileyâs hair before he coaxes him to lay on his back.
âBecause you ate a spoiled sandwich and washed it down with a gallon of acid and a dairy bomb,â Luke reminds him. âThatâs some fucked-up math, babe. Your stomach is not gonna be able to solve that problem.â
Riley whines, dragging his arm up over his face, his other hand slipping beneath his stolen sweatshirt to rub at his churning belly. Luke eases his hand under the sweatshirt too, pushing it up slightly and laying his warm, broad palm against his belly. His stomach is still swollen, bloated and rumbling and hot to the touch; as Luke leaves his hand there, he can feel another gurgling churn ripple through him, so violent itâs like a burbling wave he can actually touch.
âJesus, thatâs horrible,â Luke comments. âAre you still feeling that sick, sweetheart?â
Riley nods, unable to speak, lips tightening as he swallows thickly and his belly churns loudly again. He can feel himself getting colder and paler; thereâs a pop in the center of his belly before something rumbles and makes his belly contents swirl.
The air is leaving him a bit at a time, but his belly is still so swollen with sickness. Each gurgle visibly shifts beneath his surfaceâ a churn there, a roil there, a glorp there, a gurgle there, a burble there. Luke tries to rub slowly where he sees and feels the most bubbling, his hand firm and grounding. He pushes soft circles just below Rileyâs navel, then right above it, where he can feel a cluster of activity rumbling inside of him.
Riley shifts, curling towards Lukeâs hand, and the movement sends a slosh through his belly like a thick stew slopping against the sides of a pot. He belches, and his belly squelches before releasing a long, low, ominous groan.
âGod, it feels like thereâs an actual storm in there,â Luke murmurs. Rileyâs belly lets out a high-pitched squeal just to the right of his navel, and so he presses gently there. He earns a rumble and a deep belch that makes Riley gag.
âI do have a storm in me,â Riley tells him. âIt feels like thereâs a fucking hurricane in my belly and it just wonât stop.â
His stomach gurgles loud and thick as if in agreement, and Riley closes his eyes again, trying to breathe through the wave of nausea that follows.
âStill feeling sick?â Luke asks unnecessarily.
âMm-hmm.â Riley nods, then whispers, âItâs bad.â His hand comes up to rest on the rumbling, bloated swell just over his navel, above Lukeâs hand. âItâs likeâ Itâs all right here, but there shouldnât be anything left inside of me.â
Another loud, sudden groan ripples through him, and he moans, rolling onto his side again, grabbing Lukeâs hand and pushing it harder into his belly like itâll help.
âI still feel gassy and nauseous,â he admits. His shame is all gone by now. âFuck, just so gassy and nauseous. Itâs like my belly is bubbling.â
Luke keeps rubbing his stomach, trying to ease the worst of the tension with his slow, patient spirals of touch. His shame stays gone with every time Riley burps or farts or his stomach growls in another thunderous snarl, and Luke still doesnât comment. He just keeps rubbing his belly and sitting with him and telling him heâs going to be okay once it all settles.
Eventually, his quiet, calm rubbing feels like it quiets Rileyâs body enough to relax. Not completely, because his belly is still gurgling and bloated and uncomfortable, but his churning is slowing and his heart isnât pounding so badly. His closed eyes are less tormented and more sleepy from the exhaustion of everything heâs just gone through.
Unbeknownst to Riley, as he falls into a restless sleep, his belly keeps making noise. It should be digestingâ Luke was hoping he would hear productive sounds as his belly processed the last that was left in it and worked it out the other end in a healthier, less painful wayâ but it doesnât sound like it is at all. His belly keeps groaning like a thundercloud in the distance, ominous and present and yet not yet arrived.
Luke keeps rubbing his stomach, trying to soothe it.
The room is dark. Itâs quiet.
Except for Rileyâs sick tummy.
It keeps churning, gurgling so loudly that Lukeâs surprised it takes as long as it does for Riley to wake up again. Heâs clearly uncomfortable in his sleep, tossing and turning, his face creased and pale, his hands continuously creeping back to clutch his belly. He belches more than once in his sleep, and occasionally a sick fart slips out; the whole time, his belly keeps gurgling so loudly itâs a shock nobody comes to ask what the sound is in here.
Rileyâs dreams are disorienting, filled with nausea and confusion. Even there, his stomach hurts so badly. Itâs all rolling ships and spinning rooms and swirling nausea before heâs jolting awake, his sleep shattered by a sour wave gurgling through his belly.
âHey, youâre okay,â Luke assures him, his hand still on Rileyâs storming tummy. Riley blinks, confused, and moves to sit up. His stomach lurches upwards with him, and he belches as his stomach gurgles, groaning before a wet squelch tears through his lower belly.
Rileyâs eyes flutter open, and he moans.
His stomach feels so full. Not really with food that much anymore. Most of that has come out of him. But now, heâs filled with nauseating gas, sick fluid, and this awful pressure that feels like something is swelling and living and shifting around in his belly, like his entire digestive system is still scrambling to bring something up after attempting to process something so foul and horrible and indigestible.
He swallows thickly, disoriented in the darkness.
His saliva threatens to come back up.
The second the thick spit hits his belly, it tries to force its way back up, making his stomach growl loudly. He groans, his hands coming back to clutch his stomach, rubbing desperately.
âWhatâs going on?â Luke asks. âDo you need the bathroom again?â
Riley canât manage to talk. All he can do is nod, and the next thing he knows, Luke is taking him by the arm. Itâs too much already, though, and Riley isnât going to make it. He belches, too loud and too deep and too wet, and Luke releases him in favor of scrambling for the trash bin. He manages to get it in front of his pale face, between his shaking hands, just in time for Riley to belch again and bring up a mouthful of bile to spit into the can.
Riley canât even sit up all the way. He collapses sideways onto his side again and heaves, another retch into the can before heâs belching up another violent wave of stomach acid and the little that remains in his belly. He can feel the solid chunks of chewed sandwich his body couldnât digest passing back up, and gags harsher around them, belching up another burst of sick air from his belly.
His lower stomach clenches, and Riley clenches as tight as he can, focusing on keeping everything coming up instead of going down. His stomach growls loudly, storming as it forces more up, as if there is anything more to even get out.
His whole body shakes, trembling with the effort of waking up and vomiting like this. Ropey strands of thick saliva hang from his lips as he gasps into the can, clutching it sideways still, his belly squelching thickly with liquid that sloshes inside of him and yet refuses to come all the way up.
âFuck,â Riley gasps before burping thickly, eyes filled with tears. âFuck, my stomachââ
The stomach in question lets out another loud, gurgling rumble, and he sobs.
âI feel like Iâm gonna explode,â he groans. âItâs all just churning inside me, like itâs justâ I donât know, it just feels like somethingâs boiling, or fuckingâ bubbling, or alive, fuck.â
Luke pushes his hand under Rileyâs stolen sweatshirt and against his bare belly again. His palm presses to the swollen swell and finds it even louder than before, rumbling to the touch under his hand and glugging loudly like a sink trying to drain a thick stew after someone stuffed the pipes with peanut butter. There are these weird rolls of gas sliding under his skin, followed by sharp pops and thick sloshes and long, sloppy, rippling gurgles that make Riley belch again.
âYour bodyâs still trying to process whatâs left, I think,â Luke speculates. âItâs still trying to move through you. Youâll feel a lot better when it all clears out.â
Riley burps again. Itâs wet and sour and thick and he collapses into Lukeâs arms afterwards, his belly grumbling. Luke takes the trash bin away and sets it on the ground, close enough to be grabbed when he inevitably needs it again.
âHow am I still alive?â he whines. âI should be inside-out. I should be dead.â
âYouâre too stubborn to let this kill you.â Luke kisses his temple, and Riley groans, pressing his face into Lukeâs chest just as a long, low churn grumbles through his belly like a rumbling roll of thunder. âJust breathe. Itâs probably over now.â
Riley shifts against him. He does try to breathe through the nausea, focusing on Lukeâs palm heavy and steady and slow as it rubs his bloated, boiling, belly, butâ
But then, something shifts again.
Something deep inside of him feels like it snaps, and his belly rumbles, deep and wet and heavy. A wave of nausea surges through him and makes him scramble upright, wide-eyed as he belches, his hand coming up over his mouth while the other one clutches his rumbling tummy.
âLukeââ he manages before belching again. His voice is strained as he begs, âOh, shitâ Helpââ
He clutches his stomach with both hands now as he doubles over his own belly, trying to get out of bed and yet unable to. A ferocious, twisting cramp shoots through his lower belly, and his tummy roars with a thunderous, sickening, aggressive squelch. It bubbles up from below and rises in his throat all at the same time, and his tummy twists, his entire digestive system pulsing and convulsing, unable to decide which direction to go in first this time.
âOkay,â Luke says, firm and steady. âOkay, come on, letâs go, up with me.â
Luke grabs him under the arms. Even though heâs smaller than Riley, he still manages to get him up to his feet quickly. Itâs all the strength and urgency of a doctor that has him moving him, even when Rileyâs body locks up and his knees wonât work and all his muscles are tense with the effort to not let go.
And still, he fails.
His body forces up a deep, gurgling burp. Itâs followed by another belch that makes his stomach gurgle, before thereâs a noisy, heavy, wet sound erupting from below. Riley whimpers, absolutely mortified, and sprint-stumbles out of Lukeâs arms, out of the on-call room, and into the bathroom just down the hall, slamming the doors behind him.
His stomach lurches once again, heaving violently inside of him. He yanks his scrub pants down, ignoring the mess inside as he plants himself on the toilet just in time for the next disgusting wave. His body lets go in every direction, and Luke isnât fast enough this time. Heâs still scrambling to put the trash bin in front of him when Riley parts his thighs, his stomach gurgles, and he vomits between his own legs into the toilet, hot and liquid and with such force his vision darkens for a moment.
His bowels release once again as soon as Luke puts the trash can in his arms. His insides cramp and spill out from every direction once again, even though there shouldnât be anything left. His body wrings itself out, loud and relentless and gurgling waves pouring out from both ends, and his stomachâ
Fuck, his stomach is just a goddamn mess. Itâs unbearable, the nausea is too much. It churns out loud as he empties himself. Thick, roiling bubbles pop and shift and gurgle deep in his center like something horrible is cooking in there, somethingâ something foul and indigestible and unstoppable. Every time he thinks heâs empty and that there canât possibly be more, his muscles clench and his stomach groans and another wave of nausea hits, and suddenly heâs back to his belly squelching and his ass emptying and his tummy forcing up bile as he sobs into the trash can.
âI canât stop,â Riley mumbles into the trash can. Luke holds him up and doesnât even comment on how horrible this all is, or how disgusting he is, or even how loud his belly is.
Over a stupid sandwich and cheese and coffee. He could almost laugh if he wasnât so sick.
Another horrible sound escapes from him, like a monstrous roll of thunder escaping his belly through his throat.
âOh, fuck, Iâm gonnaââ he manages before heâs vomiting again. Another burbling gush escapes him from below, his belly gurgling and cramping tightly, and he has no control anymore. Itâs all just happening.
âYouâre doing so good,â Luke promises him. âJust let it out. I got you. Itâll end eventually.â
It doesnât feel possible, but it does eventually ease again. Riley doesnât trust it this time though. It eased before, and then he woke up and shit himself. Heâs still belching, still farting, and his belly is still gurglingâ long, wet, sloshing gurglesâ but he doesnât even try to stop it anymore. He just lets it all happen. Itâs inevitable anyway.
âStill alive?â Luke asks him.
âBarely,â Riley replies. He belches again, his voice raw. âExorcise me?â
âLater.â Luke kisses his cheek. âYou done for now? Want help cleaning up?â
Rileyâs face heats up again as he remembers the fact that he literally shit himself. In front of Luke. At work.
