After a long day at work, you go and visit your friends across town. It's late, and you just want to go home, but one of them sends you a text:
"You're missing out, the delivery driver gave us extra pizza."
You've had a crush on this particular friend for a long time, and the idea of seeing their stomach so full is driving you crazy -- imagining the sounds their lactose intolerant gut has a strong grip on your imagination. It couldn't hurt to stop by, at least for a little bit.
By the time you walk through the door, you can already tell your friend wasn't exaggerating. There's only two of them, but three empty pizza boxes on the floor next to half a dozen beer cans.
You eat some out of a fresh box and take a beer for yourself, and for a while, everything is a normal Friday night.
But later on, as the night progresses, you find yourself alone with that crush.
"God. I shouldn't have had all that," they say with a hand raised to their mouth, covering up a burp.
"What, can't eat that greasy stuff like we used to?" You jokingly reply. You know they're about to burst, but you want to hear them say it. Maybe it's not ethical to want your crush to get violently sick, but you've both been drinking; a few rounds of whiskey and a 12-pack of beer between you two. They did this to themselves.
Your friend grabs hold of their swollen gut with both hands, hugging a pillow to themselves tightly.
They wince in pain just as another burp comes out.
"I don't know if it was the dairy, or the meat, or the beer, or-" their sentence is cut off by a sudden retch, and they heave forward. They manage to cover their mouth, but a think stream of brown drips through their fingers.
You run to the kitchen and grab a bowl of some kind and put it under their mouth for them to spit up into. As the first wave of vomit pours from their lips into the bowl, a rancid sour smell assaults your nose --- definitely the dairy, you think to yourself.
Your crush groans. You try to hide the arousal between your legs.
"Maybe it's a bad time to admit that I'm totally into this too." they say, keeping their eyes fixed below your waist.
Some primal force seems to take over you, your drunken desire throwing out any inhibitions. You need this.
You don't remember leaning into a kiss, just that your tongue was tasting the inside of their mouth a moment later. It's a revolting sensation, at first, the taste of bile and the regurgitated chunks caught before they left their lips.
Just as suddenly as your tongues began to dance, you find yourself on your back. You're both topless. Your crush is grinding on your leg as they gag.
They don't hold back this time, and a wave of orange sludge spills out over your chest and down theirs. They collapse on top of you, and the warm, chunky vomit gets pushed out onto the floor as your guts and chest squish together.
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