i haven't been active in a long friggin time cuz work is crazy and my nerves just aren't what they used to be~im back with something a lil different. my friend @fangusfungs recently posted up some amazing gifs that ya hafta check out on her pages. they were soooo darn good that i decided to actually do some audio mixing which i've never posted publicly before and turned her two most recent gifs into animations with tons of sloshy burpy sfx x3
A/N: this is for @bellysoupset because she came up with it when I mentioned I hadn't written any motion sickness for a while. Be warned, it's a little N S F W. There is also talk at the start about someone with dementia if that's upsetting for anyone. It's not a main focus of the story though.
“Visited Mrs. Riley today.” Drew’s voice wavered as he buckled his seat belt. “She didn’t know me.”
Jeremiah sucked in a quiet breath. “Oh sweetheart.”
Drew nodded. “Yeah. First time that’s happened. I brought her a pride flag for her room - she’s wanted one ever since her grandson came out. And she smiled and asked me if I worked in the gift shop, and could I put it on her room bill?”
Jeremiah reached over and squeezed Drew’s thigh for a second before he needed his hand to steer. Evelyn Riley had been Drew’s very first patient, back when he was a nursing student. She’d battled a host of health issues that regularly landed her in the hospital and Drew visited her every time, even if he wasn’t overseeing her care. The memory issues had gotten worse in the past year but until now the woman had always recognized Drew. “What can I do?” he asked gently.
Drew looked out the window at the busy Boston streets rushing by. “Can we just . . .drive for a little bit? Maybe south towards Fall River. That’s where she grew up, you know.”
“I do know.” Jeremiah took the ramp leading to the correct expressway and listened while Drew talked.
“I knew it was coming, of course; she’s been forgetting more and more. But I thought I had more time. There’s a chance she’ll know me next time though; maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow." He took a steadying breath. "Would you mind if I took a little of my day off to go see her?” he asked hesitantly.
Jeremiah waved off his concern. “Of course not, love; I know how much she means to you.” The sign for Fall River loomed ahead, along with a list of the restaurants and hotels at the exit. Jeremiah considered the options; he’d been planning to eat with Drew after work and he was hungry. “D’you want to get some . . .” he began, but Drew suddenly sucked in a breath.
“Six Flags - did you see the sign?. Mrs. Riley told me she used to take her kids. It’s at this exit; can we go?” The change in Drew’s demeanor was immediate; he almost bounced in his seat at the thought of doing something connected to his favorite patient. “I love roller coasters. I haven’t been on one for so long.”
That was probably because amusement park rides - especially roller coasters - tended to upset Jeremiah's stomach. There hadn’t been much money for anything like a season pass when he was growing up, but every year his high school’s physics classes spent the day at Hershey Park, doing experiments while riding the roller coasters and other attractions. Jeremiah had gone his junior year - which is when he'd discovered that his stomach was sensitive to amusement park rides. He'd thrown up four times - but refused to stop riding coasters until all of his experiments were finished and he’d assured himself an A. A trip to a different park with his fraternity in college had ended up similarly, made worse by the fact that he’d been drunk too.
Drew didn’t know any of this because it had never come up; indeed, Jeremiah had had no idea that his boyfriend loved roller coasters as much as he tried to avoid them. But the tone of his voice was pure joy where only minutes ago it had been melancholy and contemplative. So how could Jeremiah say no?
It was only the first week of the season and a cool, weeknight evening when they pulled into the half-empty parking lot. The good news was that the park was only open a couple more hours. The bad news, as far as Jeremiah was concerned, was that none of the lines were long, even for the big coasters.
“We can go on them all; did you know I worked at Six Flags over Georgia one summer? Doing light and set design for their evening shows.” Drew tugged Jeremiah over to one of the food stalls near the entrance. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? I think I want a hotdog. It’s easy to eat while we’re in line.” He scanned the food court. “Oooh, and one of those frozen lemonades.”
“Sounds like a gourmet feast.” Amusement park hotdogs felt close to the kind of junk food Jeremiah had eaten too much of as a kid when money had been tight. But appropriate under the circumstances, he supposed. He accepted the food his boyfriend handed him, not just a big hotdog but a sparkly frozen lemonade too. “You’re in charge because I don’t know much about the rides,” he commented as he let Drew lead him to the first coaster. Most of them seemed Batman and Superman themed and the one Drew selected was called The Riddler. Twisting metal track with corkscrews. Fabulous. And their legs hung freely off the bottom so Jeremiah felt completely untethered as the cars roared to life and immediately began spinning through space.
“Wooo!!!” Drew screamed with delight and raised his hands over his head as they hurtled through a series of sidewinding loops before suddenly dashing almost straight into the air and then falling back. Jeremiah’s stomach looped and spun too, always a few seconds too late and magnifying the feeling of being unbalanced. The hotdog climbed briefly into his throat and then plummeted to the pit of his stomach the next second as the roller coaster dipped. He gulped down, refusing to believe he was already getting queasy.
