Collab with @its-a-goddamn-heartbreak
~Horny Warning~ There is an actual sex scene in here. It's not the focus of the story, nor is it very long, but if that's not your thing, you've been warned.
Genevieve always struggled to sleep the night before a competition. Nerves kept her heart hammering and her mind racing until after midnight, and even when she finally dozed off, it was an anxious, restless sleep. She woke in the morning feeling thoroughly unrefreshed, achy and exhausted and more than a little nauseous.
Even climbing out of bed felt like a chore, and her morning stretches didn't bring their usual limber energy. Bending forward brought an unwelcome pressure to her guts, and she rubbed gingerly over her middle. Acid threatened to rise in her throat, forcing her to sit back up. She climbed to her feet, closing her eyes and taking slow, deep breaths. One hand nursed her stomach, where a tight ball of nerves gnawed away at last night's dinner. She knew she needed breakfast - sailing on an empty stomach would be disastrous - but walking all the way down to the kitchen took every bit of energy she had.
The smell of oatmeal heating up did nothing to help her appetite. She could barely stand to look at it as she sat down to eat, but even as the nervous nausea threatened to swell again, she knew she needed food to survive the day. Forcing down a mouthful, she grimaced at the texture, scooping up more in an attempt to get through it as quickly as possible.
As Genevieve made her way back upstairs, the oatmeal sat in her stomach like cement. She took a moment to sit on her bed, closing her eyes and taking deep, calming breaths. It was just sailing, she told herself, not rocket science, not brain surgery. Just sailing. She'd been doing it for years. She was good at it, excellent even. Today would be fine.
A gurgle in her guts jolted her out of her thoughts and she groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach. If anything, that made the feeling worse, hot spit pooling under her tongue as she struggled to steady her breathing. She rubbed gingerly over her middle, but it did nothing to settle the sick feeling growing in her belly. Muffling a burp into her fist, she felt bile burning its way up her throat and made a desperate scramble for the bathroom.
She barely made it, practically throwing herself across the floor to reach the toilet before the first gush of vomit spilled from her lips. The oatmeal looked exactly the same coming up, and the thought only made her sicker. She heaved again, clutching the toilet as her stomach contents surged up, another thick wave of sludge pouring into the bowl.
There was a brief reprieve after the second wave, and she sat back, panting for breath. She couldn't help wondering what had gotten her so worked up - while she often got anxious, even to the point of queasiness prior to competitions, even when she threw up, it was never this bad. Squeezing her eyes shut, she rubbed a hand over her chest. There was a lingering burn in her throat, and by the way her stomach was clenching, she could tell the next wave was soon to come. Grabbing a scrunchie from the bathroom counter, she put her hair into a sloppy bun just in time to lean back over the toilet. A small but guttural burp came from the pit of her stomach, followed by a massive cascade of vomit.
She didn’t have time for this. Nye was picking her up in less than an hour, and she still had to do her face and her hair and pack her stuff up. Pressing the back of her fingers to her lips, she sat back, trying to catch her breath. Truthfully, she felt like spending the day in a nest of blankets on the bathroom floor, not even wanting to go as far as the couch. But that wasn't an option. Rubbing her belly, she cringed at the way the tender bloat bubbled under her hand. Her skintight wetsuit would be agony against a swollen, unsettled stomach.
Finally steeling herself, she drew a slow, shaky breath, fumbling to her feet and flushing the mess from the toilet. She splashed some water on her face, taking stock of her ghastly countenance in the mirror. It would take masterful makeup skills to make her presentable in this state. Cupping some water in her hand, she took a small sip and swilled her mouth out; she still felt bad enough that she wasn’t sure she could brush her teeth without setting herself off again. Instead, she dug through her purse, unwrapping a mint and popping it into her mouth. She still didn't feel well at all, but it was enough of a distraction from her nausea that she was at least able to get dressed and put her face on. Years of posh parties and galas had taught her well and by the time Nye knocked on her door she was perfectly presentable.
"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, leaning in to kiss her. She prayed he only tasted the mint on her lips, kissing him back and resting her head on his shoulder.
"You ready to go?" Nye asked, eyeing her bag already sitting by the front door.
Genevieve sighed, not pulling away yet. "Yeah. I'm exhausted, though. Didn't sleep well. It's going to be a long day."
"You don't have a headache, do you?" Nye fussed, clocking the discomfort furrowed into her painted face.
“No, no, just tired,” she insisted, kissing his cheek and tugging him towards the door. “Come on, let’s get going.”
"Okay," Nye agreed, grabbing her bag without having to be asked. "My car is just out front, and I've got the directions on my phone already."
Genevieve nodded, shuffling along behind him. She didn't want to draw too much attention, for fear he would clock that she was unwell, but as she climbed into the passenger seat, the urge to clutch her stomach grew stronger. Nye hopped in the driver's side, taking off right away, and she sank back in the seat with a groan.
“You could try and get some sleep,” Nye said, reaching over to pat her hand. “It’s at least an hour until we get there, probably more with traffic. I’ll wake you up with fifteen minutes to go, yeah?”
"Good idea," she mumbled, leaning her seat back and closing her eyes. It was probably the best chance she had of still feeling human when they arrived at the harbor - the way her stomach was turning, she knew she wouldn't last the drive awake without throwing up. "G'night," she said, reaching over to squeeze Nye's hand as she cozied up in the seat.
To her relief, she fell asleep almost immediately. It hadn’t been a lie when she’d told Nye that she hadn’t slept well. In fact, her restless tossing and turning in the night should have been the first sign that it was going to be a bad day. When he woke her, she felt groggier than ever, fumbling with the latch to sit her seat back up. She wished she'd been feeling well enough for coffee - her energy was abysmally low, even after the nap, and her mind was foggy. She cracked the window, hoping some fresh air might help to clear her head.
The rest of the drive was unpleasant but uneventful. Nye grabbed Genevieve's bag before going around to get her door, offering a hand to help her out of the car. Without warning, she latched onto him, arms around his neck and full weight against his chest. She hugged tightly for a moment before finally pulling away, grabbing her gear bag from him and swallowing nervously.
"Right, well… wish me luck."
“You don’t need luck,” he grinned, poking her nose. “You’re better than all of ‘em.”
Genevieve couldn't help grinning, and she leaned back in to kiss him square on the mouth. "Then you'd best be ready for victory sex."