âYou donâtââ
âI want to,â Luke stops him. âLet me help, okay?â
Riley nods, allowing Luke to help him sit up again. Itâs a mortifying experience to be cleaned up and helped through changing his clothes, swapped out for scrubs that Luke runs to grab from the next hall, but he does feel better once itâs done.
He can tell his stomach isnât done, though. Through the whole experience, his belly keeps protesting. The loudest, most upset sounds keep crawling through his tummy. It refuses to stop shifting, rumbling non-stop with heavy glorps and grumbles that make Riley stop occasionally to press a hand to his belly and the other to his mouth and breathe until he can move again.
Luke wipes sweatâ and worseâ away, he helps him change, he coaxes him into drinking water, and he holds him up as he brings him back to the on-call room. Riley is trembling, pale, and clammy by the time heâs back at the bed, and he collapses on the small bed with another groan, curling back up on his side.
As predicted, his upset belly gurgles immediately and loudly. Itâs a thick, syrupy glorping that rises and sinks from his center at the same time, filling his tummy and rolling outward with an echoing slosh they can both hear. If Luke had his hand on Rileyâs belly, he would have felt it, too.
âFuck, itâs still going,â Riley mumbles. âWhy wonât it stop?â Luke puts his hand on his stomach, laying down next to him, starting to stroke slowly. âPlease kill me.â
âBut you have such a beautiful orchestra in your belly,â Luke jokes. âIt wouldnât be right.â
Another gurgle churns beneath his palm, followed by a blub-blub-blub that is punctuated by a glorp in his belly, that clogged drain fighting him again. A high, tight squeal of gas squelches through his gut a moment later, and his upper belly joins in, not wanting to be left out, joining with a series of low, hollow rumbles that overlap each other, fizzling and gurgling and making him groan.
Itâs all so loud, embarrassingly loud, and nauseating, and every few seconds thereâs a new gurgling sound. His belly should be empty, and yet it feels like itâs foaming still, gargling with sickness. Air pops inside of it, sick and sloshing; occasionally, it grumbles, a rumbling thunderous groan, and Riley curls up tighter around his own belly.
Through it all, Luke just keeps rubbing his tummy, slow and steady and grounding. âYou just need it to settle. Just work through it, just breathe. Itâll settle.â
âItâs not,â Riley complains, face buried in Lukeâs thigh. âItâs never going to settle. This is the most unsettled anyoneâs stomach has ever been.â A gurgling slurp of a noise echoes through him, and something stirs in his guts, low and heavy. Luke pushes his hand against the active motion and gets a response of a warbling, burbling, fizzy churn that vibrates under his touch. âFuck, it feels like my stomach is fucking brewing something.â
âYeah, you feel like a science experiment,â Luke comments. âLike, did you drink a bunch of potions while I wasnât looking? Because it feels like youâre just full of shit that shouldnât be near each other.â
âClearly.â Riley belches again into Lukeâs thigh. âIâm not an experiment, Iâm a fucking environmental disaster, justâ a bubbling, fermenting, horrible disaster. I can feel everything still⊠Fuck, it feels like itâs moving inside of me.â
As if on cue, his stomach churns, glubbing loudly, followed by a long roll of nauseating gas that works its way through his belly with a loud grumble and out in a squelch and a hiss.
âYour stomach agrees,â Luke comments. It does feel like itâs moving under his hand, itâs so active inside him. âJesus. That canât feel good.â
âIt doesnât.â Riley groans, curling tighter to him. âFuck, I feel carbonated.â
Luke kisses the top of his head. âGo to sleep, my handsome soda fountain.â
âI hate you.â
âNo, you donât.â
ââŠI hate my stomach.â
âNow, that, I believe.â Luke keeps rubbing said stomach, pausing to tap just beneath his navel. âI love it, though. Even when itâs fighting you.â
His belly continues its protests, muscles tense, guts groaning, long squeals of shifting gas overlapping with thick, echoing glugs of fluid and illness trying to move through him, a plugged-up sewer that forces everything left inside to get worse and worse the longer it lingers.
Heâs starting to calm and trying to sleep when his belly gurgles aggressively again.
His stomach has been gurgling this whole time, but this one is different. Itâs wet and rising and feels like something forcing its way up a clogged pipe, wanting to erupt into a sink and fill it with something disgusting and rancid from below. The gurgle builds in his belly, tight and hot and low, spiraling up into his chest, then squelching heavily before the exact center of his stomach churns so aggressively and gurgles so loudly heâs not sure heâs ever heard anything like it before.
âItâs never going to end, is it?â Riley asks, his belly gurgling again. His stomach groans, and he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the nausea. It wonât be ignored.
A long, slow groaning burble rises from deep inside of him. For a moment, he doesnât moveâ he just breathes, setting his hand against his belly, trying to rub where he can feel the gurgling gathering most heavily. His tummy glorps; he tightens his grip; it doesnât help. His belly glorps again, the remains inside turning over themselves.
His belly squelches next, sharp and wet and heavy, and he winces, groaning, turning more closely into Luke.
âFuck,â he whispers into him, his hand digging in just below his ribs, where the nausea throbs most presently. Another roiling churn echoes up from his lower belly, and he can feel it moving through him, like thick sludge sloshing through a too-small pipe. It shifts sharply inside of him, and he moans, closing his eyes tight, swallowing thickly.
Lukeâs hand slides over Rileyâs, then moves higher, rubbing the soft, rumbly swell just above his navel again.
âWhy wonât it stop?â Riley asks quietly. His belly whines, the bloated sound of gas forcing itself through him, right before thereâs a gurgling glug that burbles up from the pit of his stomach. âI sound like a clogged toilet, holy shit.â
âYou sound like you went to hell and back,â Luke comments, continuing to rub slow, even circles over the firm swell of his sick belly. Heâs careful not to press too hard, but Rileyâs nausea is growing again all the same. âWant some water?â
Riley belches, his stomach growling loud and low at the idea of drinking anything. His stomach lurches, and he belches again, thick and sour, before he groans. âNo, thanks. I donât think I can move.â He pauses, then groans again. âFuck. I have another shiftââ
âNo, you donât,â Luke tells him. âI called out for you for the next few days. Once I can get you home and in bed, youâre staying there, you hear me? Youâre gonna let that noisy monster inside you settle.â
Riley wants to protest, but his stomach is doing enough of that for him. He knows heâs useless in his state, so he just nods and lets his head fall back against Lukeâs thigh. His stomach fizzles weakly before it squelches loudly again, and he exhales shakily, closing his eyes once more.
âIâm gonna be sick again,â he says with confident finality. âI can feel it.â He rubs his hand into the churning mass beneath his navel, trying to soothe the storm with slow circles that wonât stop a goddamn thing. âFuck. Iâm never eating here again.â
âMight be the combo of black coffee, cheese bag, and the most disgusting sandwich you couldâve chosen,â Luke reminds him. Riley groans, a deep glorp rumbling through his stomach in a heavy roll as Luke reminds him of what brought him here. âYeah, see? I told you so.â
Riley wheezes a week laugh that forces up an immediate burp. âUghâ Fuck, donât make me laugh. Youâre gonna make me vomit, everythingâs still moving too much.â
âDid you eat anything else?â Luke asks and sounds genuinely curious. âThatâs a lot of movement for what you had.â
âNo, thatâs it today.â Riley swallows thickly.
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Then, Luke asks, âDo you think it would help?â
âWhat?â
âEating more,â he tells him. At Rileyâs alarmed look, he clarifies, âI donât mean another bag of cheese, you dumbass. I meanâ Another sandwich, maybe? Or some toast? Something from the vending machine? Just to help you get it up. Thereâs clearly still something in there that wants to come out and canât, soâŠâ Luke shrugs. âEating should either settle your belly or bring the last of it up. Either way, uhhâ Win-win?â
Riley is skeptical at first, but Luke has a point. He acquiesces and lets him get up and leave for a couple minutes. When he comes back, itâs with a pre-wrapped sandwich from the caf and an apologetic expression.
âNothing better in the break room, I checked,â he tells him, tossing it down between them. Riley makes himself sit up, his stomach gurgling in protest as he does, and picks up the sandwich to read the label: a turkey sandwich with bacon, cheese, and coleslaw. He might like this on a normal day, but right now, his stomach rolls just reading the label. âYou donât have toââ
âNo, I want it to be over,â Riley protests.
He sits up and Luke sits next to him. Theyâre both side-by-side on the cot as Riley unwraps the sandwich and takes a deep breath to steady himself. He inhales the scent of the sandwich, pulling in a deep lungful of bacon and cabbage, and his stomach gurgles so loudly he thinks heâs about to vomit for a second. He doesnât, but itâs a close call.
âGo slow,â Luke tells him.
Riley nods. He holds the sandwich in one hand, his other hand pressing lightly over the grumbling curve of his upset belly, just waiting for the inevitable explosion. He takes a deep breath again, frowning, and holds his breath to take a cautious nibble of the sandwich.
At first, nothing happens. He swallows down the bite, and Luke squeezes him, encouraging.
He takes a second bite.
Nothing happens.
He takes a third bite.
Glorp.
Inside him, his stomach turns over itself, churning audibly as it rumbles, slow and sluggish, like trying to push molasses through a straw.
Closing his eyes, breathing heavily, he rubs his gurgling stomach.
âDonât,â he whispers. âJust stay down, please. Please.â
His stomach rises and falls heavily under his hand, gurgling as another burble rises from deep inside, accompanied by a visible ripple over the top crest of his belly.
âIt didnât feel good,â Riley complains. âOh, fuckâ It moved.â His hand rubs harder at his belly, feeling as if he can feel whatever it is crawling through him, like the bites of his new sandwich are alive inside his belly. âItâs likeâ Itâs like it didnât go down, itâs like itâsââ
He canât finish before he belches. His stomach gurgles again, loud and aggressiveâ and then lower, thereâs a heavier, more ominous burbling, and he shifts on the bed, curling forward, his grip tightening on the sandwich in his hand.
âRiley, you should stop eating that,â Luke warns him.
âNo, itâs working,â Riley insists. His nausea is rising, but thatâs the point, wasnât it? âIt justâ It just reacted so fast, like I fuckingâ swallowed a mouthful of acidâ I feelââ
He belches again, a surge of nausea swelling up so strong that he thinks he might vomit in his lap for a second. His stomach burbles loudly, simmering and shifting, the contents unsettled, and Luke rubs his back.
âDonât force yourself,â Luke tells him. âGive me thatââ
âNo, Iâm gonna⊠Iâm gonna keep going,â Riley insists. He takes another breath, then another bite. Another gurgle tumbles through his sick tummy, and he rubs the rumble he can feel rippling under his hand before he burps around the bite heâs still chewing.
Itâs a bad idea.
He knows itâs a bad idea and he knows it even as heâs doing it. Still, though, Riley chews and swallows anyway.
His whole digestive system protests at once.
His stomach clenches, gurgling so loud and livid that he groans out loud. A bubbling churn follows, a heavy glorping that forces him to drop the sandwich. Luckily Luke catches it and puts it aside just as Rileyâs gagging.
âOh, fuck,â he gasps out, both hands cradling his stomach as it heaves beneath his palms. Luke shoves theâ cleaned-outâ trash bin in front of him again, and he drops his head over it though he doesnât release his belly. He hiccups, his stomach sloshing and swollen and furious with him, before he belches again, deep and wet and heavy.
Luke directs his head forward just in time for Riley to gag.
His whole body tenses, his stomach gurgling loudly before the pressure inside roils up and he vomits up a wet, heavy wave of barely-digested stomach contents. The bites of the sandwich heâd only just swallowed come up first, disgusting and just the same as they just went down, and then theyâre followed by a sudden, massive, liquid release. Too much motion, too much fermentation, too much sickness, too much, too muchâ and not enough mercy, ultimately. The mess that chokes up out of him is thick, half-digested, and just as loud as his gurgling belly, splattering against the bottom of the cleaned-out can as his stomach thunders with another snarl.
