I'm Lurkin' Ova Here!

“Hello, hello…” 

Argo entered the apartment in all his faux-Didi glory. After shutting the door behind him, he shook himself off like a dog, letting the disguise drift off him in small magical clouds. 

“I’m ba-” Argo coughed and cleared his throat. Using differently shaped vocal cords was like putting a new size of clothing over your larynx. “Oof. I’m back!”

Argo kicked his shoes into the pile near the door and hung his keys on its rack. After these little acts of domesticity, he paused. It must have been a full fifteen seconds since Argo had made himself known, but there was still no response, neither a greeting nor a footfall. From Argo’s blind spot near the door, the apartment felt empty.

“Didi? Are you home?”

After another two seconds, Argo finally had a reason to breathe easy.

“Yes,” came Didi’s voice. “Where else would I be?”

“There’s my grumpy asshole. Or should I say…” Argo unzipped his duffel bag. “… my award-winning asshole?”

*

After a tedious weekend of mingling and admiring Berkshire foliage, the award ceremony finally arrived. Argo was glad that Didi’s antisocial nature gave him a reason to sit at one of the few empty tables, especially since he couldn’t slip away to portal Didi his meal. After assembling a plate of food from the night’s Thanksgiving-themed buffet – which might’ve been the most irresistible selection of food from the entire weekend – everyone had been told to leave the cafeteria and gather under an enormous tent on the lawn so that they could feast while watching the ceremony.

While people couldn’t help but stare at how Argo loaded his tray with two heaping plates of Thanksgiving dinner – including turkey, chicken, roasted autumn vegetables, whipped sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and cornbread, as well as two slices of pumpkin pie for dessert – their attention was fortunately diverted by the ceremony itself. As desperate nerds waited with bated breath to be recognized for their back-breaking intellectual labor, none of them noticed how one of Argo’s plates (plus one slice of pie and a free glass of wine) vanished almost instantly, leaving Argo to savor his own supper at a more reasonable pace. 

By the time Argo had swallowed his last bite of pie – even that was fancy-schmancy, jazzed up with orange zest and cardamom whipped cream – there was only one award left to announce. The big boy. Some egghead was about to have the night of their life.

“And now, the winner of the G.A.S. Expansion of Knowledge award goes to…” 

There was even a musician to provide the signature drumroll. Argo rolled his eyes and took a long sip of wine.

“Dr. Vladimir Daiber for his ‘Harnessing the Building Blocks of Life’ project!”

Argo spit the wine back into his glass just in time for a spotlight to swivel and land on him. He stared owlishly as the people around him began to applaud, even if some of them were doing so a little bitterly. 

Crap, he had been so focused on smuggling food to his blimped-out boyfriend that he totally forgot the purpose of the event.

Shrugging, Argo stood up and strolled to the stage, giving cocky little waves to the losers all the while. On any other occasion, he’d make Didi look like a real showboat, probably by flipping off anyone he passed and saying, “Eat shit, suckers.” But mischievousness took a backseat when you needed half your energy to stand upright, doubly so when you’re about to succumb to a food coma.

Argo took his place behind a podium and was handed the award itself: a large medal with the G.A.S. “cloud of knowledge” depicted on it, nestled in a fancy little box. It was no Nobel Prize, but Argo bet that Didi would swell (even more) with pride when he saw it.

*

“Ah, goddamit.” The zipper of Argo’s bag was stuck. He quit fiddling with it and pouted into the open air. “I’ve been gone almost four days. Aren’t you going to welcome me home?”

There was another period of silence.

“Just come to me,” Didi muttered. “I’m in the living room.”

The layout of their apartment made it so that the front door didn’t look directly into the living room. Anyone who entered had to turn left and walk a few steps before they finally had a proper view inside. 

When Argo finally stepped around that corner, his first thought was that there was a new piece of furniture in the room. His second thought was that it was some kind of misshapen tent that had been set up over the sofa bed. 

All his thoughts after that were overwhelmed by the truth.

“Holy shit.”

*

“Thank you, everyone,” Argo crooned. “Your recognition means so much to me. Even though I was clearly the only choice for an award like this.”

There was a polite scattering of laughs and a larger impolite grumbling.

“As for a speech…”

Right, the cards. The possibility of winning might have slipped Argo’s mind, but never Didi’s. 

“I, of course, prepared a few statements,” Argo continued, fumbling in his blazer pocket, “just like I prepare every moment of my life, no matter how annoying that is.”

Argo stared at the index cards. He didn’t know what made his head swim more: the intense STEM-based vocabulary or the ego of the writing itself. 

“But what the hell.” Argo tossed the cards behind him. “Unlike the rest of my work, I’ll keep this short and sweet.”

Argo weighed the medal in his hands. He supposed no one actually wore these around their necks like people did in cartoons. Didi would probably do it in private, though, as much as he’d never admit it.

“This thing. Even if Didi- if I never won it, I’d still be doing my work regardless. I’m always fucking working, even if I have a handsome man waiting for me at home. And he is handsome. Out of my league, really. And yet, even when I know I could go to bed early with my smoking hot man and get some relief from all my sciencing, I’ll still put in the hours. And for what? Trying to figure out how to control the elements. How to truly control them, all the way down to the atomic level. Even though it’s hopeless for humans.”

Argo looked up and chuckled.   

“Uh, for now,” he added, throwing in a quick wink.