"One step ahead of you. There's condoms in the kitbag." Nye said, such a cheeky smirk on his face she couldn't tell if he was joking.
“Ugh, man of my dreams…” She threw him one last look as she made her way down to the changing stalls of the marina.
Normally, the crisp sea air was all she needed to shake off the nerves, but for some reason she still felt sick and shaky as she hung her bag up in the cubicle. As she had feared, her wetsuit, which was snug by design, put immense pressure on her tender, bloated stomach, and she hunched forward for a moment, nursing her aching middle. Knowing she couldn't stay there wallowing in her misery, she allowed herself a minute of wriggling and groaning before pulling herself together.
Swallowing down the nausea, she headed out to rig her boat, which her father had shipped to the marina earlier that week. It wasn’t complex, and she’d done it so many times before that it was second nature now, but she still found herself fumbling, numb-fingered, with the knots. Even moored securely to the jetty, the small craft bobbed and bucked with the ebbing waves, and several times the nausea got so bad that Gen had to sit down on the pier and take several deep breaths.
When she finally managed to get everything assembled, a wave of relief should've washed over her. Instead, a fresh swell of nausea nearly floored her. The familiar smell of salt air was suddenly sickening, and she hiccuped quietly, covering her mouth as bile crept up her throat. It was like that morning all over again, as she dashed back into the changing rooms on weak legs, barely managing to lock the bathroom door before she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. Scalding acid burned in her throat, and a tiny burp sent what was left of her breakfast spilling into the toilet bowl. Saliva pooled in her mouth, and she spat clumsily into the bowl, gasping for breath. Her stomach clenched again, her stodgy pre-race protein bar coming up in a gush.
She stayed hunched over the toilet for a while, panting for air and anticipating another wave. When it became clear she wasn't about to be violently ill again, a fresh wave of panic hit as she realized how close the race was to starting. Scrambling to her feet, she made a mad dash from the bathroom, so urgent she didn't even notice the tumbling in her stomach.
Once she was out on the water, things seemed easier. She sailed the boat to the start point of the race almost on autopilot, instinct taking over and allowing her brain to settle into a comfortable haze. As the competition wore on, though, she found her focus fading and her grip slipping. She spied another boat creeping up in her peripheral, and her face flushed with fury, fingers tightening on the rigging. Wind caught in the sails, and she braced herself as the boat jerked forward.
It was as much to her surprise as anyone else's when she surged across the finish, a cascade of boats hurrying behind her and only two ahead. From the shore, the crowd roared, and a rush of delight swelled in her chest. In the wake of victory, however, her adrenaline seemed to fade in an instant, and her legs threatened to turn to jelly beneath her. It took all her strength just to guide the boat back to shore, the rocking of the waves turning her stomach and threatening her balance. Fumbling with the mooring knot, she stumbled onto the jetty, hoping to catch her breath before dealing with the hassle of preparing the boat for transport.
Even standing on solid ground, Genevieve felt supremely unsteady, and without warning, her abdominal muscles lurched. She barely had time to lean over the edge of the jetty before her stomach rebelled, bile and water spilling into the ocean below. Dropping to one knee, she clutched the prow of her boat to stop herself from falling in as another heave propelled her forwards. She was pretty much empty - she'd only had an energy gel and some water since she'd last thrown up, and she'd long since lost anything she'd eaten that morning. Cold sweat coated her brow, leaving her sticky and uncomfortable, and she couldn't tell whether it was from the race or the fact that she was now very clearly ill.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she rocked back on her haunches. As she ducked her woozy head between her knees, a hand clapped down on her shoulder. She didn't even have the energy to look up.
"Gen?" It was one of her competitors - a boy called Freddy that she'd been at school with. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"No," she said, too far gone to consider lying. "Been spewish all day…"
Her stomach gurgled in affirmation, and she muffled a belch into her fist. Finally managing to lift her head, she gave him a baleful look, face grey and eyes watery. Freddy winced. "Are you alright to…" he trailed off, stepping past her. "Nevermind. I'll get your boat taken care of."
"Thanks mate," she nodded, belching and resting her head between her knees again. "'s not too bad, everything's pretty normal. It's just…mmmph…ugh, just going in the boat house until Daddy collects it."
Freddy bent to pat her shoulder before hopping onto the boat. He secured all the rigging, making sure it was thoroughly moored before stepping back onto the jetty. Genevieve hadn't moved, hunched over and shivering where she sat.
"Come on, up you get," Freddy encouraged. "Your boy is driving you home, right?"
"Yeah," she sighed, "but it's over an hou-urp… away."
Freddy sighed sympathetically. "Well. Wouldn't you rather be miserable with him than out here?"
She nodded slowly, rubbing a hand over her face. "C'n you…fetch him?"
Freddy squeezed her shoulder, feeling increasingly sorry for her. "Yeah, Gen, of course. Give me a minute."
"Thanks," she mumbled, slumping forward against her knees.
Freddy hurried away toward the stands, looking around for a familiar face. His own family was coming to meet him, but he waved them away for the moment. It didn’t take long to find Nye - his shock of blonde hair and the fact that he was wearing Genevieve’s sailing colours made him easily distinguishable. Freddy hurried over, explaining the situation as much as he could without drawing attention, and chivvied Nye away towards the pier.
They were practically jogging by the time they'd returned to Genevieve, and it was a good thing, too. She was on her knees, hunched forward over the water and heaving loudly.
“Oh, Gen, baby,” Nye gasped, racing to her side. He crouched beside her, rubbing her back and holding her steady. “Thanks Freddy,” he added, glancing up. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got it from here.” As Freddy left, he turned back to Genevieve. “There you go, deep breaths love, easy now.”
"Sorry," she choked out. "I wanted to go home, but…" She was cut off by a watery burp, more bile trickling from her lips.
“I know, and I’ll get you home,” Nye promised, cleaning her face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You can stay at mine ‘til you’re feeling better, okay? Then I can take care of you.”
Genevieve nodded meekly, heaving a few more times over the frothy water before finally settling. She leaned back against Nye, shivering and slick with sweat. "I want to change," she pouted, "the wetsuit hurts my stomach."
“Of course love,” he agreed, kissing her forehead tenderly. “Come on, let’s go and find your stuff. Can you stand?”