âFuck,â he manages to gasp out before another round surges up.
Heâs just lucky that things donât seem to want to go down anymore. Or, at least, nothing has moved through him enough anymore to come out that way. Everything just comes up, and the addition of the sandwich forces his belly to want to purge with purpose, glorping and sloshing and squelching audibly and visibly as it brings up everything heâs eaten since what feels like the day he was born.
Spitting out a mouthful of something thick, he whimpers, then burps again, triggering another wave.
Thenâ
No, no, heâs not lucky.
His lower belly cramps, and he gasps out, âLukeâ Shitââ
His stomach gurgles, pressure dropping so low so fast itâs almost impressive if it wasnât alarming. He rolls off the bed, shoving the bin into Lukeâs hands as he sprints out and manages to make it to the bathroom this time before his body revolts and starts emptying from both ends.
A loud gurgle sounds from inside his belly, burbling audibly, and he palms at his stomach as he empties from one end. Luke shoves the bathroom trash into his lap just in time, holding it up for him as he burps up more of the sandwich and his sick stomach contents, and he groans.
âYouâre okay,â Luke tells him and holds the bin for him while Riley rubs his bloated, gurgling belly. Riley groans and spits. âLet it up, get it out. Youâre almost done.â
âI feel so sick,â Riley complains. âI donât feel good, I feelâ I feel so sickââ
âI know,â Luke says. âI know, baby. Just breathe, get it up. I got you.â
Another loud, gurgling rumble echoes from Rileyâs belly before he farts again, a moment before he gives a thick, watery burp. Riley groans, his stomach bubbling non-stop, still so noisy and revolting, turning over itself even when he should be empty.
It takes a while, but, finally, it all slows. Rileyâs belly gurgles and he burps, rubbing his hand hard over his navel, not sure whatâll happen next.
âDone?â Luke asks.
Riley shrugs, then belches, spitting into the trash can. His stomach burbles under his hand, and he groans.
âI donât think Iâll ever be done,â he whispers. He groans as his insides shift again, his arms hugging his belly as it starts glorping again, aggressive grumbling followed by a low, echoing pop that makes his whole body stiffen before he burps again. âUgh, itâs still going. Itâs all still moving, fuck.â
âI know.â Luke kisses his temple again. âJust relax. Let it come out when it comes out. I got you.â
Rileyâs belly burbles again, churning with miserable queasiness, and he belches again. Lukeâs hand comes over his tummy, rubbing firm just below his navel. He coaxes up another burp, and his nausea spikes.
âItâs never gonna stop,â Riley complains.
âIâm never gonna go anywhere,â Luke tells him, and Riley believes it. Even as he lurches forward and burps up another wave of vomit into the trash can.
And when it starts all over again, his storming stomach forcing up another belch before heâs sick again, Riley canât even bring himself to curse or complain. All he can do is close his eyes, let his body fall apart, and allow Luke to hold him through the whole thing. Everything still hurts, everything still moves, everything still feels wrong, but heâs not alone. If heâs going to be sick, heâs glad Luke is here with him.
CW: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF EMESIS (+ implied emetophilic character)
âhey, hey, easy.. breathe.â b mutters as they clamber into the bathroom.
they had heard some groaning coming from the bathroom, but thought nothing of it. when they heard the familiar sound of a retching, though.. they jumped straight out of bed.
âyouâre okay, love. youâre alright. just breathe through it.â
b rubs aâs back while simultaneously reaching down to the cabinet under the sink, opening it and pulling out a washcloth. they run it under cool water and wring it out before pressing it gently against aâs neck, âshhh,â they soothe.
a whimpers and moans, one hand wrapped around their bloated stomach and the other holding onto the toilet bowl with a vise-like grip. they lurch forward, their entire body shuddering as they let out a sickly wet burp. much to both a and bâs dismay, it isnât very productive, only a string of bile hanging from their lips.
âo-oww..â a croaks out, causing b to feel a pang of sympathy in their chest.
âaw,â b kneels down next to a, holding their hair back and rubbing soothing circles into their belly from behind. âi know, honey. itâs okay. youâll be okay.â
aâs stomach heaves again, sending up a larger wave of orangish bile. it makes a sickening, wet sound as it splashes into the bowl and mixes with the water, some of it splattering on the sides.
b whistles, clicking their tongue. softly, they press against aâs stomach with their hand. âthat was a big one,â they tease lovingly, âjust a bit more, darling. youâre doing so good.â
a whines as they feel bâs hand push on their tender belly, their insides practically writhing around inside of them. with another strangled heave, more of the bile-y substance gushes out of them and into the toilet. with a couple more sickly burps and mouthfuls of puke, a can finally relax.
âoh.. you poor thing,â b coos, reaching up to flush the toilet. they take the rag off of aâs neck, wiping their mouth and nose with it. they kiss the tears off of their partnerâs face with a hum of pure adoration.
âletâs get you to bed, yeah?â
a nods, yawning, then leans into b. with how high their fever is, theyâre practically melting into the other one. b sighs lovingly, kissing aâs forehead and brushing their sweaty bangs out of their face.
âitâs okay. iâll take good care of you, honey.â
emetophobic character who panics and makes a huge fuss over feeling sick and being convinced they're about to throw up, only to drag an annoyed caretaker to the washroom and embarrassingly spit up nothing but saliva.
new OCâs fic #3: in which Milo has a serious problem, (refer to warnings).
âThey said heâs not coming out.â
Noyaâs shrill agitation grated in Sebastianâs ear as he sprang up the back stairwell, three at a time.
âHow long?â he asked, straining to keep his voice level despite the foreboding trepidation crawling down his spine. It was the fucking anniversary, and he of all people knew what that meant.
âThey were scheduled for eight this morning. Apparently theyâve been waiting outside his room with no answer.â
Sebastian checked his watch. It was a quarter until nine.
âI swear, if heâs not down in that lobby smiling pretty by eleven, our contract is through.â Noya sounded like she was hissing into the phone. âIâm tired of dealing with this shit.â
Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was all too familiar with her empty threats. She just needed to blow off a little steam and he was usually caught in the crossfire.
âIâm still almost an hour out. Youâre going to have to kick his dumb ass for me.â
âIâm on it,â he grunted, pushing through the exit door and jogging down the hallway leading towards Miloâs suite. It was easy to spot. A small group of people were huddled around the entrance, clogging the hallway. The makeup artist and her assistant who looked flustered, and a few PAâs who looked bored out of their skulls.
Everyone turned to gape at Sebastian as he strode towards them. He smiled politely, giving them a little wave that hopefully indicated to them that he wasnât here to kill anyone. Towering over most at a modest six-foot seven, Sebastian had grown accustomed to dispelling the intimidation factor.
âGood morning,â he greeted, nodding towards the makeup artist. He struggled to recall her name for a moment. Then he remembered that sheâd been hired for the photoshoot on the sailboat about a month ago and it all came flooding back. âRoxy, isnât it?â
She nodded, cheeks flushing bright pink.
âNice to see you again,â Sebastian continued without missing a beat. âIâm sorry for the delay.â
âWeâve been knocking for a while,â Roxyâs assistant volunteered.
âHis phone must be off. Iâve already tried several times,â Roxy sighed, looking vexed. âIâm sorry. Noya said to call you.â
âRight,â Sebastian nodded, searching his pocket for the spare key card heâd been entrusted with. He moved to open the door and then paused. âDo you all mind waiting outside for a few minutes?â
âGo ahead,â Roxy gestured, valiantly clamping down on her obvious annoyance. âWeâll be here.â
Sebastian watched them retreat before swiping the card and stepping inside.
The room was dark, blackout curtains drawn and hectic music was blaring from a bluetooth speaker. Empty beer bottles and a nearly empty bottle of Jack were strewn on the floor beside the bed. There was Miloâs phone lying on the mattress, glowing a sickly blue as messages, (Noya, no doubt), continued flooding in, unanswered.
And there was Miloâs arm, protruding from behind the bed.
âMilo?â Sebastian raced around the edge, dropping to his knees beside the boyâs prone body. He reeked of alcohol and sweat and stale piss.
Sebastianâs eyes flashed to the orange bottle sitting on the nightstand and he felt his heart spasm.
âGoddammit, Milo,â he cursed, lifting the younger boy into a sitting position against his chest, bracing the back of his head to hold him steady. âSit up, come on.â
Miloâs head rolled, eyes fluttering as he moaned into Sebastianâs bicep.
âWhat did you take?â Sebastian demanded, slapping Miloâs cheek. âHey, look at me!â
âMilo, what the fuck did you take?â Sebastian jerked the boyâs face up towards his own.
âMmmnn,â Milo moaned, blinking up at Sebastian. His dark eyes were glassy and alarmingly dilated, roving in a disoriented circle around the room until they finally landed on the man holding him upright. âSeb,â Miloâs slur was thick as he quirked an intoxicated smile. âI was â hopinâ it was youâŠâ
âHow much?â Sebastian growled, gripping Miloâs chin in his large hand. âYou need to tell me. Please.â
âDunno. Enough, I guess,â Milo whispered. He closed his eyes, swallowed with a wet click of his tongue, and slumped bonelessly against his bodyguard.
âNo,â Sebastian gritted his teeth. âMilo. No.â He scooped the boy up against his chest as if he weighed nothing at all. âOkay, come here.â
He carried Milo into the bathroom, set him down against the edge of the sink and pushed his head over the basin.
He inhaled slowly, trying to calm down, concentrating on what he had to do.
âIf you bite me, Iâm going to kick your ass,â he breathed into Miloâs ear. Then he shoved two fingers down the younger boyâs throat.
The effect was immediate. Milo jerked, throat clenching around Sebastianâs fingers as he gagged violently against the intrusion.
âCome on,â Sebastian grunted. He withdrew his fingers a fraction before forcing them in deeper, deliberately stroking the back of Miloâs tongue.
Milo coughed, choking on a sharp retch and doubling over as his body convulsed.
Sebastian persisted, wincing as a stream of watery saliva dripped over his hand into the sink.
âStubborn,â Sebastian growled into Miloâs ear. He slid his free hand in a coaxing gesture up Miloâs bare back, once, then twice.
Milo retched violently, muscles spasming. A second later Sebastianâs hand was doused with a warm gush of watery vomit.
âThere you go,â Sebastian encouraged, refusing to remove his fingers until he was certain Miloâs gag-reflex was going to finish the job. âGood, boy.â
Milo choked, reaching up to grab at Sebastianâs hand, frantically trying to pull him out. When another heavy stream of sick spilled over his wrist, Sebastian retracted his fingers and shook off the excess mess.
Milo released a gurgling belch, heaving up a much thicker surge into the basin. The liquid back-splashed and Sebastian felt some of it splatter onto his shoes. Great. Now they both smelled like the floor of a brewery.
âI donât get paid enough,â he grumbled, readjusting Miloâs weight against his chest as the younger boy sagged a little too far forward.
âSeb,â Milo panted. Instead of finishing, he spit up a smaller mouthful.
âYouâre okay.â Sebastian delivered a few firm pats.Â
Milo slumped over his arm, spitting uselessly at the strings of saliva dangling from his bottom lip. Sebastian grabbed a hand towel and wiped his mouth.
âSeb,â Milo repeated, before closing his eyes and burping into the cloth. âLet go.â
Sebastian readjusted Miloâs head, holding his nape for support. âNot until I know youâre not going to pass out, again. You good?â
Milo inhaled, panting through his nose and swallowing convulsively as his abused muscles trembled. He reached up, grasping weakly at Sebastianâs shirt and collapsed awkwardly onto the closed toilet seat.
âTell âem â âm sick,â he slurred, eyes rolling a little. âI canâ â canâtâŠâ
âOkay,â Sebastian knelt down in front of the other boy, petting his hand through the tangled mess of damp bangs, trying to calm him. When Miloâs head dipped towards the floor, Sebastian gently shook him awake. âYou canât fall asleep right now.â
Milo nodded, swallowed hard, and made an attempt to straighten.