“What keeps me doing this, even though it’s pretty damn impossible for me?” Argo continued. “I wish I knew. But if I had to guess, I think…”

Argo traced his finger over the medal. Like all imps, he could recognize any element by feel alone, so he knew it was plated with gold.

“… Humans are so small, so fragile. Their lives are so short. He… I don’t want to be just one of so many small, useless things. I want to shape the world, not have it shape me. I want to be bigger than that. I want to be a big shot.”

Argo swallowed. When he looked at the audience, he saw constellations glittering in the crowd’s eyes. So many stars piercing the darkness. 

“I mean, don’t we all want that?” he said, smirking. “But my hot boyfriend, he, uh, already thinks that about me. And he doesn’t think much of most people, not really. He’s nicer than me, but my boyfriend… he knows how fleeting people are. How fallible. But I, I’ve still managed to become one of the most important people to him. I’m such a large part of his life, and I wonder if he even knows…”

Argo dragged a finger across the corner of his eye, as if there was a speck of dust instead of moisture.

“Well.” Argo grinned. “Before I go back to my room and jerk off to thoughts of my hot boyfriend before I go to sleep, I can say two things for sure. That I’ll never stop doing this work, and that I’ll grow larger than anyone can ever imagine.”

*

“Wow.”

Being around Didi day after day had made his growth feel like… well, growth. Even when Argo noticed how big Didi was getting, he was acclimated to the gradual rate. It was utterly unnatural but made sense when you knew each step of the process. 

After four days apart, Didi had grown so big that Argo had forgotten he was looking at a person and not a thing.

The wide aspect of Didi’s growth had been such an issue that Argo had almost forgotten to expect vertical effects. Didi had stretched so large and so round that he had gained at least a half foot of height, maybe even a full twelve inches. The roundness obviously took full focus. Argo wasn’t even sure if Didi was technically sitting anymore. Sitting implied a specific connection between a person’s back, ass, and legs with whatever they were resting on. Didi was so inflated with air that Argo couldn’t fully describe how his body was lying on the sofa bed. 

Argo wondered why he was surprised. He was the one who sent Didi three full overindulgent meals of rich buffet food per day. He knew that there would be consequences.

But God, were those consequences hotter in person.

“Are you planning on doing anything other than stare?” muttered Didi. 

“Ah, sorry. It’s just… holy hell.”

Honestly, Argo was more impressed with how Didi had “clothed” himself. Didi’s largest shirt was still on him, although it was absolutely growing too small, with his stomach poking out from the bottom. Argo was able to see that Didi’s magically growing underwear was still on and working because Didi had done away with pants, instead wrapping himself in spare bedsheets that offered little glimpses of what lay underneath.

“You were really charitable with those portion sizes,” said Didi.

“Of course I was. My special guy needs his special meals. Did you like them?”

Didi looked away. Finally, he grumbled, “They were amazing.”

Argo reached out and pressed a hand into Didi’s side. His pit of a heart skipped a not-beat as he felt himself sink down.

“Worth every square inch, huh?”

“Don’t you have an award to give me?”

“Oh. Right.” Argo put down his duffel bag and finally managed to open it. Slowly, he lifted the medal box and opened the top. “Ta-dah!”

Didi’s head, which hadn’t grown with the rest of him, craned forward so that he could view his prize. His expression softened for just a moment before he returned to wallowing in misery.

“I think my appreciation will have to wait until next month.”

Times like these made Argo grateful that Didi was such an introverted jerk. Many people here knew about Didi – his work preceded him, after all; he never would’ve been nominated for an award if it didn’t – but none of them had ever said more than ten words to him in passing. There were no joyous reunions, no offers to catch up over a drink. All the better for Argo, as it gave him the space to wander down a trail in the woods around campus in peace, and the perfect time to sip a cup of rich-person coffee with five sugars in it.

“Dr. Vladimir Daiber.”

Argo stopped walking. Even in his semi-addled state, even without recognizing who it was, he heard the intent behind the voice. In a movie, it would have made every member of a crowd hush and turn to see what was going on. 

This was the voice of a bitch who wanted to start some drama.

Argo blinked at the man standing behind him. He wasn’t what Argo expected: short, dark-haired, unusually pale skin. He was particularly well-dressed too, looking more like he had prepared for a meeting on Wall Street than a walk in the Berkshire wildlife. But he was the only person who could have spoken; they were the only two people on the trail.

In any other month, Argo would’ve snapped back something witty or scathing, anything to match the attitude he was facing. Instead, his head still fuzzy, he just said, “Um. Afternoon?”

The little bitch scoffed and stepped closer. “No need for pleasantries, Dr. Daiber. Not when you’ve thoroughly ignored me all this time. I can read the message loud and clear.”

Argo was certain he wouldn’t know what the hell the man was talking about even if he was running at 100%. 

“Good. See you.” 

Argo turned and started walking away, but that damn voice stopped him in his tracks again.

“You can pretend you’ve lost interest in me,” the little bitch continued, walking once more into Argo’s field of vision, “treat me like I’m nothing, act like I’m not a real scientist because I outsource my work. But that won’t stop me from knocking you down a peg, Mr. ‘Piecing Together the Universe.’”

Argo sighed through his nose. This wasn’t going to go away on its own, was it?

“Is this really the best time?” Argo asked, summoning his best Didi sneer. “I have much better things to doooo…”

Argo elongated the last syllable as he scanned the front of the man’s body. Finally, he found a nametag.