"I'll try," she said, leaning on Nye as he eased her to her feet. The jetty felt unsteady beneath her, as if it was bobbing in the water like her boat, but she didn't fall.
Nye rubbed a hand soothingly across her back, keeping a supportive grip on her. "Alright, slowly now…"
“Yeah…,” she agreed, taking a tentative step forward before adding sadly, “I don’t think I can get the whole way home without throwing up again.”
"It's okay," Nye assured her, still rubbing steadily up and down her spine as they walked. "We can find a bucket, or a bag, or I can just pull over when you're feeling sick."
“Okay,” she mumbled, tapping the code into her changing room door. “Can you help me? I’m…exhausted.”
Nye didn't hesitate, despite how it would look with him joining her in the changing room. "Yeah, of course. Are there showers, or do you just need to change?"
She grimaced, palming her stomach as it rolled unevenly. “Just changed,” she decided. Unlike the changing cubicles, the showers were communal, and she didn’t think anyone would take too kindly to her choking up her stomach contents in them.
"Okay, no problem." Nye prepared her towels and clean clothes before starting to peel the wetsuit off of her. As it slid down below her waist, releasing the pressure on her stomach, Genevieve let out a louder than intentional groan.
"Oh, god…" she mumbled, rubbing gingerly over her belly. It stuck out noticeably without the wetsuit cinching her in, and there were lines in her skin where the seams had pressed into it. As Nye eased the wetsuit further, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, hunching forwards miserably. The sweats that he helped her into minutes later were much more forgiving, but even then she had to slip the elastic waistband down so that it sat underneath the worst of the bloat - up over her hips it put a sickening amount of pressure on her stomach.
Once she was changed and wrapped in a fresh, dry towel, Nye guided her out of the stall. "I'm going to get you settled in the car and look for a bucket or something, okay?"
“Uh huh,” she nodded, tongue heavy and lips numb and feeling increasingly out of it. She let him lead her to the car park and tuck her into the passenger seat with a blanket from the boot, resting her head against his shoulder for a minute as he leaned over her. “Could - could you get me a drink please? I puked up my energy gel and I’m just feeling…super woozy.”
"Yeah, of course." Nye nodded enthusiastically, running off back towards the event. He was only gone for a few minutes before coming back, a bucket with water, Gatorade, and a cold pack in his arms. "I brought everything I could find," he told her. "I hope it'll do for now."
Gen mumbled her thanks, taking tiny sips of the Gatorade while Nye set up the bucket on a towel in the footwell. "Love you babe," she murmured, catching his hand just before he pulled out of the car to go round to the driver's seat.
"Love you too," he said quietly, leaning back in to kiss her forehead. "Try to get some rest, okay? You look like you need it, and it'll make the drive go faster."
She nodded, continuing to sip her Gatorade until her stomach grumbled ominously. It took a moment to close the bottle with shaking hands, and she set it aside, tucking her knees up to her chest and cradling her belly.
"Aw baby," Nye crooned, reaching over to squeeze her thigh as he turned out of the car park. "I'm sorry, today must've been a bit rubbish for you. Were you feeling bad this morning?"
Genevieve sniffled, emotion swelling alongside the nausea in her throat. "Threw up this morning," she admitted weakly. Her stomach lurched, and she hastily stifled a burp with her fist. "Oh God…and just before the race. It was…it was awful."
"Oh love, I wish you'd told me," Nye sighed, mentally berating himself for not having noticed. In hindsight, it was clear that she'd been more than just a little tired. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, glancing anxiously over every so often even as he drove. Her face was a pasty white, make-up patchy with involuntary tear tracks and sweat, so pale that the green veins underneath were visible.
Genevieve was silent during the ride, save for the audible gurgling of her stomach and occasional whimpers. As they got out of the city and onto more winding country roads, she was unable to keep her composure, groaning and burping wetly into her fist. What had once just been nausea had turned into a roiling ache deep in her belly, and she hunched forward, a soft low whine in her throat. Nye winced, squeezing her hand gently. He desperately wished that he could snap his fingers and make her feel better, or even just get her home and into bed sooner, but for now he had to balance getting home speedily with driving as smoothly as possible.
Her stomach let out a deep, watery groan and Genevieve winced, covering her mouth and palming her belly. She leaned over towards the bucket, head down between her legs. Her shoulders shook faintly, the position of bending so far forward making her dizzy, but her stomach far too upset to move. A sick little hiccup jerked her belly, and without any further warning, a fountain of sick poured into the bucket.
"Oh love," Nye comforted, rubbing her back gently. It was a blessing that they'd left her hair up in the tight bun she put it in for sailing, since he couldn't have kept it out of the way with one hand and her hands were trembling far too badly to do it herself. "Get it up, that's alright. Do you need me to pull over?"
She didn't respond at first, busy choking up another gush of watery vomit. Her belly was clenched tightly, determined to expel everything in it and more, and she coughed weakly on the end of her heave. "I don't know," she sniffled, "driving is making me feel so sick, but I just want to go home…"
"Alright, that's okay," Nye replied patiently, patting between her shoulders as she coughed again. "How about we pull in briefly at the next passing place so you can get some fresh air and wash your mouth out and stuff?"
Genevieve nodded meekly, another gurgle from her stomach eliciting a low, miserable groan. The sick bubbling in her guts made her burp, thick saliva trickling from her trembling lower lip.
"Okay, we'll do that," he soothed, putting the blinkers on as he found somewhere to stop. "You should feel a little better with some air, and then it's not too far until we get home."
"I feel so ill," she moaned, cupping her hands gingerly under her bloated stomach. It roiled tangibly under her touch, and she had to cover her mouth to burp again. "Ugh…"
"I'm sorry baby," he murmured, putting the parking brake on and leaning over to kiss her sweaty forehead. "Okay, let's get you out and I'll get you a bottle of water."
Genevieve nodded, but it was no easy feat hauling her out of the car. She was all huddled up, her limbs wobbly and uncooperative, and she stumbled into Nye's chest as he eased her up onto her feet. Unable to stand on her own, she stayed slumped against him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the feverish heat of her skin, wincing sympathetically.
"Here, sit down on the grass, love," he coaxed, guiding her over to sit on the verge. She whimpered, clinging to him until he sat down beside her, holding her safe in his arms. Hushing her gently, he stroked the top of her head. "Oh sweetheart, you're burning up."