âWhy the fuck did you do this?â Sebastian sighed, fingers stroking through ebony hair. âI mean, what the hell, Milo?â
Milo snorted bitterly, looking almost as if he might start crying.
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know much these days.â
Milo bit back something that sounded like a sob and cupped his hand over his eyes.
âI miss âem,â he whispered, voice breaking abruptly.
âYeah,â Sebastian nodded, waiting patiently until Milo was able to pull himself together a little.
Milo blew out a shaky exhale, wiped his eyes and stared sullenly at the floor.
âIâll call Noya. Tell her youâre sick.â Sebastian rested his hand comfortingly on the younger boyâs shoulder. âSheâs going to skin you alive. But I can buy you a little more time.â
Milo simply nodded, swaying precariously where he sat.
âSit up. Weâre going to walk around a bit. Get some circulation flowing, yeah?â
âNot my fault,â Sebastian shrugged and hoisted Milo to his feet. The boy groaned, swaying dangerously as Sebastian wrapped an arm around his waist and tucked Milo against his side. âCome on. Right foot, left foot.â
Milo sagged, head rolling against Sebastianâs arm as they took a few careful steps around the room.
âSebâŠâ
Sebastian paused, peering down at the boy. All of the color had drained from his face. A wet gurgle reverberated forebodingly in the back of Miloâs throat.
ââM gonna â be sick,â Milo gulped, eyes hooded and glassy. He went limp, slumping towards the floor like a rag-doll.
âHang on,â Sebastian urged, glancing around for something Milo could use.
He wasnât quick enough. Milo shuddered and a wet splash of liquid spilled from his lips, soaking his chest and stomach.
âFuck,â he gagged, coughing wetly.
Sebastian waited, resigned, until Milo was finished, rubbing a hand down the other boyâs back in a soothing arc.
âFuck is right,â Sebastian echoed, frowning. âNo, no, hey! Donât go to sleep or Iâm calling an ambulance. You hear me?â
Miloâs head jerked back up and he whimpered out a choked sob, drooling onto the floor.
âNo hospital,â he garbled. âThey wonât⊠let me out. Seb, please?â
Sebastian shushed him, checked his watch and shook his head. They werenât making it down to the lobby anytime soon.
âCome on, now,â he coaxed, trying to be gentle. âLetâs get you cleaned up.â
do either of your new OCs get motion sickness? e.g., on a tour bus, or doing some fancy photoshoot on a boat or something??
imma do you one better ;)Â
âAll right, everybody take fifteen!â
Milo groaned in relief, rolling his aching arms into a much needed stretch. Heâd been holding the same pose for almost half an hour and the strain on his muscles was exhausting.
He steadied himself against the sailboatâs railing as the evening tide swelled beneath the vessel, causing him to momentarily lose his footing.
âDonât wander too far, Mr. Finch,â the photographer called after him. âWeâll be blocking the next frame as soon as we switch out the Tungstens.â
âNo worries,â Milo arched his eyebrows and smiled, spreading his arms wide to emphasize the preposterousness of the warning. âI wonât get lost.â He gave the girl a teasing wink and strode off along the bulwark to continue stretching his legs.
He spotted Sebastian leaning nonchalantly against the railing, further towards the bow of the ship. His bodyguardâs seemingly casual stance was deceptive. Milo could see the tension coiled in his broad shoulders, the firm set to his lips indicating some unknown malaise.
Milo trudged over and bumped the larger manâs shoulder in greeting.
âRelax, Seb,â Milo laughed easily. âI doubt anyone stuck on this sardine can is planning on kidnapping me for ransom. Take a break.â
âYou never know,â the Norwegian didnât miss a beat. âBetter safe thanââ
âSorry,â Milo finished with a long-suffering sigh. âYeah, yeah. So Iâve heard. I mean, câmon, it only happened the once,â he joked, trying to invoke a smile.
As usual, Sebastian remained impassive and distinctly unamused by the attempt.
âJesus,â Milo whined, disappointed. âYouâre no fun when youâre working.â
âIâm never fun,â the barest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Sebastianâs mouth.
âWell, thatâs true,â Milo agreed, secretly pleased with himself. He shook out a cigarette, offered one to Sebastian who predictably declined, and sparked his lighter. He inhaled deeply, the smoke filling his lungs and the nicotine working its magic. He took his time exhaling while he gazed listlessly over the water.
âBetter not get ash on that jacket,â Sebastian grunted. âDoesnât that ridiculous thing cost like two-grand?â
Sebastian hadnât exactly been subtle with his opinions on the wardrobe that had been selected for the shoot.
Milo took another careless puff and shrugged, âNoyaâs threatened to mount my head on a stake for a lot less. I figure I might as well go out in style.â
Sebastian shook his head again while Milo offered him a shit-eating grin.
The boat abruptly lurched under their feet as the captain maneuvered the vessel into a steadier position. They were rapidly losing sunlight and the crew was growing antsy.
Beside him, Sebastian gripped the railing a little harder, biting back a nearly indiscernible moan. Milo frowned up at the other man. During the few minutes theyâd been talking, heâd somehow failed to notice the sweat beading along the sharp features of Sebastianâs face. And now that he was really searching, he realized Sebastian wasnât simply tired; he looked ill.
His bodyguardâs olive skin had paled to an ashen gray and sweat glued the fringe of his short blond hair to his forehead. His gray eyes fluttered as the boat dipped over a small crest of waves, throat bobbing rapidly with convulsive swallows.
He swayed dizzily with the rocking movement, suddenly looking so nauseous that Miloâs first instinct was to back out of the line of fire.
He was jerked out of his bewildered daze when Sebastian brought a fist to his lips and jolted with a wet sounding hiccup. He stepped forward cautiously, reaching out to place a hand on the older boyâs shoulder.
âHey, Seb?â Miloâs voice sounded frustratingly timid to his own ears. âWhatâs up? You feeling all right?â
Sebastianâs eyes were still clenched shut and he swallowed twice before lowering his fist to acknowledge Milo.
âIâm fine,â he inhaled a deep breath through his nose. Before he could exhale, his cheeks inflated with something that sounded like a belch. He swallowed hard with a queasy grimace.
âAre you sick?â Milo flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the water and glanced back up for confirmation.
Sebastian carefully shook his head, âNah. JustâŠnot a big fan of â of the ocean,â another hiccup jolted his chest.
Milo gave a sympathetic snort, âHow is that possible? Isnât your family descended from Vikings or some shit? I thought sailing was in your blood.â
Sebastian ducked his head, suppressing another breathy burp, âMust skip a generation.â
Milo wasnât sure whether to laugh or take him seriously.
âAre you gonna, um ââ he began hesitantly, feigning levity. ââbe okay?â
Sebastian waved him off, visibly squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat just as Noya waved Milo back over.
âIâm good,â he nodded. âTheyâre ready for you. Hurry up before she â mmph â comes over here.â
Milo looked over his shoulder to signal Noya, âHang on,â he said. âJust give us a minute.â
The petite woman made an aggravated face at him before being momentarily distracted by her phone. Milo turned back to Sebastian, moving his hand up along the other manâs back.
It happened quickly. Sebastian was standing still as a statue, head bowed in concentration and swallowing repeatedly while his hands clenched at his sides. The next moment his eyes went wide and a strangled choking sound burst into the palm heâd slapped over his mouth as he lurched forward over the deck with a full-bodied heave. He spun around so quickly Milo was nearly knocked off his feet as Sebastian threw his head over the railing.
His hands flew down to grip the bar, scrambling for purchase as a convulsive shudder rippled through his muscles. He spat clumsily into the ocean, saliva clinging to his lips and whipping wildly in the wind.
âShit!â Milo yelped, caught off guard. He wavered behind his bodyguard, unsure of what to do or how to help. Sebastianâs next moan rolled into a belching gag and suddenly a stream of watery sick was spilling from him. He gasped and coughed, barely a moment to catch his breath before a much heavier eruption was splashing into the water below.
âShit, Seb. Oh, man,â Milo gaped, forced to watch Sebastian empty himself out. After a particularly violent expulsion, Sebastian began sagging over the rail, limbs shaking from the exertion and wobbly from exhaustion.
Milo finally approached, grabbing Sebastianâs shoulders and pulling him back towards the safety of the deck.
âDonât fucking fall in,â he hissed, settling the other man into a much safer position against the railing.
Sebastian grunted an incoherent response, swaying into Miloâs arms.
âThat was impressive,â Milo repositioned his hold, placing one hand against the broad back and the other over Sebastianâs chest. âYou really do hate the water, huh?â
Sebastian groaned, belching into his fist as he struggled to regain some semblance of his former composure.
âFeel any better?â Milo asked awkwardly, trying to be supportive and positive that he was failing miserably. âYou want some water?â
Sebastian gagged in his mouth.
âMaybe later?â Milo patted his back apologetically.
Sebastian forced himself to calm down and shook his head, still looking supremely nauseous. Sweat trickled down his hairline and he reached up to wipe it away.
âDude, youâre the worst Viking Iâve ever seen,â Milo teased, trying to soothe Sebastianâs obvious embarrassment. âYou were the one they kicked out of the clan.â
It was then that Milo realized how quiet it had become. No more frantic instructions as the crew hollered at each other, Noya was no longer talking into her phone. The silence was uncomfortable.
Several pairs of eyes were watching the scene unfold and Miloâs first instinct was to bark, âWhat?â
âIs he all right?â One of the PAâs asked.
âYou know weâre still at port,â Noya snorted, looking both amused and disgusted.
Milo bristled, pressing harder against his bodyguardâs side. Sebastian squared his shoulders and straightened. He still looked dizzy and Milo instinctively tightened his hold. He turned back towards their audience.
âWhy donât you all just fuck off?â
âMilo ââ Sebastian protested, hoarse and tired.
âFinch,â Noyaâs clipped curtness interrupted both of them. âI know weâve talked about wasting peopleâs money. You were hired to do a job and itâs unprofessional to keep the crew waiting.â She turned to Sebastian. âMr. Aros, are you well enough to finish your shift?â
Sebastian flushed and nodded, âIâm fine. Sorry for causing trouble.â
âSee that?â Noya arched an eyebrow at Milo. âProfessionalism at its finest. You could learn a thing or two.â
Milo muttered something obscene under his breath and Sebastian nudged his shoulder, a silent reprimand.
âItâs like she doesnât even care,â Milo mumbled, still indignant. âIf they opened that womanâs chest theyâd find a shrunken walnut.â
Sebastian couldnât help cracking a smile at that. It was probably true.
here have some new OCâs! (âcause I can, thatâs whyâŠ)Â
The stage lights didnât usually bother him.Â
But tonight they seemed harsh and overwhelming, pressing down on him like the unforgiving midday sun.
The blinding glare hurt his eyes, causing them to sting as salty water pooled at the corners of his vision. He watched the crowd swaying like disjointed human cornrows below him and a sudden surge of dizziness nearly knocked him to his knees.
As his breath finally gave out on the last resounding note and his reverb echoed into the mic, the whooping hollers, whistling, and demands for an encore crescendoed.
Milo forced himself to wave before stumbling off backstage. His head spun as he descended the stairwell, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the spotlight.
Strong hands slowed his clumsy descent and he glanced up, blinking blearily at the giant Norwegian holding him steady.
Sebastianâs pale gray eyes narrowed, intense and worried as he lead Milo away from the gaggle of stagehands surrounding them.
âGive us a moment,â Sebastianâs soft baritone floated over Miloâs head like a stray note of music, calming his frantic mind, as the larger man waved the others away. Sebastianâs hand never strayed from his back as he guided Milo over to a row of fold-up chairs and eased him down.
Milo dropped his throbbing head into his hands, gulping wet breaths while saliva pooled in his mouth faster than he could swallow.