The ride stopped with a harsh jerk and Jeremiah let out a soft burp that he knew his boyfriend couldn’t hear over his shouts of delight. Drew leaned over impulsively and kissed him, eyes shining, and that was enough for Jeremiah to ignore the way his head hadn’t stopped spinning even though the ride had. Standing up helped, and walking to the next coaster did too; Jeremiah managed two more burps without Drew hearing because he’d danced off to consider where to go next.
“I think the Superman,” he decided. Somewhere on the way Drew had accumulated a cardboard tray of fried churros and a couple of chocolate dipped Oreos. “It’s one of the new hyper coasters with a lot of deep drops and then some twists just at the end. “I love that feeling of my stomach dropping into my toes, you know?” He shoved the churros in Jeremiah’s direction. “Here, dessert.”
Jeremiah took a churro and then, for good measure, one of dipped Oreos too. What was the saying? In for a dime, in for a dollar? He swallowed down the sweets and then took a gulp of the Coke Drew was holding. It ushered up a small burp and he blew out a relieved breath. At least he could get on the ride feeling more or less normal.
Jeremiah had no illusion his stomach would stay under control, but even he was unprepared for Superman. The first drop was over 200 feet and he realized almost immediately that the mild queasiness he’d experienced on the Riddler had only been waiting for a reason to ratchet up by about 1000. This roller coaster was determined to do that. Up and down and up and down, each hill separated by track that whipped their car around corners and onto its side before climbing again. Next to him Drew was giving a rather impression imitation of a rebel yell, pumping his fist into the air every time the coaster dropped and nudging Jeremiah with excitement at every turn. Jeremiah managed to grin back, trying not to grimace. His stomach had bloated up like a balloon as soon as the nausea started and by the time the ride was halfway through it was pushing against the lap bar that was shoved tightly against their middles. He turned away, pretending to look at the view from the top of yet another hill, and let himself gag. Another few seconds, that’s what he needed, just long enough to try to burp . . . but no such luck. The coaster felt like it was in a free fall as it navigated the final drop, and Jeremiah gulped down too much air trying to keep his stomach settled.
And then they stopped. Drew hopped out and reached over to help Jeremiah, the gleeful expression falling off his face when he saw his boyfriend. “Jer?” he asked cautiously. “Oh sweetheart.”
There was no need to explain; Drew had seen Jeremiah nauseated too many times before. Even surprised, he didn’t hesitate, wrapping an arm around Jeremiah’s waist and ushering him towards the exit. “Try not to vomit yet, but if you do, I’ve got you.” Drew sounded supremely unbothered that his boyfriend was about to be sick and Jeremiah latched onto that. When his stomach flipped a minute later he stuttered to a stop on one of the wooden walkways.
“Hold . . . hold on.” He leaned back against the railing, breathing hard through the feeling of his stomach trying to turn inside out. “Jus’ . . . need a second.” There was a nauseating pressure in his throat and he couldn’t decide whether to try to cough or burp. Drew watched him critically.
“You’re gray,” he pronounced, grabbing Jeremiah’s wrist and checking his pulse. “I’ve never seen you motion sick like this, babe. Did you have any idea?” Drew dug his water bottle out of his bag. “Here, take a few sips.”
“I knew,” Jeremiah groaned softly. “Roller coasters make me nauseous.” He took a tentative sip of water but then spit it out when his throat spasmed and rejected it. Drew’s eyes narrowed.
“Then why the hell did you agree to ride? And eat hot dogs and churros too? What the hell were you thinking?” The nurse huffed with frustration.
In response, Jeremiah reached out and grabbed Drew’s belt loops to pull him closer. He dropped his head onto the man’s shoulder and began muffling a series of small burps into his sweatshirt. “This,” he croaked, wrapping his arms around Drew’s waist so they were practically melded together. “And you were so excited.”
Drew went absolutely still. Jeremiah could tell the exact moment he understood what he meant. His stomach gave a queasy gurgle and he pressed into his boyfriend more purposefully. “I feel so sick, love.”
“Hmmm.” The tone in Drew's voice had changed completely and his body vibrated against Jeremiah's. “Sick enough to throw up? Or . . . do you think you can settle your belly for one more ride first?”
Jeremiah smirked into his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Will you help me?”
Drew shivered against him. “What do you think?” Heedless of the way Jeremiah was still trying to gulp down the nausea, Drew took his hand and led him briskly over to a picnic bench and then stood, arms crossed, and examined him for a long second. “You need more Coke,” he decided. “And then to burp a bunch more.” There was a new enthusiasm in his voice that didn’t have anything to do with the coasters now. Drew presented him with the soda and then sat down next to him. Jeremiah looked at it distastefully.
“I don’t want to throw up on the ride,” he warned. Indulging his boyfriend was one thing but public puking would be humiliating even if they didn’t know a soul here.
“Oh please,” Drew scoffed. “You think I’d let that happen? Now drink up please. If we’re only going on one more coaster I want to make it a good one.”
“Sorry,” Jeremiah croaked. “I know you wanted to try them all.” He took a careful sip of the Coke and then when Drew glared at him, a bigger swallow. Drew waved off his concerns.