“… Cain.”

The bastard Cain raised a finger and wagged it like a fucking anime villain.

“A first-name basis won’t butter me up. And trust me, this is of the utmost importance.” Cain’s gaze traveled down to Argo’s hand. “Partaking in a little midday brew?”

“Uh. Yeah. They have this imported kind that’s also, like, flavored?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I think it’s available all day-”

Cain’s right hand came down in one fluid motion. Argo closed his eyes as coffee splattered over his borrowed shoes. When he opened them again, he looked right into the other man’s eyes.

“All right, now you’re getting on my nerves.”

Caine spread his arms wide. “Whatever for? You should be thanking me. Although…”

Argo stepped back before Cain had a chance to prod him in the midsection.

“It looks like you’ve gotten rid of your little problem from a couple weeks ago. Oh yes,” Cain continued, seeing the recognition in Argo’s eyes, “I keep tabs on my competition. I’ve got eyes in your school, in your neighborhood. Of course, I lost my intel once you stopped setting foot outside. Until now. You know what I’ve learned?”

“That you’re a stalker?” said Argo.

“That you’re embarrassed enough for me to use this.” 

Cain reached into the breast pocket of his blazer jacket, just behind his pocket square. He pulled out something small and dark, with a golden cursive “C” painted on it.

“You know where I also have eyes?” said Cain. “In the back rooms of last month’s molecular science convention. The one where I added a little something extra to a certain cup of coffee.”

Argo’s eyes widened. He remembered that day. He hadn’t been at the convention, but he remembered Didi coming home with enough gas that he was puttering farts with every step. That night, Argo hadn’t thought to look a gift horse in the mouth, instead choosing to fuck Didi so hard that the farts kept tumbling out. Argo loved the way Didi’s face twisted as he leaked thick, spoiled gas around Argo’s cock, and when he couldn’t hold back a full gale of rancid air during his climax.

Then Cain kept talking, and Argo snapped out of the horny groove he’d been working up.

“Originally, I just wanted to prove that coffee was your weakness. But getting footage of you muffling yourself with the jacket of the head speaker? Well, that’s just a bonus. I bet he’d love to see this too. Learn the real reason why he smelled like a crowded men’s room by the end of the night.” 

Cain was at least five inches shorter than Didi (Argo’s current height), but he was a man who had perfected a way to look down on people regardless. 

“How ironic,” he purred, “that you’re not bloated at all when I’m finally telling you about this. Now, in exchange for not showing this to anyone, I want-”

“That flash drive really has a video of Di- me farting into some guy’s jacket?” Argo said.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” said Cain. “I never claim what I can’t prove.”

Argo pointed at the flash drive. “That’s the only copy?”

“No, it’s just proof that I’m telling the truth. I back everything up on a regular-”

“Eh, whatever.”

To answer the question, “If an asshole in the middle of the woods gets kicked in the balls and there’s no one around to hear it, does the asshole make a sound?”, Argo would say, “Yes, and it’s just as satisfying as a cry of agony should be.” 

Argo crouched down and took the flash drive from Cain’s twitching fingers.

“Thank you. And just for the record.” Argo let his voice slip into a whisper. He almost wasn’t heard over Cain’s groans of pain. “If you’re thinking of calling security, or releasing that video en masse, just remember you’ll have to explain how you both broke a bunch of privacy laws and spiked someone’s drink so bad that he couldn’t get over it for 24 hours. Now fuck off and don’t talk to me again ‘til December.”

Argo started walking down the path again. Then, he stopped, turned back, and spat one last retort.

“And that,” he said, “was a weak example of irony. Whatever your PhDs are for, English isn’t one of them.”

This time, Argo kept walking, leaving Cain where he was, curled over his balls as he nestled deeper in the Berkshire foliage.

*

Back in his dorm room, Argo searched the cluttered desktop of his computer, then clicked on a file labeled “Plague Doctor.” 

A little virtual being came to life on his screen. It was a chibi take on the macabre: a small, squat being in a robe and chubby-faced plague mask. Even with the plague doctor aesthetic, it didn’t look like a computer program from Hell, but Argo knew for a fact that it was both effective and demonic. Demons were forced to keep up with technology, considering how many sadists and sinners could be found in Silicon Valley alone. 

Of course, Cain’s flash drive had some kind of security installed. The moment Argo plugged it in to his laptop, a window popped up to announce that his device was unrecognized, and that a virus was already being installed. 

The Plague Doctor whipped a comically oversized scalpel out of hammerspace and got to work, slashing the window to ribbons. With the virus destroyed and the Plague Doctor quitting its program after a job well done, Argo was left with an open folder and one video file. 

Argo had a good reason for not deleting it then and there; he was going to bring it to Didi and have him decide what to do with this invasive blackmail. At the very least, it was valuable as evidence for Cain’s misconduct. Yes, there were definitely good and moral reasons for preserving the video. Argo just happened to be indulging in the wrong reason that afternoon.

The footage wasn’t interesting at first. It was dark, grainy, and depicted only a segment of some overly large storage area. The room had been converted into a lounge of sorts for the event space’s crew and staff, and – judging by the number of coats that had been folded or draped over chairs and tables – had been a place for the lead guests and head speaker to put their things during the convention. For a full minute, all Argo saw was this dark, silent room, accompanied by an underwhelming soundtrack of muffled Muzak drifting through the walls. Then, Didi appeared, shuffling through the doorway like he was clenching a diamond between his cheeks.