Sebastianâs fingers circled soothingly between his shoulder blades and his voice rumbled with concern, âItâs getting worse, isnât it?â
Milo swallowed thickly, hands trembling as he reached up to brush his long bangs behind his ears, trying to tame the sweaty mess away from his face.
âIâm fine,â he gritted through clenched teeth. âI justâŠjust need a minute.â
âYour feverâs up again,â Sebastian frowned, pulling a hair tie off his wrist and gathering Miloâs black strands into a short ponytail with a few efficient snaps of the band. âI told you to cancel, tonight.â
He couldnât tell if the ringing in his ears was a result of the boisterous cheering of the crowd or from the blood rushing to his head as he bowed over his knees and panted towards the floor.
âMilo?â Sebastianâs hand stilled against his back and Milo felt the other man squatting down in front of him. âTalk to me.â
Chilly sweat bathed his skin and Milo groaned, spitting towards the floor. His limbs felt insurmountably heavy as he struggled to his feet, pushing off Sebastianâs hands and stumbling a few steps.
âHold on,â he muttered, words slurring as he waved the other man off. âI â Iâll be right back.â His voice sounded strange, detached and breathless as he turned around and searched for seclusion, a few seconds of solitude. His body was in the process of rebelling and the last thing he wanted was an audience. He only had a few secondsâŠ
His stomach lurched with every jerky movement, roiling up until his throat was working convulsively to keep everything in check. When the swallowing morphed into retching, Milo clapped a hand over his mouth and abandoned all hope of privacy. He lunged for an industrial sized garbage can resting against the back wall of the stage.
Gripping the edges, he slumped forward and watched with detached fascination as saliva dripped freely from his open mouth. His stomach contracted and he choked on his next inhale, gagging as a watery stream of fluid splashed against the plastic lining.
There was no time to breathe as his stomach clenched, pushing up the next surge. Hot liquid gurgled up the back of his throat, pouring from his lips with frightening intensity. Milo wheezed and coughed as the acid stung his nose, trying to rid his mouth of the rancid taste.
âDritt,â a deep voice cursed over his shoulder. Suddenly, a warm hand was palming his forehead and the other scooped him up around his waist, holding his convulsing torso upright before he could sag too far into the trashcan.
Milo clamped onto the arm circling his middle, fingernails digging into Sebastianâs wrist as his stomach wrung itself out, dry heaves wracking his thin frame until there was nothing left to bring up.
âIdiot,â Sebastian mumbled behind him. His tone was harsh but his hands were gentle, easing the boy away from his own mess and settling him against the broad chest. âYou donât listen. Itâs like talking to a goddamn wall.â
Milo sniffled, swiping the back of his hand underneath his running nose as he collapsed back against his bodyguard, weak and shivering with fatigue.
âI can handle it,â Milo slurred, head lolling against the Norwegianâs chest, cheeks inflating with a soft burp. âJust gimmeâŠgimme a ââ he broke off into a violent fit, hacking and gasping for air.
âStay here,â Sebastian instructed, easing the younger boy down against the wall. âIâm going to tell Noya youâre going home.â
âSeb ââ Milo coughed, hiccuping into his fist as his stomach contracted with another unproductive heave. âDonât. I have another set. Iâll be ââ
âEnough.â Sebastian cupped the back of his head, thumbs wiping at the tear stains decorating Miloâs pale cheeks. âYou are not well. Iâm taking you home. No more arguing.â His soft accent lilted hypnotically as he lowered his voice, hating the way Milo winced with every harsh decibel, as though the noise hurt his head.Â
Milo drew his knees up to his chest, head swimming as the spiking fever dimmed his vision and lowered his inhibitions. He rested his aching forehead against Sebastianâs chest, panting shallowly through the panic mounting in his chest.
He had a job to do. He couldnât just leave. There were people waiting for him and he couldnât â
Sebastian stroked a careful hand through his hair, chest vibrating with a low hum of disapproval as he noticed Milo starting to work himself up again.
âDonât worry about it,â Sebastian said, fingers lingering in Miloâs ebony hair. âCalm down and let me handle it.â
Miloâs fingers tangled in Sebastianâs shirt as the large man rose to his feet, âDonât let âem see me,â he begged.
Sebastian gave an understanding nod and strode off around the far end of the stage where no doubt Miloâs manager and several irate musicians were waiting to wail on him for flaking out.
They ought to be used to it by now.Â
Milo tilted his head back, swallowing hard against the sharp bitterness lingering on his tongue. He felt his eyelids growing heavy and his muscles uncoiling as the adrenaline fled his exhausted body.Â
Moments later, Sebastian was gently shaking him awake, peering down at him with those solemn, slate-gray eyes.
âCan you stand?â
Milo nodded and felt himself being hauled to his feet as if he weighed nothing at all. He slumped against his bodyguard, too miserable and sick to feel embarrassed about being practically manhandled to the car.
âPerhaps youâll listen to me next time,â Sebastian sighed as he settled Milo into the backseat. âThis behavior is unhealthy. And now look at you. Itâs a bit pathetic,â he scoffed with a slight shake of his head.
Milo snorted a weary laugh and lay back, folding his legs beneath him on the seat as a shiver ran down his spine.
âJust take me home,â he slurred, turning his head to cough into the leather cushion. âYou can lecture me later, big guy.â
Sebastian grunted, climbed in beside Milo, and slammed the door without an ounce of the finesse he normally displayed. Milo mumbled something incoherent before passing out on the seat.Â
Sebastianâs hand never left the younger boyâs shoulder while he slept. After all, it was his job to ensure the moron didnât choke on his own spit before they made it home. Â
Someone curled on their bed, hugging a pillow into their belly bc it just wonât calm down. Itâs not just something in their stomach, resolved with a few burps or hours, nor something that gets taken care of with a bit of toilet camping. Everything is just moving slow and upsetting their guts, complaining awfully even though they didnât eat anything to have it in knots like that.
Someone coming in and taking pity on them, hands rubbing their upset tummy even when the other person complains about the pressure at first. Squirming a bit when fingers press a bit too deep and let loose a flusteringly loud series of burbles and groans.
Their belly being so tight and crampy, and fitting very nicely in the helperâs hand bc of how heavy and full it is. How it gets louder and more active as their massage eases digestion and coaxes it to move.
Sick person having a few burps or farts worked out and being so embarrassed, even when the helper shushes them and tells them itâs nothing to be self conscious about. How their belly gets less tight, even though theyâd been trying to make it behave this whole time to no avail! How self conscious they are whenever they feel the bed or their pants get warm when more is coaxed out of them, even when the helper doesnât acknowledge it at all.
Maybe the massage helps a bit too much, and they have to scramble up and to the bathroom. Maybe they donât scamper off right away, and are only convinced after a few too many uncomfortable groans and near accidents (because, really, itâs the best their tummy has felt all day, and theyâre not too keen on losing helperâs touch).
Maybe helper and them are in an established relationship, just working past those little embarrassments. Maybe itâs build up with two mutual piners, intensified by the vulnerability of the situation and being forced to lower guards. Maybe theyâre not romantically involved at all, and helper is truly just interested in making someone they care for feel better, embarrassment be damned.
okay, so I know Iâve been gone for forever, but yâall know Iâve got all that depression and motivation issues, so college has been plenty for me at the moment. Anyway, recently got a new⊠toy⊠and it brought me back to here. Low-key missed this place lol. My point is, Iâve been thinking a lot lately about pukey men and such, and itâs brought me to reflect on my very favorite thing: burping/vomiting.
I absolutely love it when a burp goes all wet and brings up something unexpected. Or maybe, theyâre in the middle of throwing up, and they hiccup a bit, which turns into a belch, which brings up a rush of chunky vomit.
I mean, just think about it. Heâs been lying in bed, panting and sweaty, trying to avoid waking you up. His stomach hurts, so fucking bad, but heâs been trying to ignore it. He puts a hand to his stomach, kneading at it, and it starts to move a big air bubble. His fist goes to his lips, hoping to muffle the burp he can feel rising in his chest. When he parts his lips to let it out, instead of the air heâs expecting, itâs bubbly and wet. The belch sends a wave of thick vomit over the blankets and his bare chest, waking you up. You turn to face him, scrambling to sit up, the blankets pooling at your waist. He stares back at you with wide eyes, the hand pressed to his mouth dripping with bile and undigested dinner, looking completely ashamed of himself.
I haven't written for these guys in quite a while. But gosh I will love them til the day I die.
---------
Madixâs stomach tried its hardest to digest the sludge of food that he had forced down his throat all that day. It wasnât his faultâthe nachos had such bubbly warm cheese that called his name, and the burger had caramelized onions that begged him to approach. Now all the grease and sugar coated his gut in a layer of grime. His tummy burbled sickeningly as it attempted to deal with the overwhelm that a day at the fair had caused. Â
He staggered next to Dakota who seemed to be dealing with the food expertly. He had been a fool to think that he could keep up with his best friend. The man was a pro at putting away every dish they came across.Â
Poutine, easy. Ice cream, no problem. He simply sighed contently after every bite that got Madix feeling more and more like a zombie.Â
It was a struggle to pick up his feet, but he had to keep up, or else Riley and Blair would run off into the crowd, never to be seen again with their significant others.Â
At least Dakota hung back with him, even if it was because he kept getting distracted by the food vendors and not because he noticed Madixâs deteriorated state. He jumped excitedly in line for a beaver tail.Â
Madix swallowed thickly as he came to stand next to his friend. The Canadian treat gave off the sickly-sweet aroma of syrups and cheesecake. The people around them carried their oversized pastries that dripped with thick white frosting or a drizzling of rich chocolate.Â
âI think I want the brownie one!â he said, pointing to the sign ahead. âIt has Nutella on it! Do you want to split it with me?âÂ
Madix moaned and jammed his head into Dakotaâs shoulder. ââŠ. Ugh.âÂ
âOkay fine, jeez? How about the strawberry cheesecake?â
"Noooo..."
He gave his arm a jerk. âWhy you sound so mopey, Maddy?âÂ
âToo much foodâŠâ he slurred out. His chest hitched with a hiccup. The nausea made all his muscles stiff. âI donât feel good. How can you still be hungry?âÂ
âClassic mistake.â Dakota pulled his greenish friend into a side hug. âWeâve moved beyond our primitive needs. Hunger has nothing to do with it anymore. Itâs all about the experience.âÂ
âOh, I think Iâm in for a doozy of an âexperienceâ any minute now.âÂ
Dakota chuckled at first, but then quickly wondered how much Madix was joking. The boy next to him swayed with fatigue. His eyelids were droopy as if his full stomach were weighing every part of him down. Personally, he felt only the beginnings of fullness, but Madix was nearing the end of his limits it seemed.Â
He took off his sunglasses, only then realizing how quickly the sun had set. The sky was now purple and pink, and Madixâs cheeks were grey. âYou do look pale, buddy. Maybe take a break from the rides and food.âÂ
âYeah, I think I have to. Iâd like to sit down as well, but I donât want to lose Riley and Blair.âÂ
Dakota waved this away. âIâll text Blair that we stopped for a break. Look, we can sit under that tree, thereâs a bench.âÂ
Dakota ate his pastry happily while next to him Madix wondered what was going on with his belly. He was full, but this level of nausea was intense. If he were at home, heâd most likely be on the bathroom floor by now. Here, he was not sure how far a walk the nearest bathroom was. Instead, he would focus on keeping the food down until he had time to digest.Â
Dakota was not helping with the way he devoured the chocolate mess of dough and oil. Â
âUgh, Kota. I want to go home. I think I may actually throw up, but thereâs a lot of people here.â He hugged his belly.
âYou feel that bad?â The sudden development surprised him. âIâve seen you eat way more."