“Are you kidding? This is a million times better and you know it.” His fingers trailed down Jeremiah’s cheek and then dropped to meet Jeremiah’s hand, where he was pushing against his chest and trying to work up some air “Next time I’m bringing Gabe though. Or Avery. I bet he loves roller coasters.”
The soda was churning in Jeremiah’s uneasy belly. “You . . . urp . . .do that,” he burped. It wasn’t enough to relieve the discomfort and he kneaded his fist into his side.
“Let me.” Drew batted his hand away and slipped his own under Jeremiah’s shirt. “You’re really bloated, is that all from two rides?” His fingers pressed and probed and Jeremiah squirmed.
“Careful,” he cautioned. “I’ve got all that . . . junk food in there too.”
“Right, right.” Drew said distractedly. His hand probed the waistband of Jeremiah’s jeans and Jeremiah bit back a queasy smile. Totally worth the stomach ache, to make Drew so happy after a crap day. He leaned forward, trapping Drew’s hand against his belly, and forced out a harsher burp. It helped with some of the pressure in his stomach but the nausea was still lingering right beneath the surface, making him feel that odd mix of sweaty and chilled. He took a deep breath. “So where to next?”
Drew had been flipping through the park’s app on his phone. Now he held it out to Jeremiah, eyes sparkling. “The Joker,” he proclaimed. It’s a 4-D coaster, which means our individual car will be doing flips while we also go up and down hills and around curves.” He pressed his hand against Jeremiah’s belly and hummed with appreciation when he felt it flip over. “It’s very disorienting. Do you think you can keep your dinner down?”
Jeremiah shrugged. “On the ride, maybe; but no promises for after.” For good measure he grabbed up the Coke and gulped down about half until his belly started protesting. “Let’s . . . urRP . . . let’s go.”
“You’re going to kill me,” Drew said cheerfully. He stopped walking suddenly and threw his arms around Jeremiah’s neck. “And I know why you’re doing it.” He leaned in and touched his lips to Jeremiah’s. “Thank you.”
“You deserve everything good, love.” Jeremiah rested his forehead against Drew’s. As much as he wanted this, he couldn’t deny the little bit of anxiety swirling in his stomach along with all the food. It was one thing to push himself like this when he and Drew were in private, but being exposed like this was different.
Especially once he saw the Joker. Even as he stood in line, Jeremiah’s stomach began doing flips, watching the cars turn over and over as they flew over the track. He grabbed Drew’s hand.
“I’m a little nervous,” he admitted quietly. “That’s going to make me really nauseated.”
“I know.” Drew’s voice was equally quiet. “And you know we can skip it. Find a less intense ride if you want, or just go home. I’m sure we’ll find a way to enjoy ourselves no matter what.”
Jeremiah shook his head. “I want to do it,” he insisted. He turned to face Drew so he could press against him again and see how eager he was. “It’s just a little daunting, knowing how bad I’m going to feel for a little while.”
Drew groaned with appreciation. “I can feel your belly swirling.” He held Jeremiah in place, bodies pressed against each other without any concern for who might see.
Jeremiah smirked. “Wait and see how it feels in about five minutes.”
As determined as he was mentally, Jeremiah had to admit that his body might not be ready to obey. They were in a small cylindrical box, he and Drew, and he’d miscalculated just how dizzying it felt to flip randomly, end over end, while the entire line of cars flew up and down the hills of the coaster.
In seconds, the nausea roared back, as bad as ever. “Oh god,” he groaned. “This is . . . hllulup . . . terrible.” He didn’t even try to hold back the gags, but dug his hands into the tops of his thighs to try to make sure nothing else came up. Next to him Drew put his hand on his back.
“Keep breathing,” he instructed. “Slowly in and out. That’s right.”
In response, Jeremiah suddenly spit up a mouthful of Coke. He managed to swallow it back down, but it threatened to return almost immediately. He leaned as far forward as his harness would allow and cupped his hands over his mouth.
“Try to burp, you’ve got this.” Drew’s voice was calm and professional - his nursing tone - but there was a hint of excitement beneath, and Jeremiah latched on to that. Drew’s enjoying himself; make it worth it. He forced up another belch and this time spit the soda onto the floor of the car.
“There’s . . . more coming,” he warned, burping. “I’m so sick, Drew.” It wasn’t even much of an act now. Jeremiah’s stomach was twisting with nausea and goosebumps erupted all over his skin as he struggled. The car flipped again and he retched involuntarily.
“You’ve got this, keep it down.” Drew rubbed his hand up and down Jeremiah’s back. “Small burps, keep going.”
Jeremiah did all he could to stay focused on his boyfriend’s voice. “Urp urp urp,” he gagged, letting up small, queasy bursts of air. It felt like the ride had been going on forever. His body was tingling and he was lightheaded from the effort of not throwing up.
Finally, finally, it began to slow before coming to a jerky stop back at the station. Jeremiah was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and barely aware of his surroundings as Drew tugged him out of the car and pushed his head against his chest as they stumbled down the pathway that led away from the ride.