"Rub my back," she begged, practically climbing into his lap as she snuggled into his chest. The cool breeze outside was better than the stuffy air inside the car, but it made her shiver, and she trembled fiercely against Nye.
He nodded in agreement, cracking the lid of a bottle of water and pressing it into her hand. "Try to drink something though," he bargained. "Wash your mouth out at least."
She took some water in her mouth without protest, but even just swishing it around made her gag again. Leaning forward, she let it trickle out of her mouth, her stomach twitching as a dribble of bile followed.
"Babe…," Nye sighed, kissing her temple tenderly as she folded back against his chest with a whimper. He almost wondered whether he should drive her straight to a hospital, but she'd probably hate the indignity of it. Besides, there wasn't much they would do for her at this point - she hadn't been throwing up all that long, so she didn't need admitting yet. "Okay, you're okay, I've got you. Try again in a minute, okay, otherwise we can leave it until we're home."
Genevieve groaned, cupping her head in her hands. She wanted so badly to be in bed, wearing nothing but one of Nye's t-shirts and feeling his hands on her feverish skin. She wanted to lie with her head on his chest, letting his heartbeat lull her to sleep. Her stomach gurgled noisily again, and she whimpered, the pain making her hunch forward. Nye rubbed the tense muscles in her lower back, cooing sympathetically.
"Poor thing… do you want me to rub your belly?" He asked, seeing the way her hands moved to clutch at her upset stomach. She nodded meekly.
"Please. It hurts, and I feel so sick."
"Okay love, just rest against me," Nye murmured, lips brushing her forehead. They would have to get moving again before long, but he could offer her this little bit of comfort before that. She leaned into him, groaning softly as his hand slid up under her sweatshirt. He was shocked to feel how bloated she was, her normally toned stomach full and soft. It gurgled noisily under his touch, and she whimpered, burying her face in the crook of his neck while he rubbed over the tender swell. Genevieve groaned - his touch was soothing, but the movement in her belly threatened to overwhelm her.
After a couple of minutes of quiet, Nye tapped her cheek gently. "You still with me love? Do you think you could try a little more water?"
She sighed wearily, but didn't fight when he held the bottle of water to her lips. Taking a few tentative sips, she allowed him to guide her back to the car, curling up in the blanket he'd brought her. "Rub my back while we drive?" She begged.
"I can't Gen, I need both hands to drive," Nye reminded her, kissing her forehead as he drew back from the doorway. "As soon as we get home I can do whatever you want."
Genevieve whined, making a face like this was the greatest injustice she'd ever been dealt. "Fine."
The rest of the drive, Genevieve sat in miserable silence, groaning and clutching her stomach at every brake and turn. She was nowhere near settled by the time they reached Nye’s house, having to sit in the car and take several deep breaths through her nose before she felt capable of moving without immediately spewing.
When she finally allowed it, Nye scooped her up in his arms, carrying her inside with the utmost care. He set her gently on the couch, hurrying off to find pillows and blankets to make her more comfortable. He'd barely let go of her, however, when she started to whine.
"I can't sleep on this. I want a bed."
He paused, peering down at her milky complexion. “Can you make it up the stairs, babe? I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
"I'm uncomfortable here," she pouted. "Your bed is bad enough, I just can't do the couch. It might as well be a wooden bench."
“Alright, up you get then,” Nye coaxed her to her feet, noting the way she blanched and clutched her stomach at the change in elevation. “Lean on me and we’ll go nice and slow.”
Genevieve slumped against him, so limp and clumsy Nye thought back to the last party he'd dragged her home from. He wrapped a supportive arm around her back, keeping her steady as they shuffled towards the stairs. Each step seemed to sap Genevieve further of energy, and by the time they reached Nye’s bedroom he was practically carrying her. She curled into his duvet with a groan, pulling one of the pillows to hug against her body.
"Can I get you anything?" Nye fussed. Even if she was being picky, he couldn't help wanting to take care of her. She just looked so miserable, pale and shaking and soaked in sweat, he would've done anything to fix it.
“Bucket maybe,” she mumbled. Her breathing was slightly laboured, coming out in slow huffs as wave after wave of nausea crashed over her. “Don’t know if I’ll…make it. To the bathroom.”
Nye frowned, worry creasing his brow. "Poor thing," he said, stroking a stray lock of hair from her face. "God, you're so warm…"
Genevieve didn't respond right away, having been overwhelmed with a particularly powerful bout of nausea. "... Nye," she eventually choked out, "bucket."
“What? Oh, God, yeah…” He jumped up, hurrying downstairs to fetch the basin from under the sink. By the time he came back, she was white-faced and covering her mouth, a look of urgent panic in her eyes as he coaxed her over the bin. The second it was under her chin, she heaved, water and bile splattering in the basin. Nye’s heart sank - he’d hoped she’d be able to at least keep the water down and get some rest, but it seemed like her stomach was determined to thoroughly wring itself out.
She stayed hunched over the basin, gagging unproductively long after choking up the last dregs of sick. Nye hovered loyally at her side, petting her hair and rubbing tenderly between her shoulders all the while. When she finally fell back on the pillows, ghastly white and gasping for breath, Nye hastily climbed up beside her, setting the bin on the side table for the time being (it was practically empty anyway).
“I feel…so ill,” she sobbed, curling up against him as soon as she’d caught her breath. All she wanted was to go to sleep until she was better - even though it was barely late afternoon, it felt as though the day had gone on forever, and with it this dreadful nausea.
Nye wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head against his chest. "Poor baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Rub my tummy," she demanded, shifting immediately to a more accessible angle.
Nye laid his palm against her still-gurgling belly, rubbing light circles against it for fear of making her feel worse. “Like this?”
“Mmhmm…” Genevieve nestled against him, head heavy against his chest. Although she still felt thoroughly rotten, the sound of his heartbeat soothed her and his cool hands settled the worst of the nausea. Completely empty now, she slipped off to sleep pretty quickly.
The sun was disappearing out the window when Genevieve started to stir. Her head was foggy, and her stomach muscles ached from throwing up so much, but the crippling nausea from earlier had faded. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realised that she was still resting against Nye's chest, his firm arm holding her close. He was awake, sprawled across the bed next to her, head propped against the headboard and scrolling through Instagram with his free hand. Blinking up at him, Gen wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position, drawing his attention away from his phone.