It was funny. Despite living and breathing in Didi’s body – Didi’s normal body – over the weekend, it was bizarre seeing Didi in his thin, humanly-proportioned form in the footage. Before this month, Argo would’ve noted that footage-Didi’s stomach was large enough to form a dome in his tucked-in shirt. Now, multiple shirt sizes and discarded belts later, it seemed absolutely puny.

The moment the door closed behind him, a sharp quack echoed through the room, startling both Argo and the onscreen Didi. Obviously, the latter hadn’t counted on that fart slipping out so fiercely, nor the room having such excellent acoustics. 

Didi’s jaw clenched as he shifted from foot to foot, his hands – holy shit – literally moving to his ass to hold himself closed. This gesture spurred Argo’s hands into motion before his brain could register a command; Argo’s cock – which was technically a version of Didi’s cock – was in his hands by the time onscreen Didi was grabbing the nearest pile of clothing.

Didi had only enough time to wad the brown blazer jacket into a ball and shove it firmly into his ass before he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Even muffled by tweed, the sound was grotesque. There was so much gas that it had to come out with a tremendous force, creating a thick, constant blast that clearly came from deep within Didi’s digestive tract. Didi gasped, his mouth hanging open and his grip on the jacket tightening as he battled between shame and relief.

After five full seconds of continuous farting, the relief obviously won out. Now, Didi started pushing.

Argo’s hand picked up speed as the stifled drone raised in both pitch and volume. Didi gritted his teeth as he forced out the harshest, sloppiest-sounding brass section that had ever graced his thin, white cheeks. Argo pumped faster as the fart just kept going, and his other hand went to squeeze his balls as Didi started groaning, experiencing as much ecstasy as he was disgust. 

Ironically, it wasn’t the mega fart that Argo came to. Instead, it was the set of three smaller ones – Didi squatting down to force out the last pockets of gas in his system, groaning after each sharp blast, cursing when the last one sounded too much like a spatter for his liking – that had Argo finally painting his hands with his admiration.

The imp watched Didi dump the ruined jacket – and even wince at whatever stink was now radiating off it – in a warm, post-nut haze. He closed his eyes and thought about how Didi must’ve left the convention very soon after the events of the video, slowly filling back up as he made his way home. Argo thought about how Didi showed up at the apartment in a desperate sort of mood, cursing his bad luck but still eager for comfort. He thought…

Argo slapped himself across the face, dragging himself from the claws of unconsciousness. The fact that his hand had cum on it helped him snap to attention. He couldn’t go to sleep now. There were only a few hours until a specially themed “Early Thanksgiving” dinner, and then the award ceremony right after. He couldn’t risk missing either of them.

Argo got himself cleaned and changed. Whatever happened tonight, he would make his man full and happy. Not just because of his promise, nor his love; after all, if that video was any sort of preview for the end of the month, Argo had a new taste of what he was working towards, and it left him ravenous. 

It was a good thing that Argo was such a horny bastard, because this trip would’ve been unbearable otherwise.

The day was technically packed with events, but they were all Didi events. There was a mandatory introduction before breakfast regarding the event’s rules, history, blah blah blah. There were informal gatherings for scientists of Didi’s field that Argo had been requested to drop in on just to note the “competition.” There were complementary lectures in the old classroom buildings, which Argo couldn’t take more than five minutes of before he started nodding off. Honestly, Argo forgot that this place had ever stopped being a university; he felt like he was in a never-ending reunion, some academic purgatory. Purgatory wasn’t real, of course – Hell’s greatest accomplishment was convincing humans that it was – but Argo could definitely imagine a version of it now. 

There were only two things preventing Argo from either falling asleep or going full demon, jumpstarting the scandal of the century among all these nerds: the calming effects of wandering among the gorgeous wildlife and the knowledge of how much he was blowing up Didi back home.

The orientation might’ve bored Argo out of his skull, but he got his mojo (and hard-on) back when he transported breakfast. Those fancy-schmancy caterers didn’t skimp on any meal, even one that was normally as boring as breakfast. Far from the typical cheap continental breakfasts that most buffets provided, Argo was able to get, among other finds, huge slabs of rich French toast with fruit and syrup, bagels shipped from New York topped with New Yorker-approved cream cheese and lox, and even avocado toast with strips of steak and sliced quail eggs. 

Argo made a mental note to check if the souls of any of the Genius Awards in Science committee had been claimed by Hell; this was bribery food if Argo ever saw it. Half of these people were likely going to be talked into building bombs or the arbiters of the robot apocalypse. 

Lunch was even better. There were burgers made with wagyu beef, truffle-dusted French fries, paellas containing at least four types of seafood, even a sushi bar. Of course, everything was laid out expecting people to choose one main course, or maybe two. That was what Argo did, forming his own lunch of just a hearty, yet delicately spiced, pumpkin soup and a luxury sausage big enough that he just had to take a picture of himself stuffing one half of it down his throat (the looks he got from the attendees across the room was a bonus). 

But Didi’s share… well, Argo couldn’t let Didi miss out on anything, now could he?

Every dish Argo shoved through the portal was eagerly received. Argo imagined every bite that Didi took, and let his thoughts of Didi’s digestive process dance in his loins. The fact that it was “Didi’s” cock that threatened to press too hard against the front of his pants only fired him up even more.