“I’m finding you someplace private,” he muttered, low in Jeremiah’s ear. “There’s a bathroom up ahead.”
Jeremiah wanted to answer; wanted to talk dirty even, but his dinner was climbing up his throat. At the door to the bathroom he retched, not caring anymore who saw.
It was a family bathroom, single and empty, and Drew wasted no time. “I’m not even going to tell you to try to hold on,” he murmured, ushering Jeremiah immediately over to the toilet. “C’mon love.”
Jeremiah knew he only had seconds before he lost control of his stomach and he wanted to make them count. “Hold . . . me,” he gagged, spitting into the bowl. “Hold my stomach.” He knew Drew would understand. Indeed, the man sucked in a breath.
“Are you sure . . . yeah, okay.” Drew stopped asking and instead pressed himself into Jeremiah’s backside, snaking an arm around his waist. With the other hand he pushed at the top of his back until Jeremiah folded over like a rag doll. Every single part of him felt sick - his head spun, there was a horrible pressure in his throat, and his stomach hadn’t stopped flipping since they’d gotten off the roller coaster.
“Hrrulp,” he retched, trying and failing to wipe away the string of drool that dripped off his bottom lip. Drew lay his palm flat against his belly and Jeremiah leaned into it until the pressure caused the nausea to peak. The hotdog and churros made an immediate reappearance in a grating, violent wave. More nausea swirled in his belly and he burped, wet and deep. Drew thumped on his back.
“You’ve got more in there, come on,” he urged, voice low in Jeremiah’s ear. A second later Jeremiah vomited again and then was reduced to empty gags and small belches as his stomach spasmed. At some point, Drew had moved his hand lower off Jeremiah's belly, and by the time he felt like his body was in control enough to participate, his boyfriend was already close. It was short work to get him to finish, and then Jeremiah rested his head back on Drew’s shoulder while both of their breathing slowed down.
“How are you feeling, love?” Drew slowly moved around the bathroom, wetting paper towels and handing Jeremiah a mint from his bag.
“I’m still dizzy,” he confessed. “My stomach’s more settled though.” He took a deep breath and forced up another burp. “I should be feeling better by the time we get home though." He touched Drew's cheek. "Finish there?"
Drew nodded and then kissed him lightly on the lips. “We may not ever ride a roller coaster together again, but that was absolutely worth it.”
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.
“My stomach hurts,” he muttered under his breath by way of greeting. He accepted Jeremiah’s kiss with a perfunctory nod but didn’t try to return it.
Jeremiah raised his eyebrows. “Hurts how?” He assessed his boyfriend. Drew didn’t 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.
“Just hurts.”
Jeremiah sighed; that was no use to him if he was going to try to help. “And what would you do if one of your patients gave you that answer?” Guests were starting to trickle into the room; Drew was going to have to start ushering soon.
His mouth twisted. “Hurts like I ate too fast,” he admitted. “They had sandwiches and brownies and I was late because they needed me for an extra photo.” He rubbed across his middle. “I think I swallowed two practically whole and they’re sitting like a brick in my gut.”
“That’s a lovely image for a wedding,” said Jeremiah dryly. “Go drink some water; it’ll help you start to digest.” He waved over a waiter carrying a tray of pre-ceremony drinks. “Or . . . champagne will work.” He grabbed two flutes and handed one to Drew. “Cheers.”
Drew drained the glass and burped softly into his fist before grimacing and arranging his face back into a bland public smile. “If it still hurts after the ceremony’s over can we find a quiet corner for you to give me a belly rub?”
“Anything you want,” Jeremiah promised.
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.
“I had another glass of champagne,” he said, grabbing the man’s hand and threading their fingers together. “Feels a little less brick-like down there.” He scooted his chair even closer to Jeremiah’s, not that they were more than two inches apart already. His voice lowered. “But I still want a . . . rub. Later.”
Jeremiah chuckled softly. “A belly rub?”
“Sure, we can start with that,” Drew answered with a wicked smile. He burped softly into his fist. “After we get more food though.”
Jeremiah twisted in his seat to look incredulously at his boyfriend. “I thought you had a stomach ache?” 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.
“I ate too fast, not too much,” he whispered back. “Now that it’s digesting I’ve got more room.” He looked up to the front of the room and the wall of windows beyond. “Oh, Ben’s going to be pissed,” he muttered, naming one of the grooms. “Ceremony’s timed to have the sun setting beautifully in the background as he and Liam exchange their vows but it looks all cloudy instead.”
“Looks stormy, actually,” said Jeremiah, peering around. “It’s kind of cool to be up so high while the weather rolls in.” 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.
“Well if they wanted dramatic, they definitely got it,” Jeremiah said about a half hour later as they waited to greet the grooms. “That flash of lightning and clap of thunder could not have been timed any better.” 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.
“I have to admit, that huge column of black clouds is going to make for some really cool photos,” Drew agreed through a mouthful of hors d’oeuvre. “Mmmm, this is delicious.” He looked around. “Hey, hold our spot while I go get more.”