âI donât know whyâŠâ Madix burped and let out a nauseous moan. âI just feel really fucking sick.â He glanced at his friend with his glassy eyes. âWould you hurry up and eat that already. Itâs dripping onto your hand.âÂ
Dakota licked the precarious drop of icing. âItâs messy, Iâm sorry.â After three huge bites and finger licking, he finished the treat in time to see Madix shudder and gag.Â
Madix suddenly stood up on shaky legs. This was bad. He could feel pressure growing in his throat. Rising.Â
âOh God, I canât keep it down.â He tried to speak through the nausea and the hand that covered his mouth. âOne second.â He wandered away from the main road, away from the bench where they sat, and beyond the fenced in grass.Â
Dakota quickly followed his swaying friend.Â
âOookay, I guess weâre going on a little excursion.â He grimaced at the retch that tore up Madixâs throat. He grabbed his friendâs arm to steady him. âThis is a good spot to let loose, Maddy. Iâve got you.âÂ
A shower of vomit came gushing from Madixâs mouth. It was orange and frothy. His poor belly squeezed in on itself tighter. Another mouthful of greasy mush added to the puddle at his feet. He felt the muscles in his back tense continuously as the heaves sent him forward.Â
A groan of misery escaped him.Â
Dakota kept a firm grip on his woozy friend. It was odd to see him so weak. Every gag pushed him around like a puppet dangling on a string. âKneel here, Madix. Youâre swaying a lot and I donât like it.âÂ
âDonât feel good,â he slurred. A hiccup made his chest jump and more slushy vomit splattered onto the grass. The sound gurgled in his throat. âUgh, my belly. Iâm so full.âÂ
Wave after wave came up from Madixâs upset belly. It was relentless and slow. Whenever he thought he was finished, the nausea shot back through his body. Droplets of sweat coated his forehead, dampening the strands of hair that hung in front of his eyes.Â
Dakota brushed the hair off his forehead. It was not a hot night and yet still Madix was melting. âYouâre so out it, man. I think you have a fever.âÂ
Madix nodded lazily. âYeah probably. This is a lot.â He blinked quickly. âI canât focus long enough toâŠtoâŠdo anything.âÂ
âYou donât have to do anything but sit. Wait until you feel better. Do you still need to puke?âÂ
âI think so.â He rubbed his stomach. âItâs like gurgling, my belly. This was not a good time to eat fair food.âÂ
âNo kidding,â Dakota laughed, âIâll jot that down: donât go to fair with flu.â Â
This is N S F W. Not explicit but clearly there. Read at your own risk. And it's kind of a standalone, in Drew and Jeremiah's universe but not right around the time of the arc I'm working on.
The wedding venue was spectacular: the 75th floor ballroom in a well-known downtown skyscraper. The space had floor-to-ceiling windows that provided amazing panoramic views of the city below, the ocean beyond, and the sparkle of the setting sun.
As an usher, Drew had been there all day for photos while Jeremiah stayed back at the hotel studying for his upcoming cardiology boards. The wedding was called to start at 5:30 and Jeremiah got there more than an hour early because he missed his boyfriend.
The first thing he noticed was that Drew was in a bad mood. Oh, he was hiding it just fine for everyone else, but as soon as he caught sight of Jeremiah, he broke away from the knot of groomsmen and stomped over. Â
âMy stomach hurts,â he muttered under his breath by way of greeting. Â He accepted Jeremiahâs kiss with a perfunctory nod but didnât try to return it.
Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. âHurts how?â He assessed his boyfriend. Drew didnât look either flushed or pale; he looked pissed off. One hand was folded across his middle and he was shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. He shrugged.
âJust hurts.â Â
Jeremiah sighed; that was no use to him if he was going to try to help. âAnd what would you do if one of your patients gave you that answer?â Guests were starting to trickle into the room; Drew was going to have to start ushering soon. Â
His mouth twisted. âHurts like I ate too fast,â he admitted. âThey had sandwiches and brownies and I was late because they needed me for an extra photo.â He rubbed across his middle. âI think I swallowed two practically whole and theyâre sitting like a brick in my gut.â Â
âThatâs a lovely image for a wedding,â said Jeremiah dryly. âGo drink some water; itâll help you start to digest.â He waved over a waiter carrying a tray of pre-ceremony drinks. âOr . . . champagne will work.â He grabbed two flutes and handed one to Drew. âCheers.â Â
Drew drained the glass and burped softly into his fist before grimacing and arranging his face back into a bland public smile. âIf it still hurts after the ceremonyâs over can we find a quiet corner for you to give me a belly rub?â Â
âAnything you want,â Jeremiah promised. Â
He watched Drew carefully the entire time he was directing people to their seats, smiling and joking. He was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed the tiny flashes of pain that crossed his face or the way he twice palmed at the side of his stomach when he walked over to pick up more programs to hand out. Still, by the time he dropped into the seat next to Jeremiah before the ceremony was to start he seemed a little less uncomfortable. Â
âI had another glass of champagne,â he said, grabbing the manâs hand and threading their fingers together. âFeels a little less brick-like down there.â He scooted his chair even closer to Jeremiahâs, not that they were more than two inches apart already. His voice lowered. âBut I still want a . . . rub. Later.â Â
Jeremiah chuckled softly. âA belly rub?âÂ
âSure, we can start with that,â Drew answered with a wicked smile. He burped softly into his fist. âAfter we get more food though.â Â
Jeremiah twisted in his seat to look incredulously at his boyfriend. âI thought you had a stomach ache?â They were whispering now, the string quartet had started playing a little more deliberately and it was clear the ceremony was about to start. Drew shrugged.
âI ate too fast, not too much,â he whispered back. âNow that itâs digesting Iâve got more room.â He looked up to the front of the room and the wall of windows beyond. âOh, Benâs going to be pissed,â he muttered, naming one of the grooms. âCeremonyâs timed to have the sun setting beautifully in the background as he and Liam exchange their vows but it looks all cloudy instead.â
âLooks stormy, actually,â said Jeremiah, peering around. âItâs kind of cool to be up so high while the weather rolls in.â There was a bank of black clouds approaching from the west, slowly taking over the clear sky directly outside the windows. A gust of air hit the building suddenly and everything shook. There were a couple of gaps of surprise just as the music changed and the wedding party began processing in.
âWell if they wanted dramatic, they definitely got it,â Jeremiah said about a half hour later as they waited to greet the grooms. âThat flash of lightning and clap of thunder could not have been timed any better.â He grabbed a couple of mini beef puffs from a passing waiter and handed one to his boyfriend before stuffing the other in his mouth. Â
âI have to admit, that huge column of black clouds is going to make for some really cool photos,â Drew agreed through a mouthful of hors dâoeuvre. âMmmm, this is delicious.â He looked around. âHey, hold our spot while I go get more.â
He came back a few minutes later with a small plate piled with mini egg rolls, cocktail meatballs, and two small cups of tomato soup with a tiny grilled cheese perched up the rim. âThe appetizers look amazing; letâs say congrats as fast as possible and go find more food.â
âIâm glad your stomach is feeling better, love.â Jeremiah leaned in for a kiss that was much less perfunctory than earlier.Â
âMe too. Drew snagged some sushi from a passing waiter. âI still want that rub later though.â
âSounds like I donât even have to go near your belly.â He smirked at his boyfriend, who was scanning the room for more tray-laden servers.
âUhh uhh,â mumbled Drew before putting a miniature chicken and waffle bite in his mouth. âOh fuck, thatâs good.â Â
âDonât get too full,â he warned. To be honest, Jeremiah was more than a little eager to get his boyfriend alone, as soon as he said the word. One of the grooms was a friend of Drewâs from college and Jeremiah didnât know a soul at the wedding. He didnât really mind, and everyone was perfectly nice, but the thought of sneaking off somewhere for a few minutes had him grabbing two more glasses of champagne.Â
âLiquid courage to sneak off?â Drew asked with a smirk. He knew how Jeremiahâs cautious mind worked, and that rendezvous like this were not something they did often.  The man grinned. Â
âTrying to channel a bit of Noa and Rory here,â he admitted. They were standing near some of the windows along with a number of other guests, watching as the black bank of clouds crept closer. Another gust of wind shook the building.
âSheâd probably stop trying to find a secret place to make out long enough to take photos of the storm,â Drew laughed. âAnd then get right back to him without missing a beat.â  He hiccuped suddenly. âAll the bubbles are catching up to me. Letâs go to the bar for a real drink.âÂ
Jeremiah followed willingly. The reception was set up with stations of food all over the place, and after snagging a gin and tonic for Drew and vodka cranberry for him, they filled plates from the pasta bar, stir fry area, and the long table of bar-b-q before finding seats at a half-full table. Â
The alcohol had been flowing for a while now and everyone was getting more and more relaxed, laughing about the storm now lashing wildly at the windows and cheering madly as Ben and Liam performed their first - heavily choreographed - dance.Â
âTheater kids,â Drew explained with a grin, watching the pair spin each other across the floor. âBen was . . . âscuse me . . . the lead in almost all the shows I worked on.â He burped into his fist and rubbed his chest for a minute. Â
âOh yeah, remember Rent and how the lights went out for real because the school had a blackout?â One of the other guys at their table pulled Drew into a conversation that Jeremiah couldnât follow. He touched his boyfriendâs arm.
âIâm going to find the restroom, love. Iâll be right back.â Drew waved his acknowledgement and kept on talking. Â
The bathrooms right outside the ballroom were crowded, but a helpful server directed him to the elevators.  Up ten floors was another lobby that was nearly empty because the offices in the building were all closed, and Jeremiah found a quiet single person bathroom that he used and then filed away for later, when Drew decided he was ready for his âbelly rub.â Jeremiah shivered, hoping that time was soon. Â
Back up at the reception, a lot more people seemed to have joined the dance floor. Jeremiah looked around - Drew loved to dance - but found him still seated at the table where heâd left him, nursing his drink.
âWaiting for someone?â he asked suggestively, leaning over from behind to whisper in Drewâs ear. His boyfriend turned and gave him a small smile, and Jeremiahâs own faltered. âWhatâs wrong, love?â He sat down next to Drew and resisted the urge to check his temperature with the back of his hand. âYouâve gone very pale; is your stomach bothering you again?â Internally he cursed himself for encouraging his boyfriend to eat and drink so much. Â
Drew shrugged. âNot like before.â He swallowed hard, looking out at the storm. âI think Iâm seasick.â Â
Jeremiah was confused. âSeasick? Sweetheart, weâre not on the water.â He followed Drewâs gaze, where the distant ocean was barely visible through the clouds and rain. âI donât think you can get seasick that way.â Â
âMotion sick then, whatever,â Drewâs voice was clipped and impatient. âBuidlingâs swaying, if you havenât noticed.â His lips tightened.
Jeremiah hadnât noticed, but now that Drew mentioned it, he could feel a gentle rocking, and it did feel kind of like being on a large boat. He frowned. âIs it supposed to be doing that?â
Drew sighed. âApparently yes; the buildingâs built to . . . urp . . . sway up to 4 feet in each direction when itâs windy out.â He gestured at the dance floor. âTheyâve been . . . urp urp . . . rolling soda cans across the floor for fun.â After each burp, Drew grimaced. âItâs making me queasy.â
âI can see that.â Jeremiah squeezed his boyfriendâs arm. âAnd I assume you didnât bring any meds?â Â
âOf course I didnât! Whoâd expect to get motion sick inside a fucking building?â He sounded equal parts nauseous and frustrated, dropping his head into his hand for a minute and then looking back up at Jeremiah. âThis sucks.â
It certainly did. Drewâs motion sickness tended to hit fast and hard, and that was clearly the case here. Even as Jeremiah watched, his boyfriendâs face paled further. âDo you want to leave?â he asked carefully, already suspecting the answer. As he expected, the man shook his head.Â
âIâm a fucking usher, I canât just skip out because of an upset stomach.â He belched again into his fist. Â
âI can run back to the hotel and get your meds,â Jeremiah offered. The hotel was three blocks away and heâd walked over earlier. Of course, that had been before the monsoon outside had started. Again, Drew shook his head.