The post-lunch activity almost ruined it. Dumb preparations for the dumb award show that was happening in two days. Interviews, mostly, but also extra meetings to discuss stupid shit like: was Didi going to start paying membership dues to the Genius Academics in Science, what large-scale projects could Didi contribute, was Didi interested in large payment packages for no-questions-asked projects, what was Didi’s opinion on overlooking the potential lethality of projects, oh FUCK, they all blended together.

Argo managed to bluff his way through it all, both through prepared notes and his own common sense, but it really drained him. This was on top of how much harder getting through the day was after so many days of this spell. Even transporting dinner didn’t fully lift his spirits, as high as the plate was piled with food that would’ve had pre-spell Didi maintaining a steady Dutch oven all night.

By the time Argo was lying in his repurposed twin bed that night, he was considering burning the awards show to the ground and sleeping through the weekend.

But then his phone rang.

“Didiiii,” Argo drawled. “Heyyyyy. How’ve you, uh, been? Actually, quick question. How mad would you be if I just, you know, burned all your bridges here?”

“Argo, please, I need to ask you something. It’s-”

It was probably serious. Argo couldn’t find out. The words were blown away by a belch that was so loud it peaked the mic. 

Argo felt a jolt of energy course through him for the first time in hours.

“Wow.” Argo cleared his throat. “I mean, how nice to hear your beautiful voice.”

A groan came from the other end of the line. Argo imagined Didi shoving a hand into his stretched-out stomach, and that dream must’ve come true, because another burp rattled its way into his ear.

“Ignore that,” Didi growled. “It’s those damn coupons. They make this-” Another belch. “Uncontrollable.”

“So, um.” Argo swallowed. “What do you need to ask?”

“Could you make another amendment to the spell?”

“I- what?” That was enough to shake Argo out of his lust fugue. “Honey, I’ve got, like, ten days left to keep that spell up. I can’t burn myself out now.”

“But this is…” Didi trailed off, but not because of gas. He was stammering. Argo could practically feel the heat of Didi’s blushing. “It’s damage control. There’s something that could become a problem later, and I want to get ahead of it now.”

“Well, if you tell me about your problem and every one of its excruciatingly embarrassing details, I might just help you.”

“God, you fucking-”

There was another burp, another swear, and then finally, Didi relented.

“I’ve been getting bigger.”

“What else is new?” purred Argo.

“A lot bigger. A lot faster.” 

There was another gurgling noise from the other end of the line, one that was lighter and farther away. Argo wondered if it was a soft burp until he recognized it for what it was: a stomach growl, a shift in Didi’s ballooned intestines. 

“The food is so good,” Didi muttered.

Argo swallowed again. The window was open, letting in the fall chill, but Argo was very, very hot.

“So, you want me to slow that down? For shame.” Argo hoped Didi hadn’t heard his voice crack at the end of that sentence. His hand had already gone down to knead at his crotch and he couldn’t bother stopping that now. “I thought you could handle a challenge.”

“No, you wouldn’t be so kind, would you? No, it’s…” Again, Didi was wrestled with himself. Argo wished he could see the look on his face. “Doorways are getting hard.”

Fuck.

When Argo found his voice again, it was husky and low.

“You’re too big to leave the room?”

“No! Not… not yet, at least. But this morning, things started… squeezing more than I wanted. I don’t want to stop eating that buffet food, but I can’t just stay in one room all this time.”

“Why not?” Just stay there and get larger, thought Argo. See how long it’ll take you to reach the walls.

“Argo, I still have to piss.”

“… oh.” 

“The bathing thing is another issue, but I’ve actually prepared for that. I don’t, however, want to try pissing outside of the bathroom, especially if I don’t have you to help me. So, I was wondering. Would it be too hard to make urine turn into gas as well?”

Argo lightly stroked his chin as he thought. That was more of a Didi gesture than an Argo one; apparently, shifting into Didi’s body for this long was rubbing off on him. 

“You know it would just make you bigger, faster?” said Argo.

“I’m already going to be big beyond belief,” said Didi. “At least I’ll have one less thing to worry about.”

Obviously, it would be more work. Aside from the energy required to add a new element and maintain it over the remaining week or so, the adjustment also needed a different spell-logic. Digesting solids into pure gas, while not a normal human process, made sense in context – it was all in the intestines. Liquids didn’t. It was absolutely a risk.

“Let me see what I can do,” said Argo.

He set the phone, now on speaker, on the dorm’s cheap wooden desk. Then, he opened his backpack, took out his paper and glitter pens, and got to work. 

“Argo?”

“Working on it,” Argo sang.

“Argo, don’t kill yourself. If I’m careful, I can wait out the weekend, and you can finish it when you -”

Argo’s hand slipped as another belch warbled from the call. The speaker phone, tinny and meager as it was, let the sound ring around the cramped room.

“How can I resist the siren song of my love in distress?” Argo hunched over the paper, his pen manifesting sigils complicated enough to form equations.

“Do I need to stay on the phone for this?”

“Yes,” said Argo. “I need an anchor to you, something to focus on.” He tapped the pen on his teeth, then resumed writing. “Also, I miss you. Now hold… on…”

Off and on throughout the month, since the end of the spell’s first week, Argo had started getting headaches. They were small and often burned just above the brow of his right eye. He could feel one getting stronger as he squinted at his spell, weighing down his brow as he tried to think.