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. “The appetizers look amazing; let’s say congrats as fast as possible and go find more food.”
“I’m glad your stomach is feeling better, love.” Jeremiah leaned in for a kiss that was much less perfunctory than earlier.
“Me too. Drew snagged some sushi from a passing waiter. “I still want that rub later though.”
“Sounds like I don’t even have to go near your belly.” He smirked at his boyfriend, who was scanning the room for more tray-laden servers.
“Uhh uhh,” mumbled Drew before putting a miniature chicken and waffle bite in his mouth. “Oh fuck, that’s good.”
“Don’t get too full,” 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 Drew’s from college and Jeremiah didn’t know a soul at the wedding. He didn’t 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.
“Liquid courage to sneak off?” Drew asked with a smirk. He knew how Jeremiah’s cautious mind worked, and that rendezvous like this were not something they did often. The man grinned.
“Trying to channel a bit of Noa and Rory here,” 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.
“She’d probably stop trying to find a secret place to make out long enough to take photos of the storm,” Drew laughed. “And then get right back to him without missing a beat.” He hiccuped suddenly. “All the bubbles are catching up to me. Let’s go to the bar for a real drink.”
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.
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.
“Theater kids,” Drew explained with a grin, watching the pair spin each other across the floor. “Ben was . . . ‘scuse me . . . the lead in almost all the shows I worked on.” He burped into his fist and rubbed his chest for a minute.
“Oh yeah, remember Rent and how the lights went out for real because the school had a blackout?” One of the other guys at their table pulled Drew into a conversation that Jeremiah couldn’t follow. He touched his boyfriend’s arm.
“I’m going to find the restroom, love. I”ll be right back.” Drew waved his acknowledgement and kept on talking.
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 “belly rub.” Jeremiah shivered, hoping that time was soon.
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 he’d left him, nursing his drink.
“Waiting for someone?” he asked suggestively, leaning over from behind to whisper in Drew’s ear. His boyfriend turned and gave him a small smile, and Jeremiah’s own faltered. “What’s wrong, love?” He sat down next to Drew and resisted the urge to check his temperature with the back of his hand. “You’ve gone very pale; is your stomach bothering you again?” Internally he cursed himself for encouraging his boyfriend to eat and drink so much.
Drew shrugged. “Not like before.” He swallowed hard, looking out at the storm. “I think I’m seasick.”
Jeremiah was confused. “Seasick? Sweetheart, we’re not on the water.” He followed Drew’s gaze, where the distant ocean was barely visible through the clouds and rain. “I don’t think you can get seasick that way.”
“Motion sick then, whatever,” Drew’s voice was clipped and impatient. “Buidling’s swaying, if you haven’t noticed.” His lips tightened.
Jeremiah hadn’t 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. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”
Drew sighed. “Apparently yes; the building’s built to . . . urp . . . sway up to 4 feet in each direction when it’s windy out.” He gestured at the dance floor. “They’ve been . . . urp urp . . . rolling soda cans across the floor for fun.” After each burp, Drew grimaced. “It’s making me queasy.”
“I can see that.” Jeremiah squeezed his boyfriend’s arm. “And I assume you didn’t bring any meds?”
“Of course I didn’t! Who’d expect to get motion sick inside a fucking building?” He sounded equal parts nauseous and frustrated, dropping his head into his hand for a minute and then looking back up at Jeremiah. “This sucks.”
It certainly did. Drew’s motion sickness tended to hit fast and hard, and that was clearly the case here. Even as Jeremiah watched, his boyfriend’s face paled further. “Do you want to leave?” he asked carefully, already suspecting the answer. As he expected, the man shook his head.
“I’m a fucking usher, I can’t just skip out because of an upset stomach.” He belched again into his fist.
“I can run back to the hotel and get your meds,” Jeremiah offered. The hotel was three blocks away and he’d walked over earlier. Of course, that had been before the monsoon outside had started. Again, Drew shook his head.
“Even if I’d let you go out in this weather, it would be too late for them to work.” He sighed. “And I bet it’s a big, public bathroom too.” He burped again, not even bothering to cover his mouth this time. “Fuck.”
Finally Jeremiah felt like he could help. “Actually, there’s 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. . .” - he shrugged apologetically - “but it’ll be the perfect place to get sick if you need to.”
“I’m probably going to need to,” Drew sighed. He looked around, swallowing hard. “Maybe not, but . . . is there a place to sit up there? Someplace quiet?”
“Yep.” Jeremiah held out his hand.
“Act flirty,” Drew muttered as they skirted the dance floor. “Make people think we’re sneaking off to fool around.” He knocked his hip against Jeremiah’s and then slung his arm around his neck, suddenly the picture of a tipsy, horny boyfriend.
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. “I can’t wait to get you alone,” 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 couldn’t wait to get each other alone and half naked.
The second the elevator doors closed, the teasing smile fell off Drew’s face and he slumped against the wall. “Oh god, make it stop,” he moaned when the elevator rocked. “How do people actually work here?”
“It’s not bothering me,” said Jeremiah apologetically. “And I think it’s only on windy days.”
