#Jamie's love language is touch but both time roy hugged him first...

[sickficsbypyroyoshi]

Sick fic #7 (Roy)

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be. Of all the days to get sick, why today?

Roy had been anticipating this day for months now. He, along with his two best friends Dallas and Jamie, were waiting in line to see Fleshgod Apocalypse live in concert. He had requested the day off work weeks ago, bought the tickets ages in advance and had kept them pinned on the refrigerator so he wouldn’t lose them.

The night had finally come, but Roy knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy it. He’d had an upset stomach for the past couple hours, and it was only getting worse as time wore on. It wasn’t going to go away and he knew that. He felt quite nauseous at this point. It was bad enough that he wouldn’t be able to focus on the music.

Dallas and Jamie seemed oblivious to his discomfort, as they were both extremely exited and in fanboy nerdgasm mode.

“Can you believe that Francesco Paoli has only been playing the drums since 2009? That’s crazy!” Jamie said.

“I know, right? A lot of people have been playing almost their whole lives and aren’t even half as good.” Dallas added. “Roy, why are you so quiet? Aren’t you exited?”

“I feel like crap.” Roy admitted. Those were the first words he had said in several minutes.

“Maybe you just have to poop. Sometimes when I get too exited, I feel kind of bad, but then I just take a dump and I feel better.” Jamie assumed.

“No, I don’t think so. I feel sick.”

The doors to the venue opened up a minute later and the line started to move. Since the guys where in the middle of the line, it took a while for them to be admitted and get inside.

Since the doors opened a little late, the first opening band was already on stage setting up their equipment. They didn’t have any technicians, so they had to do it themselves. They were a local act Roy hadn’t heard of, and they were the first of three opening bands.

Initially, Roy’s plan had been to get right up front and center before too many people were in the pit so he could have the best possible view when Fleshgod Apocalypse came on. Now he wasn’t so sure. The air in the venue was hot and heavy, and he could already smell the cheap beer and that sweaty fat fuck in the Slayer shirt, which wasn’t helping his rapidly increasing nausea any. In fact, he was starting to wonder if he was going to throw up at some point. If he erupted with chunks in the pit, the bouncers would probably kick him out.

Venturing into the pit would probably be a bad idea, so he sat at a table near the railing instead. His friends joined him.

“I’m going to get a beer. You want one?” Jamie asked.

“No, I’m good.” Roy replied. Usually he liked beer, but he couldn’t bear the thought of drinking one now.

Dallas eyed the vibrant orange paper bracelet that was around Roy’s left wrist. Since he was only 18, he couldn’t be served alcohol.

“You should give me that so I can get a drink too.” he said.

Despite feeling awful, Roy snickered. “Jamie’s on top of that, don’t you worry.” He pointed to Jamie, who was holding two beers above his head while squeezing his way back to the table.

“Here we go. One beer for me, and one for the underage guy who depends on his older friends to give him alcohol. Which I do, because I’m cool like that.” Jamie slid one beer towards Dallas and then took a swig from his own. “Roy, you sure you don’t want one? I can go back and get another.”

“Jamie I don’t want any beer. I feel sick.” Roy stated. He felt like his guts were twisting around.

“Want some water then?”

“Maybe in a bit.”

“Okay. Just take it easy, you’ll be fine.”

The first opening band, Coven of Whores, took the stage and began their set. Roy watched them with minimum enthusiasm. Musically, they were generic and of average talent at best. The vocalist was down in the pit, pushing people to the ground and spitting on them.

Roy was feeling worse and worse, and his nausea was about to reach critical. Since he didn’t want to take his chances with the bathrooms, going outside was his best bet. He just hoped he could shove his way through the mass of concert goers and make it there.

“Where are you going?” Jamie asked when Roy stood up.

“Outside.” Roy replied.

“Good idea. These guys suck.” Jamie motioned to the band on the stage. He got up as well, and Dallas quickly followed suit.

Being outside did nothing to help Roy feel better. If anything, he felt even worse. Not only did he feel dreadfully sick, his entire digestive track felt like it had been brushed with acid.

“I feel awful.” Roy moaned to himself as he leaned against the wall of a nearby bus stop.

Before either of his friends could reply, the trio noticed an odd figure approaching them. A short, plump woman wearing a shark costume walked up the the guys.

“It’s shark week! You guys ever seen Sharknado?” she asked.

“Haha, yeah! I love that one! It’s the highlight of Tara Reid’s career.” Jamie laughed. He was an avid fan of terrible movies, and Sharknado was definitely terrible in every sense of the word.

“He made me watch it with him. That’s 90 minutes of my life I’ll never get back.” Dallas added.

Shark lady turned towards Roy, who was still propped up on the bus stop wall. “How about you, handsome? Are you participating in shark week?”

Roy briefly turned to look at her, but then faced the wall again. The need to puke was becoming very apparent, and he was waiting for the inevitable at this point. There were plenty of people congregated outside the venue who were about to witness him losing what he’d eaten, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t the easily embarrassed type.

Apparently the quirky shark woman didn’t read body language too well, or else she had no respect for personal space, because she zoomed in and grabbed Roy into a side hug. He bristled and went rigid as he hated being touched or prodded by people he didn’t know.