“Done.”

Argo lurched out of the chair and thrust his hand into his duffel bag. The mason jars clanked desperately, loud enough for the speaker to hear, as he looked for the right one.

“Remember, Argo, you still look like me. I don’t want to see headlines that my lifeless body was found in some dingey ex-dorm room. There are enough bitchy gossips over there who would claim I overdosed on something.”

Argo’s desperate snort of Bren’s chaos was so deep, he could feel it rush to the back of his skull. Even after spending days in a jar, it was so strong. It was a stench that carried sabers, a relative of the blizzard gale filled with shards of ice, and it sliced through his nerves until his whole body went rigid. Quickly, he clutched the jar to his chest, forcing himself not to drop it.

“Argo? Argo, are you there?”

Argo didn’t have a heart. It was an ever-swirling pit fueled by the infernal realms. So why was it racing? 

Argo tossed the jar onto the bed, lifted the new contract, and let out a shriek.

“Get ready!” 

“Ready for what?”

Casting a spell, even a complicated one, was so second-nature for Argo that he usually didn’t acknowledge every part of it. After all, hitting a home run was a natural miracle of strength, hand-eye coordination, and instinct, but a batter didn’t need to consciously feel every muscle in their arms or calculate wind speed down to an exact number. Argo could reconnect the threads of reality with just as much ease.

This was different. Chaos burned behind his eyes, making him aware of every atom he was manipulating. The spell’s addition glowed in his hands; he felt magic tracing every symbol he had written. He focused on the sound of Didi’s voice, following it back over state lines, back to his boyfriend’s magically altered body. Didi’s voice… 

“Argo? Argo, what’s wrong? Argo!”

Dimly, Argo noticed the one thing he had managed to ignore: the groan, low and strained, that crawled from him as the spell grew stronger.

His headache was now a solid presence over his eye, throbbing and slowly growing larger over his temples. There was only a little more he had to push through, but the more he pushed, the stronger the pain grew, until – 

The paper flashed, illuminating the entire room, then grew dim. Argo’s headache did something similar; the chaos surged through him once more, then vanished.

“Argo, did- oh.” Didi’s voice stuttered over the line, before his next words were sandwiched between burps. “O-oh, something’s happening.”

Argo let the sheet fall to the ground. He stumbled backwards, collapsing onto the bed. 

“That, uh…” Argo massaged his forehead, hissing when it proved to be tender. “That’ll be all the liquid waste in your bladder turning into gas.”

“My what-” Didi choked out before succumbing to more gas.

“It won’t stay there. That gas will collect and travel to wherever it needs.” Argo grinned, lurching to collect the phone from the table. “If you notice a little extra padding in your extremities, remember why you don’t need to take a leak.”

Argo could hear a groan of disgust from the phone. He knew if he were less exhausted, he would have savored the sound like a little treat, just for him.

“Great,” Didi muttered. “Now I know I’m belching out piss fumes.” 

“You’re welcome. Just how many of those coupons do you have left?”

The silence spoke volumes.

“None?”

“… one. I have one left.”

“Well, you better save it for a rainy day. Because once that’s done, you’ll only be able to belch out so much of those fumes a day. You’ll go right back to filling up faster than you’d ever imagine.”

Argo gritted his teeth. The room was starting to sway. He needed to make this quick.

“But hey,” he added. “You said it yourself. You’re already going to be big beyond belief. Make me proud.”

“You fucking-”

Didi finally showed more of his concerned side the next morning. “Please don’t embarrass me,” was a big part of Argo’s pre-travel pep talk (although “Do you have to snort that fart jar air?” was a close second, since Argo needed a “boost” for the weekend ahead).

Still, Argo managed to charm Didi into a calmer state of mind, especially after Didi got to see Argo cloak himself in a look that Argo dubbed “Classic Didi.” Once in this familiarly lanky form, Argo got onboard a Peter Pan bus to the Berkshires, took one last Uber from town, strolled through a pleasantly green campus, and finally, settled into an unexpectedly small and average looking room.

“I thought this was supposed to be a fancy-lad event.” Argo peeked through the Venetian blinds of his room’s dinky window. “If it weren’t for the beautiful woods surrounding us, I would’ve assumed this was a prison cell.”

“You’re not that far off,” piped Didi’s voice from the phone. “The property used to be for an early college, before it moved for… well, no one knows why they moved, but they left all the buildings behind. The organization rented out the entire space, so I’m guessing they didn’t bother to renovate the dorm halls.”

“Dorm halls?” Argo wrinkled his nose. “No wonder I’m detecting undertones of lost virginity and weed.”

“Argo, be serious.”

“I am! There is at least one student who jerked off daily in this room. I can just tell.” 

“Argo.” There was a long-suffering sigh. “All right. Tonight will be the welcome dinner. I double-checked the rules, and yes, the buffet will let you go back for seconds.”

“Excellent.” 

Argo opened his luggage and began separating his spell jars from his clothes. He had packed some really fruity numbers in there that he had always wanted to see Didi wear. There was a lot of fun you could have playing around in someone’s body.

“Do you remember the plan?”

“Of course.” Argo pulled out a pair of lacey underwear and happily set it aside. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the bus ride over. That’s how much I care.”

“You weren’t just bored?”

“Well, I was also bored. Not even demons are immune to the torture of the Peter Pan bus line. But I still care! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a dinner to attend.”