“My whole stomach’s rolling,” Drew complained, rubbing at it and working up a belch. “Why’d I eat so much damn food?”
“You couldn’t have known, love.” The elevator opened at the 85th floor and Jeremiah was relieved to see it was just as deserted as it had been earlier. “Do you need the bathroom this minute or do you want to sit on those sofas?” He pointed to a comfortable looking seating area off to one side.
Drew gave a queasy gulp. “Sit,” he said thickly. “Sorry I pulled you away from the party.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Jeremiah firmly. “I’m just sorry that you’re feeling so ill.” He sat down on the sofa and opened his arms to Drew, who wasted no time crawling into them and leaving his back against Jeremiah’s front.
“Ugh, this is terrible.” Drew belched again. “And it came on so fast.” He tucked his head into the crook of Jeremiah’s neck. “I kind of want to offer to let you enjoy yourself, but I can’t decide if I’m too nauseous.” he snuggled more purposefully into Jeremiah’s lap.
Jeremiah froze. “Sweetheart?” He’d 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 couldn’t feel it, pressed up against Jeremiah’s lap the way he was. Still, he kept his voice even.
“Not if you aren’t feeling well,” he said slowly. “It’s different when it’s on purpose.”
Drew gulped a couple of times before answering. “I know, but . . . ugh . . . since there’s not much I can do to ease my stomach . . . fuck . . . right now, we may as well have fun.” 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. “I mean, I’m not contagious and I’m not having any lower GI issues, and we know I’m going to get relief at some point tonight when I’m out of this damned building, so this isn’t much different from stuffing on purpose.” His voice had gone thin and reedy as he talked and by the end he had to stop and breath slowly through his mouth.
Jeremiah watched carefully until his boyfriend’s jaw relaxed again and then leaned forward.
“Same rules as always,” he said softly, running a hand up Drew’s arm. “You know the safe word.” The man belched and Jeremiah shivered. “How do you want to play this?”
Drew closed his eyes. “Gentle persuasion,” he gasped after a moment. “I . . . I don’t think I can manage you domming me too intensely right now.” He gave a closed-mouth gag. “Sorry.”
“That word’s not allowed, love,” Jeremiah chided him. He cupped Drew’s chin. “Whatever you want is perfect for me.” He gently moved Drew’s hand down to feel his erection. “See?”
Even though his eyes were still closed, Drew managed a smile. “Can I straddle you?” He gulped down saliva. “I . . . I need to control how much I move.”
“Of course. Why don’t you take off your jacket first?.” 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, there’d be no place for them to hide. A second later his boyfriend’s full weight settled into his lap and all worry about getting caught flew right out of Jeremiah’s head. He rested his hands on the sides of Drew’s belly, feeling it churn up all the food he’d eaten.
“This is so upset; it can’t be feeling good.”
“It’s not,” Drew groaned. “I’m so fucking nauseous.” He gagged into his hand and gave Jeremiah a look that was equal parts misery and arousal. “There’s a reason I won’t let you take me on a cruise. A week of rocking like that would kill me.”
“Well looking at you right now is almost killing me,” laughed Jeremiah. He touched Drew’s cheek. “You’re all clammy and kind of gray; if they presented you as a medical case I probably would guess motion sickness right away.” 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 Drew’s skin when the man gave a harsh swallow, the motion sending a spark of heat right to Jeremiah’s groin. He groaned.
“Keep doing that and I’m not going to last too long, love.” Despite Drew’s request to control the motion, he couldn’t help putting his hands on the man’s backside and pushing him in closer. Though not as strong as his, he could feel that his boyfriend was enjoying himself, through the nausea. “Can I kiss you.”
“Yeah.” Drew’s 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 boyfriend’s 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 Drew’s weight back into his lap a little more.
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.
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. “Okay,” he said after a moment. He closed his eyes and swallowed again. “I’m okay.”
Jeremiah cupped his cheeks in his hands. “You need to throw up, don’t you?” When Drew started to shake his head, Jeremiah put a finger against his lips.
“It’s okay, love. I can read your face like a book and right now, that book is extremely nauseated.” After a moment, Drew gave a miserable nod.
“It’s getting really hard to keep everything down,” he admitted through a soft gag. “And my stomach ache from earlier is coming back.”
Jeremiah’s entire body tingled. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “How about we continue in the bathroom, where I can gently persuade you to hang on just a little bit longer?” 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 ‘both of them.’
Slowly, Drew climbed off his lap and immediately leaned over to spit into the garbage can. “Every time I burp I taste a different . . . appetizer,” he said thickly. “Feels like they’re all fighting over which one gets to make a reappearance first.”
Now Jeremiah was the one who had to close his eyes to collect himself. With the pressure of Drew in his lap gone, he couldn’t 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. “What . . . what . . . “ - he had to stop and swallow hard - “what do you think is going to come up first?”
“Hey, let me do that.” Drew’s voice was suddenly closer, and then his hand replaced his boyfriend’s. “Oh yeah, I think we need to . . . urp . . . head to the bathroom for more than just me.” 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 boyfriend’s nauseated ones.