“Someone take a picture of us!” shark woman pleaded. Roy felt far too nauseous to object as another concert goer snapped a picture of them. Saliva dripped from his slightly open mouth and he could feel his stomach preparing to eject its contents, but he felt too awful to move. It must have shown on his face, as Jamie addressed the weird woman.

“You should probably let go of him, just saying...”

Shark woman, still latching onto Roy like she didn’t want to let him go, ignored this. “Come on, don’t be such a sourpuss. Give me a smile!”

Roy responded by puking demonic possession style, just barely missing his friends in the process.

“Holy crap!” shark woman let go of him and jumped back.

Roy leaned against the bus stop again and braced himself with one arm as he prepared for the next heave. Repugnant sour liquid spilled from his mouth and hit the ground in front of him a second later. From the corner of his eye, he saw a hand come into view and felt his hair being pulled back. He realized that Jamie was holding his hair back, and while he wanted to thank him for doing this, he was in no position to speak. More puke gushed from Roy’s mouth, one wave after another. After what seemed like an eternity, the productivity ceased and he was left dry heaving. His long brown hair had thankfully been spared any collateral damage, but his boots, the sidewalk, and the bus stop wall were all covered in a copious amount of vomit.

“Do you feel better now?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know. I still don’t feel that great.” Roy looked down in despair at his puke covered boots.

“It’ll be a couple hours before Fleshgod Apocalypse comes on. Maybe you could go home and rest for a bit, then come back if you’re feeling a little better.” Dallas suggested. “There’s a gas station a block away, we could go get you some Pepto Bismol or something.”

“Okay.” Having recovered a bit, Roy stood up straight.

Before heading to the station, he turned to look at the shark lady, who had been loitering nearby and watching the puking episode with a mix of horror and amusement. “To answer your question, no. I’ve never seen Sharknado.”

******************************************************

Roy only lived a few blocks from the concert venue, and he had decided to go home and take it easy for a bit. If he started to feel better, he’d go back, but if he didn’t he’d have Jamie and Dallas record the show and stream it to him.

The house was silent when he got home. It was his parent’s 25th wedding anniversary, so they were out for a romantic evening. His brother was at work and his sister was over at a friend’s house, so tonight it was just him and his cat Lars.

He took off his puke covered boots, hosed them off outside and left them by the backdoor. It wasn’t a very good cleaning job, but it was all he felt like doing for the time being.

Lars was perched on the kitchen counter waiting for him when he got back inside. Roy reached out and scratched him behind the ears, causing him to purr contently.

“Hey buddy. Looks like someone forgot to feed you. You’re probably hungry.” Roy strode over to the cabinet to get a cup of cat food and dumped it into Lars’ dish.

As he bent over, a trickle of nausea ran through him, and instead of dwindling, it steadily and quickly intensified.

“Shit.” Roy cursed. He was really, really hoping that he’d start feeling better soon, but it was starting to look like that may not happen. Fleshgod Apocalypse was one of his all time favorite bands, and he didn’t want to miss the show. Then again, he couldn’t be puking all over other patrons either, nor did he want to spend the evening camping out in the venue’s bathroom.

He sighed to himself and resigned to the sofa, bringing an empty garbage can from his dad’s office with him. This time, the nausea was building much more rapidly.

He didn’t want to sit there in misery waiting to puke, so he decided to pass the time by watching tv. He browsed the tv guide aimlessly until he came to something he liked. A re run of Major Crimes was on and he flipped the channel to watch it.

It was an episode he hadn’t seen before. The murder case was that of a husband and wife who had been strangled then had each other’s underwear crammed down their throats.

Roy liked Major Crimes. One reason why is because Raymond Cruz played one of the show’s detectives, and Roy thought he was pretty hot. He normally wasn’t one for the whole daddy kink thing, but he made an exception for Raymond Cruz.

He wasn’t enjoying the show at the moment though. The uneasy sickness in his stomach was coming back with a vengeance, and he knew he was going to throw up again fairly soon. In preparation for this, Roy tied his hair back and continued to wait. With each passing minute, his nausea amplified until he was practically begging for what was left in him to come up.

On the tv screen, Raymond Cruz’s character, detective Julio Sanchez, was interviewing a suspect while intensely hung over and on the brink of puking.

“I feel your pain bro.” Roy choked out as his mouth flooded with saliva again. He placed the garbage can in his lap and breathed heavily as drops of saliva landed in the bottom of the can.

He looked up at the tv right as detective Julio Sanchez projectile vomited all over the table, making the suspect jump and scream in disgust.

Less than thirty seconds later, Roy did the same thing. He leaned over the can in his lap and let it go. His throat burned as torrents of vile tasting orangish brown puke came up, and his whole upper body lurched with the force of each retch. He was surprised at how much he was bringing up, especially considering that he had puked copiously just an hour ago. In between heaves, he pondered where it was all coming from. A couple mouthfuls of bile came up before he was finished for good.

Roy sat back and panted as he tried to regain his composure. He spat into the can, which was filled about a quarter of the way. He set the can on the floor and rested for several minutes. He already felt a lot better, as the nausea that had been plaguing him was gone. His entire abdominal area hurt, but he didn’t feel sick anymore. In fact, he felt better now than he had in hours.

Perhaps he’d be seeing Fleshgod Apocalypse after all.

#emetophilia #puking #sickfic