“All right. Good luck out there. And don’t lower my reputation in the scientific–”

Argo hung up and tossed the phone aside. He turned to the one mirror that the room contained and looked into Didi’s face. 

“Don’t you listen to him,” said Argo. “He meant to say that you’re a great boyfriend and everything will go perfectly.”

Argo turned and gave a little hand wave. “Oh, why thank you, Didi, that means so much. Now…”

Argo picked up a suit jacket and gave an eager grin that Didi himself would’ve never made. “Let’s get you all dolled up!”

*

The meals were held in what had to have been the dining hall back in the property’s college days. Unlike the dorms, the Genius Awards people put a lot of effort into decorating this building’s interior. The grey exterior couldn’t be helped, but the inside was draped in so many rugs and curtains, and filled with so much fancy lighting, that Argo wondered if he’d been whisked away to a new space entirely. The one clue betraying the building’s cafeteria origins was the layout: one side of the room was filled with arrangements of circular tables (now covered with fancy tablecloths and place settings) while the other half was left empty to let the esteemed guests drift from self-serve station to self-serve station. The one station that wasn’t self-serve contained the huge hunk of expensive, carve-able meat, which was manned by a handsome chef with an equally attractive knife (demons had a tendency to be attracted to danger, and Argo couldn’t resist a man with a blade).

Argo happily filled his plate, hopping from station to station to form a complete platter. He got steak from the sexy carving man (and made sure to smile at him while running his tongue over his lip), some seafood pasta, roasted garlic broccoli, truffle mac and cheese, and, of course, some salad to at least make it look like a balanced meal.

Once his plate was filled as indulgently as he liked, Argo sat down and had his feast. This part of the dinner was just for him, and one bite was all he needed to make up for that long bus ride. It was the kind of food that was actually good enough to be worth an ungodly amount of money, as impossible as that often seemed.

After a nice meal (accompanied by free champagne) and a moment to savor the flavors, Argo got up, went back in line, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

Argo had eaten his fill before, but his dinner still managed to look like a regular person’s meal, albeit an indulgent one. This time, he seriously collected a little bit of everything from the stations. In addition to sliced steak and seafood pasta, he took a hearty slab of salmon and a thick piece of chicken in mushroom sauce. Along with the broccoli, he took mashed yams with cranberries and roasted cauliflower. He topped the truffle mac and cheese with a piece of buttery garlic bread. And, of course, he added a little salad, for the sake of Didi’s health.

By the end of his collection, Argo had two plates nearly overflowing with food, so much so that he would’ve had trouble carrying them if there weren’t trays available. He awkwardly maneuvered himself out the back door to the outside seating arrangements, fending off wide-eyed reactions to his apparent gluttony with his own scowling (he could never match up to Didi’s dagger-like glares, but he tried his best). 

Fortunately, despite the beauty of the night and how clearly the stars shimmered in the navy-black sky, there weren’t as many people eating outside as there were indoors. Those who were eating outdoors kept to their own groups, crowding large tables, easily leaving opportunities for someone to slink to a shadowy spot for some privacy.

Argo sat on a tree stump a few yards from the cafeteria, far enough from the main paths to not be easily spotted. He took the full plates off their tray and set them carefully on the ground. The tray itself balanced easily enough across his knees.

From a deep jacket pocket, Argo pulled out the jar with his portal spell. 

He dipped his finger in the cloud, then traced a circle on the tray. He uttered a spell in a thick and ancient tongue, and the space within the circle slowly faded away, revealing a small glimpse of a cluttered apartment, a dining room table, and the face of a round, hungry boyfriend.

Carefully, Argo handed the plates through the portal. There was no room for small talk, no desire to risk being witnessed. The handoff was made, and then the portal was closed, leaving Argo alone on a mossy stump in a dark, dew-covered lawn.

For a room full of geniuses, no one noticed that Argo returned with an empty tray and no plates. On a normal night, he would’ve taken advantage of Didi’s form to really cause a fuss, something scandalous enough to be worth an award itself. But the stress of maintaining his kink spell was finally building to a migraine, so he grabbed a plastic cup of chocolate mousse and headed to his desperation-soaked room.

By the time Argo was sprawled out on the bed, his shoes off and spoon at the ready, his phone buzzed, chirping its little text alert tune.

Can you get dessert next time?

Argo blinked. He reread the message as if expecting there to be a code. He knew Didi had been looking forward to this food, but the utter amount of dinner that had been on those two plates… that could’ve easily fed two people. Three, if those people were gracious about sharing such valuable victuals.

Perhaps the stretchiness of Didi’s stomach was having more of an effect on him than Argo had planned.

Argo took a selfie of himself holding the mousse and sent it with the message, “Sure. Just let me make you jealous tonight.”

Didi responded by reacting with an angry emoji, which Argo relished along with each bite of mousse. He almost asked Didi for a picture of the “damage” that had been done tonight, but he held back. For once, he wouldn’t lead himself into temptation. After all, all good things come to those who wait.

“Didi? Honey?”

After a few silent seconds, Argo strode over to the sofa bed. Didi stayed where he was, hunched over a small golden rectangle of cardstock.

“You’ve been staring at that for a while now.”

The lettering on the invitation was a thin, loopy script, but it was still readable: The National “Geniuses in American Science” Award Ceremony. Didi turned it over, and a set of dates – starting with tomorrow’s – shone at him in silver foil print.