“How about if I give you that belly rub now?” he asked. “See what . . . comes up.”
Drew gave a small nod. “Go ahead and try, although it might make me vomit right away.”
They walked to the bathroom. “It won’t,” said Jeremiah calmly. “You’re going to keep it down a little while longer.” He locked the door and then shrugged out of his suit jacket, hanging both his and Drew’s on a hook on the wall. “C’mere.”
Quickly, he untucked his boyfriend’s shirt before sliding his hand underneath. “Oh sweetheart,” he hissed, surprised. “You’re actually more bloated than I expected.” Jeremiah mentally revised his plans. “Do 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. “Because I’d really like to hear you burp.”
“I’ll . . . try,” gasped Drew. He swallowed some air and lowered his chin to his chest. Jeremiah put his hands gently on his stomach.
“Light touches,” he promised, pressing in with the slightest of pressure.
It was enough. Drew’s 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.
“Maybe . . . maybe not,” he said.
Drew had his eyes closed again, and his head leaned back against the wall. “I really, really don’t feel well,” he muttered. His hands reached out blindly until they met Jeremiah’s body, working swiftly to undo belt and zipper. His pants pooled around his feet.
Jeremiah gave an involuntary jerk. “Sweetheart . . .” he began, and then shut up as Drew got to work. His mouth was set in a tight line that couldn’t quite mask the small gags he couldn’t control, but his expression was quite determined. Jeremiah leaned forward and braced his hands on the wall on either side of Drew’s head.
It drove him crazy. The combination of the feel of Drew’s hands and his obvious struggle with nausea was bringing Jeremiah rapidly to the brink. But just as he thought he couldn’t 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 boyfriend’s stomach. He stared at Jeremiah, eyes frantic and throat bobbing. “I . . . I,” he gulped. One hand flew to his mouth.
Heedless of his own physical state, he took Drew’s shoulders. “Are you ready to vomit now, love?” The question was completely unnecessary, but he couldn’t resist hearing him try to answer. Drew gulped again, clearly fighting.
“Yeah,” he managed, gagging again. “Can’t keep . . . it’s coming.” He retched, pitching forward towards Jeremiah and for a second he thought he was about to get puked on. But that first heave didn’t bring anything up, and in an instant, he had his boyfriend bent over the toilet.
Maybe he was resting both hands against the man’s hips and belly to help keep him from falling over, or maybe it was so he could press himself into Drew’s 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.
Jeremiah groaned. “Again, sweetheart. Do that again.” 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.
“Why doesn’t puking make you feel better when you’re seasick?” He moaned during one break. “I still feel like shit.”
Jeremiah kissed his shoulder. “I think it’s the dizziness from the disturbance in your inner ear,” he said. He pushing him forward again. “Do you have more to bring up?”
In answer, the man burped up a mouthful of champagne. “This sucks,” 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. “I know I said I shouldn’t leave because I’m an usher but I’d really love to lie down somewhere that isn’t rocking back and forth.” His gaze dropped to his boyfriend’s waist and a slight smile played along his lips.
“But let’s finish you first. I should be able to keep the rest of my dinner down long enough for that at least.”
Jeremiah wanted to protest, but he just couldn’t. “This isn’t going to take long,” he promised. “And then you can puke some more and we can go back to the hotel.”
Drew burped and nodded. “When we get married someday it’s going to be on a beach,” he vowed.
You lean in towards their pale, strained face, and close your eyes. Their lips are tense and their motions anxious when you slowly come to meet them; they try to relax and breathe into you, but their body is too anxious, and you simply caress their unusually dry lips with yours as you keep pressing yourself closer to their body. ”It’s okay, [Name]. You did really well”, you try to soothe them. They open their lips to let your tongue in, which you readily proceed to do. The inside of their mouth is moist in acidic saliva.
They tense up for a moment and swallow, forcefully, while your tongue keeps exploring them. Your right hand is still softly stroking their tight, full tummy, and sickened heat radiates through their skin and against your palm – their body feels so good. Almost instinctively your hand moves lower again. You can’t help but feel almost sad that you fed them this much, because you doubt there’s enough time anymore to flip them on their stomach and fuck them. They groan into your mouth a bit before you lay the hand to rest on the bed again.
”It’ll feel okay soon. Your tummy will handle it just fine”, you exit the kiss for a second to whisper to them. Before you return to kiss them you take another look at their face: their skin is so green, and you swear you can see one or two sweat droplets running down their forehead.
”I- I feel sick-”, their shaky, weak voice speaks, but you hush them: ”I know, baby. Don’t worry”. Your lips meet once again and they kiss you back a little harder this time – they want it too even though they’re so indisposed. You become more intense, more relentless, and your lips dance over their mouth almost fiercely. They’re still so very gentle, and their mouth is so wet and dreamy, you can’t help it. You’ve never had them like this. All of a sudden they let out a little burp into your mouth; their movements come to a halt. They seem to recover from it quickly enough, but right as you feel them continuing to kiss you again they moan, loud and pained, and pulls away.