"Hey you," he murmured, a smile breaking out across his face. "You're looking a bit better."
"Yeah, I feel better, too," she said, giving him a snuggle before pulling away to stretch. "God, I don't feel so queasy anymore, but my abs are sore," she whined, flopping onto her back and rubbing her tummy.
"Yeah, I bet," Nye sympathised, sitting up straighter so that he could pet her hair. "Take it easy for the next few days, cause you've really been through the wringer."
"Believe me, there's nothing I want more than a good night's rest… except maybe a victory shag," she grinned, and her stomach growled, but for the first time, it was a sensation of hunger that followed. "...and something to eat. I'm famished."
"Maybe some water first?" Nye chuckled, bracing himself over her and kissing her forehead. "See how that settles while I make the soup."
Genevieve sighed, but she knew he was probably right. Sitting up, she grabbed the water from the side table, gulping it down to ease her parched throat. It was a refreshing change when her stomach didn't protest, and she leaned back against the headboard with a sigh of relief. Nye smiled, kissing her cheek on his way out.
When he returned with a fresh, steaming bowl of egg drop soup and rice, Genevieve was looking much perkier. She'd had some more water, and it was sitting in her stomach just fine, which only seemed to have made her hungrier. Nye chuckled at the way she grabbed eagerly for the tray, setting it on her lap and kissing her forehead.
"Be careful, it's hot," he warned, sitting beside her.
"Sit with me," she demanded, shuffling up to give him space. "I want cuddles."
Nye sat beside her, wrapping an arm gently around her waist. Genevieve leaned on him with a contented sigh, eating her soup as quickly as she could while blowing on every spoonful.
"It's really good," she murmured, kissing his neck between bites. "Thank you."
"Anything for my princess," Nye said, kissing the top of her head.
Genevieve sat happily with him, making her way through the entire bowl of soup. She ended up taking her time, kissing and nibbling on Nye's neck as she waited for it to cool, and when she set the tray aside, she climbed fully into his lap.
"Oh hello," he grinned, looping his arms around her and nuzzling into her hair. "How was that? Still feeling okay?"
“I feel… pretty good,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss his jaw. Her hips ground against his lap, and she could feel his enthusiasm right away, “But I think you could make me feel better.”
"You sure?" He asked, hands skimming over her waist. "Maybe… Would you like a shower?"
"Only if you join me," Genevieve purred, sliding her hand up under his shirt.
Nye, despite his better judgement, shivered and pulled her in for a kiss. "Well, if you insist…" He pulled back, pulling a face. "But only if you brush your teeth while the water heats up."
Genevieve's face turned red. "Yes, of course, sorry," she said, scrambling off the bed in a hurry.
"Turn the shower on and I'll find us towels and stuff," Nye called after her, already rifling through his drawers for pyjamas for the both of them.
"I want one of your shirts," she called back, followed by the sound of running water. Nye obliged, following her in with their clothes in hand. He found her already having stripped, leaning over the sink with her backside sticking out far more than was necessary while she brushed.
"Hey sexy," he flirted, slapping her on the buttcheek before hanging the towels over the radiator. "You sure you're feeling up to this? We don't have to do anything if you don't want to, a shower can just be a shower."
Genevieve sighed, spitting out her toothpaste and turning to wrap her arms around his neck. "I want this, Nye. It's sweet of you to care so much, but if you don't stop hesitating and fuck me, I'll rip your clothes off and do it myself."
"Go on then," he said, tilting her chin upwards so he could kiss her gently on the lips. "Undress me."
She grabbed his shirt with an unexpected ferocity, pulling away from the kiss to yank it over his head. It left his hair tousled, and she leaned back in to kiss him more hungrily, her hands moving down to undo his trousers. Nye let out a little "mmph!" of surprise before leaning into her, groaning softly as her hands rubbed him teasingly through his underwear.
"Thought you were going to strip me," he mumbled against her lips.
Genevieve laughed, pulling away and giving him a devious grin. "Desperate, are we?" She let him whine for a moment before pulling his pants down in a swift, practiced motion. "I am, too. Come on, the shower's hot."
"You're a goddess," Nye sighed. He stumbled into the shower cubicle behind her, bracing one hand against the tiled wall as he began to press kisses down the side of her neck. Genevieve moaned, squirming and reaching out to grab a fistful of his hair. His lips moved down her chest, teeth grazing tauntingly over one nipple, and she gasped loudly, her grip tightening on his hair. He brushed over it again in response, his free hand squeezing her bum. She whimpered, pressing bodily against him, clawing at his back with the hand not in his hair. Though she had woken up feeling much better, she was still feverish enough to be extra sensitive, and every slightest twitch made her whimper, shivers running through her whole body.
"Nnng, Nye," she whined, hips bucking instinctively as he reached between her thighs. He stepped forwards, crowding her back against the wall.
Genevieve whimpered, struggling to find her words, but eventually she gasped out, "fuck me… please."
Nye paused for a minute, enjoying her pleased little whimpers and moans. She buried her hands in his hair, kissing him fiercely under the spray of the shower. Testing with his fingers again, Nye found her slick, and wet, and wanting. Gen groaned into his mouth, her lips leaving his as her head dropped against his shoulder.
"Please, Nye," she begged.
He cupped his hands under her thighs, hoisting her up and pressing her back against the wall. "Okay," he agreed, voice a low growl as he plunged into her. Her hands fell out of his hair, and she moaned loudly, pushing her face into the crook of his neck. As his hips began to rock in rhythm, her fingers found purchase again, nails digging into his back. She whimpered into his shoulder, her thighs clenching around his waist as she bucked compulsively against him.
"Gen," he groaned, pressing a hand against the wall as his hips rocked faster. "God, you feel so good."
She moaned, this one much louder than the last, nails scoring across his back. Her heart was pounding, breath coming in short, sharp pants. Her mind was a blur of ecstasy as she squealed, "Yes, yes, oh my god, Nye!"
Nye groaned, thrusting into her one last time before coming to a shuddering stop, his forehead resting against hers. Genevieve's breathing was still laboured, but she was no longer grinning dopily, a strange woozy frown falling over her face. She swallowed uncomfortably, an ominous gurgle coming from her stomach. Her hands were shaky as she tried to push Nye away, and she only managed a few inches of distance before throwing up all down his chest.