“I RSVP’d weeks ago,” Didi finally muttered. “Before all this. Even when this started, I thought I’d find a way to make it work by now. I had to, I just…”

The longest, saddest sigh rattled out of him. He tossed the card aside, letting it fall sadly onto the floor, a gilt parallelogram strewn among the dust of grimy shag.

“Wow,” said Argo. “You’re actually upset about this.”

Didi tutted, turning away. “Would I say all this if I wasn’t?”

“No, I mean… You hate shindigs like this.” Argo picked up the invitation and clambered onto the bed. Now it was his turn to rotate the card, looking for its secrets. “You always complain about all the socializing and hobnobbing you’ve gotta do. You always get strung out over writing an absolutely catty acceptance speech. Then, depending on how the night goes, you either take home the prize while scoffing at how weak the competition was, or you come home furious, call the judges idiots, and subject my asshole to some rage-fucking like I’ve never felt before.”

Didi turned one cautious eye to Argo. “You’ve never complained about that before.”

“I’m also not complaining now,” said Argo. “But my point still stands. And this is a multi-day trip in the Berkshires. A long weekend in rich white purgatory, where you need a car to go anywhere that’s actually fun. Why mourn the loss of this nerd affair?”

Didi leaned over and pointed to something underneath the date and time. Finally, Argo spotted it: “Our five-star buffet brought to you by…” followed by a list of names for some of the fanciest-sounding chefs and restaurants Argo had ever heard of.

“It’s free,” said Didi. “Well, it’s included in the price of admission, but it doesn’t affect the price of admission. If it did, then only the richest bastards could ever afford to go.”

“No kidding,” said Argo. “I only know about some of these caterers because almost every prick who sells their soul for riches ends up dining on their food. Show-off food, that’s what we call it in the infernal circuit.”

Demons continued to be less creative that Didi gave them credit for.

“Well, show-off or not, it’s supposed to be amazing. And unmissable.” 

Didi tore his gaze away from the card again and stared longingly out the window.

“I don’t know if I’ll be nominated or invited to this event again. I might, but… this could be my one chance. And I can’t, because…”

Didi didn’t have to finish the statement. The fact that he was starting to have trouble fitting through doorways said it all. 

Didi usually portrayed negative emotions. He was always fuming, irritable, scornful, and disappointed. But sadness – true sadness – was rare. Argo never liked seeing it, and now was no exception.

Argo tapped the card in thought, but not too hard; it was a very expensive stock. 

“What,” he finally said, “is more of an issue to you? Looking like this in front of everybody? Or getting even bigger from all this rich food?”

Didi shook himself from his funk and stared in confusion. 

“Those choices are connected,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

“Humor me,” said Argo. “Just choose one.”

“Fine.” Didi sighed and thought. “I suppose… the former. I’d never be able to explain myself, much less live through the embarrassment. The getting bigger will happen regardless, so I might as well endure it for the sake of a quality meal.”

“Right answer!”

Argo leapt up as much as his exhaustion could allow. It was a good day to get a second wind. 

“Follow me.”

“Can’t you just bring whatever you want to show me here?”

Didi glared at Argo’s retreating back. Grumbling, Didi navigated his huge self off the sofa and followed him.

*

When Didi reached their bedroom, Argo was already taking a worn, brown leather chest out of their closet.

“What’s that?”

“Insurance,” said Argo. He plopped the chest on the bed and started fiddling with a combination lock. “Imps are used to getting tired out by big spells, but we don’t want to be caught off guard if we know we’ll need to do certain things in the future. So, sometimes, we expend our energy to prepare spells in advance and store them…”

The lock clicked. Argo opened the chest with a flourish.

“… like this.”

Didi tentatively stepped forward. Once his eyes focused on the box’s contents – and he could make out the dusty glass shapes within – he scoffed and relaxed again.

“Jars again?” he asked. “What is with the forces of hell and storing things like you’re pickling vegetables?”

Argo ignored him and began rifling through the jars. Finally, he pulled out four, placing them carefully on the bed.

“These guys,” he said, pointing to the jars with steel-gray clouds writhing within, “are shift-spells. Each one can make me shape-shift into one form for 24 hours. That’s four full days, long enough for your whole event.”

It didn’t take Didi long to realize where Argo was going with this. He hadn’t been nominated for a Genius Award in Science for nothing.

“You’re going to take my place.” He laughed mirthlessly and put a hand to his head. “You expect me to be OK with this just so long as my spot won’t be wasted. And here I thought you were going to comfort me.”

“Didi…” Argo poked a clawed finger into Didi’s forehead. “You think you’ve solved the problem, but you don’t have all the clues. Behold.”

Argo lifted one more jar. This one had a much more active cloud in it, one that was dark red and swirling so quickly upon itself that it looked like a whirlpool.

“This is a portal spell. Once I properly set it up, I’ll be able to shove things through from point A to B. And if I only use it at specific moments – like, for instance, at mealtimes…” Argo traced a finger slowly around the jar’s lid. Small static sparks leapt from the crimson cloud to chase his touch. “… well, I could stretch this one over a long weekend. I won’t even have to miss breakfast.”

Didi looked from jar to jar to jar to jar. His breath quickened as he saw the pieces fall into place. 

Argo had expected more resistance and care from Didi. His boyfriend was usually so meticulous. Instead, Didi’s only question was, 

“Are you sure you can do it?”