”Are you okay?” you inquire them softly, as their face turns away from you. They don’t respond. Their hand flies over their mouth and they burp again, and before they have the chance to stop it, a sickening wet ”Hhblluuurrrbh!” emits from them as a wave of barely digested cake pours all over themself.
Imagine making out with your fave right before they puke. Their mouth is so dense and warm and sticky. They’re shaking a little. Every time you break apart, they are stifling burps. While you’re kissing them really hard, you feel them jerk, you feel the reverberations of a gag. You pull away. The threads of saliva connecting their mouth to yours are severed as they bury their head in the toilet with a watery belch. You watch their head snap down with the force of another heave, this one accompanied by a loud retch, then the sound of vomit hitting the water. You rub their back with one hand while your free fingers rub absentmindedly between your legs. You’re drenched.
the road is old and poorly maintained, full of potholes and bumpy patches. you're driving with a carsick sickie, trying to dodge as much of the bad road as you can, listening to their sick sounds, their quiet burps and soft moans and forced swallows.
coming around a turn, you see at the last minute a deep, wide pothole, the kind that would certainly give your car a flat tire. you're forced to swerve, dodging, and beside you in the passenger seat your sickie makes a strangled heaving noise, a hand coming up to cover their mouth.
"ohhhh, i don't feel good," they say, holding their belly with their free hand. "i'm really sorry, i think i might be sick soon."
"it's okay, baby. there are plastic bags in the glove compartment, let's get you one."
trying to keep the car steady, you lean over and find one of the bags, passing it to your sickie. they moan and open it, leaning over their lap with their hand still cluthing their sick tummy. a little bit of saliva drips over their lower lip to crinkle onto the plastic. you can hear their heavy, strained breaths as they try to hold back the inevitable.
in your distraction, you haven't been keeping a close enough watch on the road. before you can react, the right front tire dips into a hollow in the concrete, and the passenger side of the car bounces.
your sickie lets out a deep, sick-sounding belch. they snatch the bag and hold it up to their mouth just in time to catch a thin stream of bile.
"owww, it hurts," they tell you.
you take one hand off the wheel to rub their back. they retch, loud and empty, and you can feel all their back muscles tightening with the effort.
"just get it up, baby. come on, almost there," you tell your sickie as they struggle.
their labored breathing catches, and then they heave again, a guttural thing, producing a mouthful of sick. they cough in surprise and spit, gasping for air.
a minute later, there's another bump in the road you can't avoid, and your sickie groans and jerks over the bag, this time throwing up a heavy stream. it's chunky now—you can hear their stomach contents splattering against the plastic.
and so it goes. your sickie is moaning and squirming with discomfort, their nausea unavoidable. with every twist and uneven spot, they belch and gag and get sick, unable to control themself as their unhappy belly purges.
"the bag is getting full," they whine, right before a sharp burp brings up another small stream of vomit. they let out a pained, tired noise. "i can't stop."
"there's a gas station up ahead, it's okay. just let it all out."
pulling into the parking spot produces another strained retch and mouthful of vomit from your sickie. you wait for them to finish, still rubbing their back until they feel they can let go of the bag.
you come back from the gas station, having disposed of the full bag, to find your sickie has thrown up down their front, too weak and exhausted to get themselves out over the asphalt. orange bile and a couple chunks stain their shirt and cling to their chin.
you sigh and clean your sickie up, wiping their face off and getting them a new shirt to wear. you hand them a fresh bag from the glove compartment. it's going to be a long drive.
i want to hear my cute sickie quietly groan. we're in the back of the car going home and they're carsick again. trying to hold it back, but you know they never can. they always end up making a mess.
i want to scoot in closer and run my hands over their gurgling tum, their chest, their tensing throat as they swallow back a queasy gag. they're so sick, in the dusk light they really do look green. pale and delicate, lips parted slightly as they breathe hard and make little noise.
i want to push my lips against theirs and make out, kissing deeply, making them moan in pleasure and nausea. they gag again, not quite able to hold back this time. i want to feel their round tummy hitch against my crotch and they spill hot puke down both of our chess.
i want to keep kissing and fondling them even as they let go and begin vomiting everywhere. lick and kiss at their chin, their cheeks, their hot and sticky lips between bouts of sick. i want to hold my hand against their chest as they retch noisily, feel the chunks rocket up their throat until puke comes running out, over and over with every turn and bump of the car until they're empty. a messy, beautiful burpy sickie left to lay in my arms,exhausted,until i carry them into the house.
From yesterday. I had been feeling sick since the day before, early the morning of the audio nausea started building, but nothing really happened so I grabbed some plain pasta for lunch bc I felt like I had to eat. Four agonizing hours of building nausea and sipping ginger tea later, this happened.
My stomach still doesn't feel great but I'm feeling better overall so I think this might be the only content y'all are getting this time around.
I’ve seen this circulating forever and genuinely thought “no way do I have any of them following me” until this week when it turned out I had all these fuckin “MAP” (pedophile) followers sad to find out I’m an “anti” (normal person)
Please leave and also please get guinea worm.
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