“Oh, oh shit,” he yelped, all but dropping her onto her feet as he leaped back. Gen’s face crumpled, and she pressed a hand over her mouth as her shoulders hitched again.
She didn't even have the time to apologize, doubling over just in time for another gush of undigested broth and rice to spray the floor. Her legs wobbled, threatening to send her to her knees as she stumbled.
“Oh babe…” Nye sighed, stepping forwards to hold her in his arms. He almost didn’t care if that meant she might puke on him again - all evidence of the mess would be washed away by the hot spray of the shower as quickly as it was made. As he held her steady, he stroked her wet hair back from her face. Genevieve whimpered, sniffling and leaning against him. Her breath was still coming in ragged gasps, but she finally found her voice again.
"I… I'm so sorry. That came on really suddenly," she said, embarrassment flushing her milky face bright red.
Nye hugged her a little closer and kissed the top of her head. In truth, he felt like he should have been sorry - he should have known better than to get her so wound up when she still clearly wasn’t well. “Don’t be sorry,” he murmured, “you couldn’t help it. No harm done anyway, look, it’s all cleaned away.”
Genevieve sniffled again, but she was at least somewhat comforted by his words. Nestling against the sturdy warmth of his chest, she warned, "I still don't feel very good."
“How not good?” He asked, rubbing a slow, firm hand over her back. “Can we get out of the shower or do you want to stay here a little longer?”
"Stay," she mumbled. "'m cold. It'll be worse outside." Swallowing thickly, she rubbed a hand over her sternum. "I am still… really nauseous. But I think moving will make it worse."
“Alright love,” Nye soothed, dropping a kiss against her hairline. “Take a breather for a few minutes, that’s not a problem. You want to sit down or stay just like this?”
Genevieve hesitated. Her legs felt like jelly even leaning against him, but she wasn't sure she'd be able to get back up if she sat on the floor. "I don't know," she whined, "just hold me."
“Okay,” Nye agreed, giving her another kiss. Genevieve leaned against him, limp as a ragdoll, her stomach roiling tangibly. A painful cramp made her whimper, and she groaned, "ohhh, ow… Nye, rub my tummy.”
Nye agreed instantly, rearranging himself and her limbs so that he could reach her stomach. Where it had been flat and empty when she’d woken up, her middle was now a little puffy, bloated from struggling to digest even the easy dinner he’d made for her. She moaned, closing her eyes and clutching at his chest. Even with his soothing touch on her belly, it was gurgling furiously, and she let out a watery belch.
"'scuse me," she mumbled.
“‘S okay,” he reassured her. “Better for you to let it out.”
Genevieve whimpered as her stomach cramped again, fumbling to cling to Nye through a fresh wave of pain. He could feel the unsettled rumbling in her belly, and he rubbed as tenderly as he could over the roiling swell.
“I’ll make you some ginger tea once you’re back in bed,” he promised, feeling a little useless as she squeezed her fingers tightly around his arm. “It should help with the pain.”
"Okay," she nodded, unusually complacent and undemanding. A fresh surge of nausea burbled in her gut, and she warned, "I'm going to throw up again."
“I know,” Nye replied, his hand never pausing as he rubbed her stomach. “It’s okay.”
Genevieve whined softly as her stomach surged, bending forward with a tiny heave. She barely made a sound, but a massive gush of vomit sprayed the shower floor, her whole body arching with the force. The movement pressed Nye's hand into her stomach, but she didn't fight it, wanting more than anything just to finish being sick so she could lie down.
“There you go,” Nye comforted. Now that the hand on her middle was essentially holding her up, he was free to pat her back encouragingly. “Oh love, this is wretched. Just get it up, it’ll be alright.”
"Feel horrible," she sniffled, belching wetly and throwing up again. Acid stung in her nose. Her stomach gurgled miserably, and she squeezed her eyes shut, groaning softly.
“I know babe, I know,” Nye said. “I wish I could fix it.”
"Just… hold me," she begged, pressing bodily against his hand as she heaved again.
“I’ve got you,” he reassured her, looping his other hand around her chest and easing her to her knees. She slumped against him, panting. Nye rubbed rhythmic circles over her chest and belly, murmuring softly while she whimpered. "It's okay, love. Deep breaths. We'll get you to bed soon."
"Hurts," she moaned, burying her face in the sturdy warmth of his chest.
"We'll try and fix that too," he promised, his tone sincere. She hiccuped weakly, ducking back over the drain to throw up again. Nye rubbed her back soothingly, pressing a kiss on the top of her head. "There you go sweetheart, almost done."
Genevieve groaned miserably, but he seemed to be right. Her next heave brought up the last dregs of her stomach contents, all the subsequent gags empty and unproductive. Her stomach still wasn't settled, though, and she hiccuped, rubbing one of her own hands gingerly over her swollen belly.
"Okay babe, up you get," Nye said softly, gripping under her elbows. She whimpered as he helped her to her feet, the change in elevation making her renewedly dizzy and nauseous. Pressing her face into his chest, she groaned.
Nye fumbled with one hand to turn the shower off, one arm holding her close. "I know, let's get you dried off, okay? Then straight to bed."
As soon as the hot water stopped touching her, Genevieve began to shiver. Her skin was flush with fever, burning hot where she pressed her face into Nye's shoulder. Her stomach still gurgled unhappily, and she covered her mouth to burp. Nye bundled her up in a big, fluffy towel, grabbing a second one for her hair and wrapping her up before setting her atop the closed toilet.
"Just sit tight, I'll get you dressed and to bed. Look, I brought one of my shirts, just like you wanted."
Genevieve hiccuped thickly, her face paling at the splash of acid it brought up in the back of her throat. Nye cursed under his breath, grabbing the bathroom trash can and putting it in her lap. She grabbed the bin clumsily, fingers numb and hands shaking, shoving her head inside to throw up again. All that was left to bring up was bile and saliva, but it didn't stop her stomach from trying, cramping painfully with another useless heave. By the time it finished she was trembling violently, almost as sweaty as she had been before the shower. Nye was hovering worriedly at her elbow, and as soon as she was done, he took the bin, carefully unwrapping her from the towels to get her dressed. She shivered the whole time and he murmured apologies, sweeping her up in his arms once she'd changed.
"Still feel horrible," she told him, whether in complaint or warning he wasn't sure.