âEven if Iâd let you go out in this weather, it would be too late for them to work.â He sighed. âAnd I bet itâs a big, public bathroom too.â He burped again, not even bothering to cover his mouth this time. âFuck.â
Finally Jeremiah felt like he could help. âActually, thereâs a private bathroom off the 85th floor lobby that one of the servers told me about. I originally thought we could use it for other activities. . .â - he shrugged apologetically - âbut itâll be the perfect place to get sick if you need to.â Â
âIâm probably going to need to,â Drew sighed. He looked around, swallowing hard. âMaybe not, but . . . is there a place to sit up there? Someplace quiet?â Â
âYep.â Jeremiah held out his hand.
âAct flirty,â Drew muttered as they skirted the dance floor. âMake people think weâre sneaking off to fool around.â He knocked his hip against Jeremiahâs and then slung his arm around his neck, suddenly the picture of a tipsy, horny boyfriend. Â
Jeremiah forced a giggle - he was not by nature, a giggler - and grabbed a couple of bottles of water from a bin at the edge of the bar. âI canât wait to get you alone,â he said dramatically, dropping his hand down to pat Drew on the ass. Together they staggered to the elevator bank, kissing and touching as if they couldnât wait to get each other alone and half naked.Â
The second the elevator doors closed, the teasing smile fell off Drewâs face and he slumped against the wall. âOh god, make it stop,â he moaned when the elevator rocked. âHow do people actually work here?â Â
âItâs not bothering me,â said Jeremiah apologetically. âAnd I think itâs only on windy days.â Â
âMy whole stomachâs rolling,â Drew complained, rubbing at it and working up a belch. âWhyâd I eat so much damn food?âÂ
âYou couldnât have known, love.â The elevator opened at the 85th floor and Jeremiah was relieved to see it was just as deserted as it had been earlier. âDo you need the bathroom this minute or do you want to sit on those sofas?â He pointed to a comfortable looking seating area off to one side.Â
Drew gave a queasy gulp. âSit,â he said thickly.  âSorry I pulled you away from the party.âÂ
âDonât worry about that,â said Jeremiah firmly. âIâm just sorry that youâre feeling so ill.â He sat down on the sofa and opened his arms to Drew, who wasted no time crawling into them and leaving his back against Jeremiahâs front.
âUgh, this is terrible.â Drew belched again. âAnd it came on so fast.â He tucked his head into the crook of Jeremiahâs neck. âI kind of want to offer to let you enjoy yourself, but I canât decide if Iâm too nauseous.â he snuggled more purposefully into Jeremiahâs lap.
Jeremiah froze. âSweetheart?â Heâd truly stopped thinking about it as soon as Drew had said he was feeling sick, but now he was almost embarrassed by how quickly his arousal returned. There was no way the man couldnât feel it, pressed up against Jeremiahâs lap the way he was. Still, he kept his voice even.
âNot if you arenât feeling well,â he said slowly. âItâs different when itâs on purpose.â
Drew gulped a couple of times before answering. âI know, but . . . ugh . . . since thereâs not much I can do to ease my stomach . . . fuck . . . right now, we may as well have fun.â The nausea kept spiking and easing in time with the swaying, and he had to lean sideways and spit into the small garbage can at the side of the leather sofa. âI mean, Iâm not contagious and Iâm not having any lower GI issues, and we know Iâm going to get relief at some point tonight when Iâm out of this damned building, so this isnât much different from stuffing on purpose.â His voice had gone thin and reedy as he talked and by the end he had to stop and breath slowly through his mouth. Â
Jeremiah watched carefully until his boyfriendâs jaw relaxed again and then leaned forward.
âSame rules as always,â he said softly, running a hand up Drewâs arm. âYou know the safe word.â The man belched and Jeremiah shivered. âHow do you want to play this?â Â
Drew closed his eyes. âGentle persuasion,â he gasped after a moment. âI . . . I donât think I can manage you domming me too intensely right now.â  He gave a closed-mouth gag. âSorry.â Â
âThat wordâs not allowed, love,â Jeremiah chided him. He cupped Drewâs chin. âWhatever you want is perfect for me.â He gently moved Drewâs hand down to feel his erection. âSee?â Â
Even though his eyes were still closed, Drew managed a smile. âCan I straddle you?â He gulped down saliva. âI . . . I need to control how much I move.â Â
âOf course. Why donât you take off your jacket first?.â As Drew nodded shakily and moved slowly onto his lap, Jeremiah glanced towards the bank of elevators across the lobby. If someone else decided to check out the 85th floor, thereâd be no place for them to hide. A second later his boyfriendâs full weight settled into his lap and all worry about getting caught flew right out of Jeremiahâs head. He rested his hands on the sides of Drewâs belly, feeling it churn up all the food heâd eaten. Â
âThis is so upset; it canât be feeling good.â
âItâs not,â Drew groaned. âIâm so fucking nauseous.â He gagged into his hand and gave Jeremiah a look that was equal parts misery and arousal. âThereâs a reason I wonât let you take me on a cruise. A week of rocking like that would kill me.âÂ
âWell looking at you right now is almost killing me,â laughed Jeremiah. He touched Drewâs cheek. âYouâre all clammy and kind of gray; if they presented you as a medical case I probably would guess motion sickness right away.â His boyfriend was a couple of inches shorter than he was, and sitting on his lap put his neck at the perfect position to nuzzle. His lips were against Drewâs skin when the man gave a harsh swallow, the motion sending a spark of heat right to Jeremiahâs groin. He groaned.
âKeep doing that and Iâm not going to last too long, love.â Despite Drewâs request to control the motion, he couldnât help putting his hands on the manâs backside and pushing him in closer. Though not as strong as his, he could feel that his boyfriend was enjoying himself, through the nausea. âCan I kiss you.â
âYeah.â Drewâs answer was immediate even though his voice sounded thick. The two men both shuffled until their lips met. Jeremiah kept in mind that he had to be gentle, but damn, he could feel his boyfriendâs stomach churning against his, and hear the soft queasy gasps and exhales each time he pulled his mouth away. They started to be accompanied by little hiccupping jolts, each one landing Drewâs weight back into his lap a little more. Â
He really wanted to thrust, but he held his body in check. If Drew could fight the nausea, then dammit, he could fight his libido. Â
The next time Drew pulled away, it was to sit very still, fist at his mouth. Jeremiah tried to stay just as unmoving, matching his breathing, until his boyfriend gave a deeper, closed-mouth burp and his body relaxed. âOkay,â he said after a moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed again. âIâm okay.â Â
Jeremiah cupped his cheeks in his hands. âYou need to throw up, donât you?â When Drew started to shake his head, Jeremiah put a finger against his lips.
âItâs okay, love. I can read your face like a book and right now, that book is extremely nauseated.â After a moment, Drew gave a miserable nod.
âItâs getting really hard to keep everything down,â he admitted through a soft gag. âAnd my stomach ache from earlier is coming back.â
Jeremiahâs entire body tingled. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. âHow about we continue in the bathroom, where I can gently persuade you to hang on just a little bit longer?â Truthfully, he thought that moving out of the sight of the elevator was a good idea, not to mention the fact that finishing up in the bathroom would be a lot less messy - no matter which of them ended up losing control. Jeremiah was hoping the answer was âboth of them.â Â
Slowly, Drew climbed off his lap and immediately leaned over to spit into the garbage can. âEvery time I burp I taste a different . . . appetizer,â he said thickly. âFeels like theyâre all fighting over which one gets to make a reappearance first.â
Now Jeremiah was the one who had to close his eyes to collect himself. With the pressure of Drew in his lap gone, he couldnât stop his hand from traveling lower, first to simply adjust himself, but then to stay there while he imagined his boyfriend making good on his words. âWhat . . . what . . . â - he had to stop and swallow hard - âwhat do you think is going to come up first?â Â
âHey, let me do that.â Drewâs voice was suddenly closer, and then his hand replaced his boyfriendâs. âOh yeah, I think we need to . . . urp . . . head to the bathroom for more than just me.â His belch was wet and low and followed by another of those soft groaning exhales that were driving Jeremiah crazy. He opened his eyes and found his boyfriendâs nauseated ones.
âHow about if I give you that belly rub now?â he asked. âSee what . . . comes up.â Â
Drew gave a small nod. âGo ahead and try, although it might make me vomit right away.â Â
They walked to the bathroom. âIt wonât,â said Jeremiah calmly. âYouâre going to keep it down a little while longer.â  He locked the door and then shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging both his and Drewâs on a hook on the wall. âCâmere.â Â
Quickly, he untucked his boyfriendâs shirt before sliding his hand underneath. âOh sweetheart,â he hissed, surprised. âYouâre actually more bloated than I expected.â Jeremiah mentally revised his plans. âDo you think you can burp a few times, but just burp? He walked the man backwards until his back rested against the wall between the sink and toilet. âBecause Iâd really like to hear you burp.â Â
âIâll . . . try,â gasped Drew. He swallowed some air and lowered his chin to his chest. Jeremiah put his hands gently on his stomach. Â
âLight touches,â he promised, pressing in with the slightest of pressure.
It was enough. Drewâs body jerked with a burp that was nearly a retch and his eyes flew up in a panic. Thick saliva dribbled out the of the side of his mouth and he quickly leaned over to spit it on the floor. Jeremiah shivered.
âMaybe . . . maybe not,â he said. Â
Drew had his eyes closed again, and his head leaned back against the wall. âI really, really donât feel well,â he muttered. His hands reached out blindly until they met Jeremiahâs body, working swiftly to undo belt and zipper. His pants pooled around his feet. Â
Jeremiah gave an involuntary jerk. âSweetheart . . .â he began, and then shut up as Drew got to work. His mouth was set in a tight line that couldnât quite mask the small gags he couldnât control, but his expression was quite determined. Jeremiah leaned forward and braced his hands on the wall on either side of Drewâs head. Â
It drove him crazy. The combination of the feel of Drewâs hands and his obvious struggle with nausea was bringing Jeremiah rapidly to the brink. But just as he thought he couldnât hold on for much longer, everything abruptly stopped and the hands that had been on his dick moved to his chest, pushing him away. A horrible gurgling sound came from his boyfriendâs stomach. He stared at Jeremiah, eyes frantic and throat bobbing. âI . . . I,â he gulped. One hand flew to his mouth.
Heedless of his own physical state, he took Drewâs shoulders. âAre you ready to vomit now, love?â The question was completely unnecessary, but he couldnât resist hearing him try to answer. Drew gulped again, clearly fighting. Â
âYeah,â he managed, gagging again. âCanât keep . . . itâs coming.â He retched, pitching forward towards Jeremiah and for a second he thought he was about to get puked on. But that first heave didnât bring anything up, and in an instant, he had his boyfriend bent over the toilet.Â
Maybe he was resting both hands against the manâs hips and belly to help keep him from falling over, or maybe it was so he could press himself into Drewâs backside while he threw up; either scenario worked. A moment later, he jerked again with a more violent heave and vomited up a heavy gush of wedding food and liquor. Â
Jeremiah groaned. âAgain, sweetheart. Do that again.â He pressed his hands into his stomach.
Drew wasted no time, burping and throwing up over and over again, and groaning in between about how nauseous he still felt.
âWhy doesnât puking make you feel better when youâre seasick?â He moaned during one break. âI still feel like shit.â Â
Jeremiah kissed his shoulder. âI think itâs the dizziness from the disturbance in your inner ear,â he said. He pushing him forward again. âDo you have more to bring up?â
In answer, the man burped up a mouthful of champagne. âThis sucks,â he said, spitting. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and walked shakily over to the sink to rinse his mouth and splash water on his face. âI know I said I shouldnât leave because Iâm an usher but Iâd really love to lie down somewhere that isnât rocking back and forth.â His gaze dropped to his boyfriendâs waist and a slight smile played along his lips. Â
âBut letâs finish you first. I should be able to keep the rest of my dinner down long enough for that at least.â Â
Jeremiah wanted to protest, but he just couldnât. âThis isnât going to take long,â he promised. âAnd then you can puke some more and we can go back to the hotel.â Â
Drew burped and nodded. âWhen we get married someday itâs going to be on a beach,â he vowed.