"I know love, let's get you to bed," he murmured, kissing her temple.
Genevieve buried her face in his shoulder, groaning miserably as he walked back to the bedroom. She tried to pull him into bed with her, but he peeled away, tucking her in snugly.
"Not yet. I need to make your tea and hot water bottle," he reminded her.
"Come back soon," she whined, still clinging to his fingers. "I want you to hold me."
"I will," he promised, hurrying off down to the kitchen. He turned on the kettle right away, finding the hot water bottle and making up a cup of Dioralyte while he waited for it to heat. As promised, he returned to Genevieve only a few minutes later, armed with a tray of supplies that he set on the nightstand. "Hey, love," he crooned, perching on the edge of the mattress. "How are you feeling?"
"Horrible," she muttered. "Still feel sick." He climbed into bed beside her, and she nestled up into his chest, demanding, "Rub my tummy, it hurts."
"I did bring a hot water bottle," Nye reminded her, running a hand gently through her damp hair.
"I like when you do it," she replied, settling in and closing her eyes.
Nye chuckled softly, but he wasn't going to deny her, especially in this state. He reached under the t-shirt she was wearing as a nightie, resting one hand gently on the swell of her stomach. She felt even more bloated than in the shower, sick gurgles rumbling under sensitive, feverish skin. As soon as he started rubbing her belly, she groaned, shoving her face into the crook of his neck.
"Let me know if I'm making it worse, okay?" He said quietly, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders as she shivered against him. She nodded into his neck, groaning again.
It was obvious Genevieve wasn't feeling well, because she couldn't be bothered to complain. Save for the whimpers and moans when her belly cramped, she stayed silent, her breath puffing against Nye's skin. Even with the blankets over her she was shivering, and the gurgling in her stomach didn't seem to be settling down. Nye sighed, turning his head to rest his lips against her forehead. Her skin was dry now, but the heat radiating off it hadn't abated. Eventually, she began to squirm more, pouting and mumbling, "Nye, my tummy hurts…"
"I know, baby, I'm sorry. Do you think you could keep down some ginger tea? It would probably help."
"Uh…," she paused, grunting in discomfort as a cramp sliced through her. "I don't know… I still feel sick."
"It might help with that too," Nye pointed out, "but if you need to wait a little longer then that's okay."
Genevieve hesitated for a moment, finally declaring, "I suppose I can try."
Nye smiled, pressing a kiss on the top of her head and helping her sit up. "Here, you can lean on me."
"Love you," she mumbled, drawing her knees up into his lap as he reached for the mug. "God, everything's sore."
"Poor thing," Nye murmured, making sure the mug was secure in her hands before he let go. He rested one hand on her back, rubbing steady circles between her shoulder blades while she sipped. He watched her face as she drank, ready to reach for the basin if she couldn't keep it down. She took about three sips before resting the mug in her lap, dropping her head against his shoulder with a sigh. Nye rubbed her back firmly. "There you go," he soothed, "just breathe. If you can keep it down, it should help a lot."
"I hope so," she replied weakly. "I booked us brunch tomorrow, but I don't know if I'll be up to it."
"Oh, baby, don't worry about brunch," he crooned, stroking her hair as she nuzzled into his shoulder. He could just imagine her trying to power through mimosas and quiches and whatever else the fancy place she had booked would offer. It would be pitiable at best and an absolute mess at worst.
"I know, I know," she said, shaking her head a little. "I was just looking forward to it. We've not been out on a proper date in ages."
"We can go out when you're feeling better," Nye assured her. "I'll take you wherever you want." Seeing that she hadn't complained about feeling ill again, he dared to venture, "Think you could try a bit more tea?"
"Mmhmm…" She lifted the mug to her lips again, taking another tentative sip. "Maybe put honey in it next time. It's not very nice once it's going cold."
Nye swallowed a sigh. "Yeah, of course. Sorry. Is it helping your stomach at least?"
"I can't tell yet," Gen admitted, "but I haven't thrown it back up, so that's probably a good sign." She sipped at it again, grimacing a little at the taste.
"Yeah," Nye agreed. "If you can keep it down then you'll be a little less dehydrated too and you'll feel heaps better when you wake up."
"God, I hope," she sighed, "if I wake up feeling like this again, I'm going to cry."
"Hopefully it's only a 24-hour bug," Nye reassured her, gently rubbing between her shoulders. "Have any of your friends been ill recently?"
"Not that I can think of," she sighed, "but I've been so busy worrying about the race I don't know if I would have even noticed."
Nye nodded. "That's fair enough. I've not noticed anything going around at the GP but this doesn't seem like food poisoning."
"God, and I've probably given it to you," Genevieve said miserably. "I didn't even think about it."
"Don't worry about that," Nye chuckled, pressing a kiss on the crown of her head. "It's sweet of you to worry, but if it's going round I'd probably catch it eventually anyway. Besides, if I do get sick you'd look after me, right?"
"I'll try," she said. "I don't know if I'll be able to handle you throwing up right now though…"
"Don't worry, I'm feeling fine at the moment," he reassured her. "Do you fancy some more to drink, or do you want to lie back down?"
"I just want to lie down," she mumbled, setting the tea aside and nestling up to him.
"Alright love," he agreed, scooting down the bed so that he could lie flat before reaching over to flick the bedside light off. "Get some rest, okay? I'm right here if you want me, wake me up if you need."
Nye had been sleeping for about an hour when Genevieve nudged him, whimpering into his chest as she scrambled for the nightstand in search of the bin. She didn't even know if it would be enough to wake him, but she wasn't in any state to vocalize further, barely hauling herself over the bin in time to vomit. Acid scorched her already-ragged throat, and she whimpered miserably as a small stream of sick spilled past her lips. She couldn't be sure, but she thought her fever had gone up again - her head felt foggy and just sitting up to puke was making her feel dizzy.
Nye stirred vaguely beneath her, but she couldn't tell if he'd woken up. She didn't have time to check, her stomach clenching and forcing up another wave of watery bile.
"Nye," she groaned, nudging him with her knee. "Nye, wake up, I -"
Her sentence gargled to a halt as she vomited again. Although it had made her feel better in the short term, she wished she hadn't had the tea. At least then she might've got some decent rest. Whether she'd have woken up just to dry heave though, she couldn't tell. Her stomach was in knots. She was sure she'd thrown up everything left inside her, but she still continued to vomit, her stomach having dredged up another mouthful of bitter slime. Whimpering miserably, she kneed Nye a bit harder.