I don't know if you're into burping, but I find it's really hot when incorporated into illness. Eden is a soft, delicate guy it seems, but I would very much love to see him out of commission with a gassy, bloated belly, suffering some brutal indigestion, while boyfriend Jude gives him belly rubs to get the trapped air out :p
Anonymous said: Oh my gosh I need something about eden and chewing gum now! Itâs too adorable!!!!
A/N: So this has taken an actual frickinâ age to actually get to posting, but here is something, finally.. I hope you enjoyâŠ
Eden felt like a brick had settled in his gut as he tried to make himself comfortable in the auditorium seating for his lecture. Eppie wasnât at todayâs lecture as she was away to London to have a special appointment with the gender consultant. Eden squashed himself in, thinking that they never provided seating for people with as long legs as him. Symbiosis was his least favourite of this semester - he generally had to force himself to stay awake by taking notes, but today his pen had made twenty-one dots along the top of his page and nothing else.
Heâd had to wolf down his cheese sandwich at lunch, as he only had fifteen minutes between his tutorial and this lecture and now he could feel it glugging away in his stomach, trying its best to digest. He shifted a little - not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to himself, yet not feeling at all comfortable in any position.
There was a burning in his chest, which he put down to indigestion from eating too quickly, but his jeans waistband was beginning to feel like it was digging into his stomach. As he put his hand to readjust it, he could feel a slight bulge of his stomach. He put it down to the speed of eating, and hoped it would go away during the lecture.
But the discomfort only grew, and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate as a bubbly sensation travelled the length of his chest and abdomen. He couldnât help but squirm around as he felt his face growing warmer from the embarrassment. His gut had let out a few wailing grumbles, and though he wasnât sitting directly next to anyone, he knew it was loud enough for others to hear. He clamped his hand to his stomach, hoping that it might muffle the sound, but all that had happened was a bubble of air pushed up his throat and he had to swallow fast to avoid burping in public. He removed his hand, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed, but no one even batted an eyelid.
By the time his class ended, heâd felt like someone had inserted a beach ball into his stomach and slowly pumped it up so it was full of air. Heâd bitten back the urge to burp, feeling his cheeks go pink every time his gut let out another gurgle. He shoved his notepad into his backpack, but as he stood up, the painful brick-like weight returned to his stomach. He clutched his hands to his stomach momentarily, then remembered everyone could see him so removed them; the burn in his upper chest intensified and he blinked as his eyes watered.
He just had to get home - then he could have some water and try to get his stomach to settle. Once he was out of the lecture hall and into the street, his hand instinctively moved to his stomach again; he generally stooped a little when he walked, but now he felt like he was almost bent double.
He clung to the bannister as he climbed up to his flat; he felt lethargic now - like that short walk had really taken it out of him.
âAfternoon!â Judeâs voice came bounding from the living room, followed by his enthusiastic self, but he stopped when he saw Edenâs face. âWhatâs wrong?â He asked suddenly.
Generally Eden was pretty stoical - heâd shrug things off in the hope that itâd get better, but he felt so sluggish and uncomfortable that he really couldnât hide it.
âMy tummyâs really hurting,â he moaned, still feeling like he was bent really far forward.
âOh no!â He said, looking worried; heâd crossed to where Eden was standing and wrapped his arm around him. âWhy donât you come sit down? Iâll make you some tea.â
âOkay,â Eden allowed himself to be led through to their sitting room; he shrugged off his backpack, then perched on the edge of the sofa, the weight of the bloat of his stomach feeling more apparent.
Jude brought through two cups of tea - heâd clearly been making one for himself anyway, and he sat next to Eden, worry still obvious on his face.
âWhen you say your tummy is hurting, what do you mean?â Jude asked as Eden leant back, still holding on to his abdomen. âDo you feel sick?â
âNot - not really,â Eden replied, trying to think of how to explain what he was feeling. âMy - I feel all bloated, likeâŠâ Eden stopped himself, feeling his cheeks going a bit pink - he didnât really want to admit that he needed to burp to Jude.
âLike what?â Jude questioned further, watching Eden closely.
âBubbly and funny,â Eden said, waving his hands over the area of his abdomen. âI think I maybe ate too fast, or something.â
âDo you want a tummy rub?â Jude suggested. âYou know how much that helps me.â
âYeah,â Eden mumbled, he wasnât entirely sure, but anything would be better than the discomfort he felt at the moment. âIâll give it a try.â
âJust come, lean back in to me,â he advised, moving so Eden could sit with his back resting against Judeâs front. It was odd, as normally Jude was the one that fit into Eden - as Eden was so much taller, but now their roles were reversed. âThatâs it.â Jude wrapped his arms around Edenâs waist, slipping his hand underneath Edenâs t-shirt. âOh goodness Eden!â Jude said, shocked; pulling up Edenâs t-shirt further to reveal the bulge. âYouâre really bloated!â
âI know,â Eden muttered, a little embarrassed, but the warmth and gentleness of Judeâs hand was really nice.
âAre you sure youâre not feeling sick?â He asked cautiously.
âNo,â Eden said firmly. âIâm just uncomfortable.â
âAlright,â he answered, âlean back.â Eden rested back, the warmth of Judeâs hand on his stomach was soothing; and he rubbed small circles around Edenâs belly button, Eden began to relax a bit.
âHmmmâŠâ Eden closed his eyes.
âIs that okay?â Jude whispered slowly.
âYeah, I-â Eden stopped abruptly as he felt the beginnings of a burp and closed his mouth to swallow it back. âItâs nice.â
âGood,â Jude agreed, continuing to rub his hand round Edenâs stomach, and everytime Eden felt air dislodging, he swallowed hard - but this only seemed to further upset his stomach. It began to whine and grumble, becoming more audible.
âYour tummy is really not sounding happy Ede,â Jude said concerned.
âMmmâŠâ Eden agreed, putting his own hand to his stomach; his face burning even more. He was going to have to tell Jude the truth. âI feel like⊠Like I need to belch,â Eden admitted, burying his head into his hands in embarrassment; but to his surprise, Jude burst out laughing. Eden swivelled round to look at him, feeling his stomach gurgle as he did so. âWhat?â
âOh Ede!â Jude was having a hard time stopping laughing, and he swiped tears away from his eyes as Eden scowled at him. âBelch!â He muttered, then ran his hand up and down Edenâs spine.
âDonât!â Eden pouted. âI donât like it!â
âI knowâŠâ Jude nodded. âHere, itâs only natural Ede! Sometimes you just need to let the air out.â
âYeah, but, I find it difficult!â Eden protested. âI was always taught it was rudeâŠâ
Jude bristled slightly at this - his whole family were burpy people, they just couldnât help it. âItâs rude in the wrong situations⊠But if youâre holding it in and itâs making you feel uncomfortable, then itâs not.â
âHmmmâŠâ Eden didnât look too convinced.
âAnd youâre with me Ede!â Jude insisted. âHow many times have you rubbed my belly to help me burp?â
âQuite a few,â Eden agreed sheepishly.
âThen let me return the favour,â he said, âand I guarantee youâll feel better when the air is out.â
âMmmâŠâ Eden bit his lip, then finally he sighed. âFine.â
âSit up really straight,â Jude told him, Eden did as he was told, still holding at his tummy a little protectively. âOpen your mouth really wide, and push your diaphragm.â
ââŠ.â Eden tried, his mouth hanging open, he squeezed his eyes shut. âNope, itâs not working.â He shook his head after a few tries.
âLet me pat your back while you try,â Jude suggested and he placed his hand firmly on Edenâs back, then gave little pats; Eden tried again, opening his mouth and clutching at his tummy - but nothing happened.
âNgghhâŠâ Eden shook his head again. âI canâtâŠâ
âHmmmâŠâ Jude scowled for a second, then Eden practically saw the idea flash into his head. âOh wait! I have an idea!â He sprang up from the sofa and dashed from the room; Eden heard the squeak of a door and then Judeâs footsteps coming back. âHereâŠâ Jude held out his hand as he returned, he was clutching a small packet, which Eden eventually saw was chewing gum.
âNo, I donât really like chewing gum,â Eden shook his head, pushing Judeâs hand away; but Jude was beaming.
âAnd why donât you like it?â Jude asked.
âBecause it makes meâŠâ Edenâs eyes widened in understanding. âOh⊠cause it makes me burpy!â
âExactly!â Jude nodded, squeezing out two pieces of gum and handing them across. âNow chew!â
Eden was in so much discomfort that he was willing to try anything to get rid of it - so he placed the gum in his mouth and chewed. There was an explosion of mint in his mouth which made his nose itch, but he obediently kept chewing - aware that Jude was still watching him.
âItâs really annoyingâŠâ Eden admitted, rubbing his hand across his tummy.
âYeah - but everyone experiences it at some point,â Jude pointed out. âWhat did you have for lunch today?â
âJust a cheese sandwich,â Eden replied.
âAnd how quickly did you eat it?â Jude questioned, his eyebrows raising.
âQuite quicklyâŠâ Eden admitted sheepishly. âIâve only got fifteen minutes in between classes!â He wailed slightly.
âThatâs probably whatâs making you feel rubbish,â Jude nodded.
âThereâs not much I can do about - BRRUAARRP!â A sudden burp slipped from Edenâs lips halfway through his sentence, and he covered his mouth. âExcuse me!â But Jude was chuckling.
âFeel any better?â He asked; Eden stopped chewing the gum momentarily, as he felt the air shifting in his gut.
âYea - UUUAAUUURRPP!â Another burp rumbled up and Eden covered his mouth again. âI - uuurrrpp!â He couldnât stop them now; the chewing gum seemed to have done the trick, and the dislodged air bubbled up again. âUurrpp!â
âGoodness Ede,â Jude grinned, giving him a gentle pat on the back which caused another burp to come free.
âSorry - uuuaarrp!â Edenâs cheeks went bright pink as he burped again.
âDonât worry,â Jude said, smiling; Eden was nursing his stomach still, but it did feel like the bloat was going down the more he burped. âIt sounds like you really needed to get that air out.â
âRRuuuaaarRRRP!â Eden nodded his head, pushing both hands down on his stomach to force more air out. âWill you keep patting my - huurrrp! - back?â He asked Jude pleadingly, feeling like it was really working.
âOf course!â Jude agreed, rubbing his hand in between Edenâs shoulders, then patting gently. Almost instantly another burp erupted from his mouth. âDoes that help?â Jude asked, patting a rhythm into Edenâs back.
âYeah,â Eden nodded, âit really - uuuuaaAAARRPP!â That last burp was wet sounding, and Jude paused to look at Edenâs face.
âThat sounded a bit⊠you sure youâre not feeling sick?â Jude asked concerned.
âNot reallyâŠâ Eden replied, stopping pressing on his tummy so hard; he felt a stickiness at the back of his throat.
âMaybe you should stop?â Jude suggested. âGive your tummy some time to rest and see if it gets any better?â
âMmhmm,â Eden nodded in agreement; the bloated discomfort had gone down and, although he did feel better, the unsettled sensation was still present - like an aftermath. âWill you still rub my tummy for me?â
âAs long as itâs not going to hurt you,â Jude nodded, opening his arms and allowing Eden to snuggle back into him, wrapping his arm around Edenâs middle so he could rub his stomach. âYou just let me know when you want me to stop.â
âPlease donât stop,â Eden murmured, âit is really nice.â He cuddled into Judeâs shoulder. âThank you so much for helping, Jude.â
âItâs no problem,â Jude insisted, ânext time just come to me.â