"Babe, wha'...?" He mumbled, a searching hand finding her leg as he began to blink himself awake. Her belly seized, forcing up a grating retch which seemed to snap him awake. "Oh baby, fuck," he fussed, sitting himself up and reaching for her shoulders. "I'm so sorry. Go on, you're alright, deep breaths."
Genevieve certainly didn't feel alright. Even now, she couldn't stop heaving, her stomach gurgling with the occasional deep belch. Little bits of stringy spit and bile trickled from her lips, and she hunched forward, shoving her head in the bin with another painful retch.
"God," Nye said quietly, his own stomach twisting sympathetically, "I'm just going to turn the light on, okay Vivi?"
She whined, but her throat seized in a gag before she could beg him not to go. Nye hurriedly flicked on the lights, grimacing at the sight before him. Genevieve had only somewhat managed to aim the first wave of vomit into the bin, the rest soaking into her shirt and the sheets. She hadn't even seemed to notice, too busy rocking back and forth on her knees while she belched into the bin.
"Oh love," Nye sighed, scooting closer and stroking the top of her head. The ends of her hair hadn't avoided the deluge either, matting stickily against her chest. Realising that she wasn't in any state to be making decisions, Nye heaved her up into his arms, hushing her as she began to protest. "Come on, bathroom, let's get you cleaned up."
"'m not done," she warned, burping thickly into her fist.
Nye gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, easing her down in front of the toilet. "That's alright. Be sick in here if you need to. I'll get a warm washcloth and a change of pyjamas."
Gen slumped over it, her head hanging limply between her arms as the next belch echoed around the bowl. Nye winced, stooping to pat her back. He was torn - there was nothing he could do to make her more comfortable in that moment and the best thing to do was to get her back into bed as quickly as possible, but he still hated to leave her alone when she was clearly so miserable. She whimpered as he walked away, and he practically jogged off to find clean clothes. He returned before long, finding her heaving painfully over the toilet again. Warming the washcloth at the tap, he knelt beside her, wiping up her face first.
"Poor baby," he crooned, stroking her cheeks lovingly as he cleaned her up. "I'm going to take your shirt off now," he warned. "It'll be cold at first, but the washcloth should feel nice."
"O-okay," she sniffled, moving her leaden limbs as cooperatively as possible as he undressed her. Bare from the waist up, it was shocking to see just how much her stomach stuck out, the soft fullness stretching at the waist of her underwear. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought she was expecting.
As soon as her shirt was off, she began to shiver, and Nye quickly got to work cleaning the sticky remnants of sick from her hair and chest. Tears pricked in her eyes, and she sniffled again, leaning her head on Nye's shoulder.
"Oh, Vivi…" he sighed. "I'm sorry you're feeling so bad." Stroking the washcloth tenderly across her sweaty skin, he moved to pull away when she shivered, only for her to grab his wrist.
"Feels nice," she mumbled, "do my neck."
"Let me get a clean flannel, okay," he said, kissing her forehead. "Then it's just like a cold compress."
"Okay," she agreed, letting him pull away to find a clean washcloth. Her stomach was still doing somersaults, and as he came back with a fresh flannel, she leaned back over the toilet with a sick burp. Nye clucked sympathetically, stroking the cool cloth over her neck as she heaved. Genevieve groaned - ill as she was, his gentle ministrations felt amazing on her hot, sensitive skin. "M'back," she mumbled, unable to clarify before she trailed off gagging. She retched for what felt like ages until a thin stream of bile shot from the pit of her stomach.
Nye, thankfully, got the message, and he rubbed slow, rhythmic strokes down her back with the flannel. Genevive groaned again, long and low, and she hunched forward, hugging her stomach.
"You think you're done?" Nye asked, reaching behind him for the spare t shirt he'd brought from the bedroom. "I think you're empty, love."
Genevieve hiccuped thickly, resting her cheek flat against the toilet seat. The cool porcelain was sweet relief from the fever, but really she wasn't sure if she could hold her head up any longer. "Not done," she mumbled, eyes fluttering closed.
"Poor thing," Nye sighed, scooting closer so she could lean on him for support. When he wrapped an arm around her, she grabbed his hand, guiding it to rest on her unsettled stomach. He didn't need further direction, rubbing slow, rhythmic circles across the taut skin. "Would you like some water?" He offered, "It might not stay down, but it would feel better coming up than dry heaving."
She was quiet for a moment before mumbling, “Okay…”
"Here, just sit tight, I'll be back with your water," he promised, kissing the top of her head and going to the tap to fill a glass. Sitting back beside her, he held the glass up to her lips. "Start slowly. If it stays down, even better."
The first sip stayed down, and so did the second, although her stomach seemed no more settled than before. She took a larger gulp, still not lifting her head from the toilet seat. Nye continued to pet her hair, coaxing a little more water into her before setting it aside. Genevive groaned, leaning back into his chest. She was still shivering, and she guided his hands back to her aching stomach, snuggling up against his warmth while he rubbed her gurgling belly.
“Wait here for a bit and then back to bed?” Nye suggested hopefully. He was starting to wonder whether or not he should take her to A&E if he was honest, but since waking up his head had ached with exhaustion and the thought of the trip to hospital with Gen throwing up in the passenger seat was unpleasant to say the least. She sat up slightly, still keeping his arms around her.
"Actually, I want to go back to bed," she said. "I don't feel spewish this moment, we can just clean out the bin."
“That’s great, baby.” Nye kissed her cheek and reached for the t-shirt he’d brought through for her, what seemed like an age ago now. “You want to rinse your mouth out before I flush?”
Genevive nodded, swishing a bit of water and spitting it into the toilet. Nye flushed and helped her to her feet, easing the shirt over her head. He kept an arm around her for support, but she didn't seem as wobbly now, shoving him into bed first so she could climb on top of him. Her belly was still achy, but pressing against his warm, sturdy frame soothed the worst of the nauseous gurgles. She buried her face in his chest, groaning softly.
Nye obliged, one hand stroking slow, firm circles between her shoulders as the other petted her hair. To his pleasant surprise, despite the sick burbling in her stomach, Genevieve was able to doze back off, her steady breaths huffing against his chest.
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