The vault echoed with the crunch of combat boots as Ken, now an imposing adult in his khaki gi, charged toward Flatulent Fatso like a freight train. His movements were clean, powerful—a perfect blend of raw strength and martial arts finesse.
Flatulent Fatso didn’t flinch. Instead, he turned his mountainous body with a theatrical flair, raised one pudgy finger—and tapped a dial on the side of his tuxedo. “You leave me no choice, my khaki-clad crasher,” he huffed. “Prepare to witness... the romance of the century.”
He pressed a button on his belt buckle. Lights blinked. A low gurgling sound rose from his belly, bubbling upward like a boiling cauldron.
“Oh no,” Blue Boxer muttered, still clutching his oversized gloves as he struggled to keep his pants from falling. “What’s he cooking this time?”
Flatulent Fatso puffed out his cheeks. His entire torso expanded, vibrating with internal force. And then--BBBBBLLLUUOOOOOOORRRRRRPPPFFFF!
A pink-tinted cloud erupted from his lips, rippling the air and making the walls tremble. It rolled forward with uncanny speed, swirling with glittery motes and heart-shaped wisps, like a toxic Valentine’s Day parade.
“Boxer, don’t breathe it in!” Ken shouted, pulling his shirt over his nose.
Too late. Blue Boxer took it full in the face.
His eyes widened, then fluttered. “Hhhhhhhnnnghh…” he moaned, stumbling back. The love gas tingled on his skin, like warm cinnamon and candy hearts, and it smelled like a strangely enticing mix of leather, roses, and barbecue. His head swam. And then it hit him. “He’s... HOT,” Blue Boxer whispered.
Ken froze mid-step. “Wait, what?”
The hero turned teen hero stumbled forward again, dazed, his cheeks red, his voice breathy and awkward. “I mean—look at him, Ken! The power, the confidence... the tux that just won’t quit... I know he’s technically our enemy, but I dunno, man. There’s just something about a guy who can belch like that and still strut. Something powerful about that big round belly.”
Flatulent Fatso grinned like a greasy cherub. “Ahhh, yes. The Love Gas. Tailored for adolescent minds—overclocked hormones and underdeveloped frontal lobes. A delicious cocktail for confusion and longing.”
Blue Boxer tried to shake it off, slapping his cheeks with his adult sized gloves. “Snap out of it, Ethan—he’s a criminal! He’s got swamp gas in his beard! He—he just belched in your face, for heaven’s sake!” But the pull was still there. That churning gut. That glistening tuxedo stretched over an expanse of smug roundness. That confidence. Blue Boxer adjusted his domino mask with a swoop of bravado, then sauntered forward in his baggy, ill-fitting uniform, trying his best to look cool despite being a lanky pipsqueak.
“Hey... big guy,” he said, voice cracking mid-sentence. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences—me punching you, you gassing me—but maybe we got off on the wrong foot. How about you and me... talk over a protein shake sometime? Or, you know, some chili dogs? I’m easy.”
Ken stood frozen, jaw slack. “Boxer. What in the actual hell are you doing?”
Blue Boxer winked at Flatulent Fatso, giving him finger guns. “I’m working the angle, kid. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
Fatso raised an eyebrow and let out a soft, flirty poot. “You’re charming when you’re confused.”
Ken groaned and stepped forward, fists clenched. His jaw tightened as he glared down at the tuxedo-clad terror across the vault. “That’s enough,” he growled. “You’ve messed with our bodies, our minds, and now you’re—what, seducing a teenager? I don’t care how bloated you are, Fatso. You’re going down.”
Flatulent Fatso let out a high, amused giggle that sounded like a balloon deflating. “Oh, you darling mountain of misguided discipline,” he purred. “You think you can stop me? Please. You’re still new to your adult body, and your little partner is too busy doodling hearts around my name in his brain.”
Ken lunged—but Fatso was ready. With a dramatic inhale, his belly expanded again like a grotesque hot air balloon. The air around him shimmered with pressure.
“Let’s see how you handle… my Gorilla Gas!™” he bellowed, puffing out his cheeks. BBBBBBBBRRRUUUUUMMMMPPHHHHHHHHH!!! A thick, green fog erupted from his mouth, swirling through the air with a jungle-like musk—earthy, primal, musky with a weird tinge of bananas and armpits. It hit Ken square in the face.
“Urgh—ugh—wha—?” Ken grunted, stumbling backward. His brow scrunched. His fists unclenched. His posture slouched forward, arms dangling, eyes wide and dull. "What's happening to me?" He already felt strange in his bigger, hairier body, but now his mind was slowing down too. “Oooh… ooohh?” Ken mumbled, blinking slowly. Then he scratched his head, knuckles first.
“Ken?” Blue Boxer blinked. “...Buddy?”
Ken let out a loud “OO-OO-AH-AH!!” and pounded his chest.
Flatulent Fatso chuckled with wicked glee. “Marvelous! The Gorilla Gas scrambles language centers, lowers inhibition, and enhances banana cravings. Instant ape. Just add gas.” He reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a shiny banana with a flourish. “Here you go, big fella.”
Ken’s eyes lit up. He took the banana with reverent hands, plopped to the floor cross-legged, and began to peel it, grunting and humming happily.
“Well,” Fatso turned back to Blue Boxer with a smirk, “now that your chaperone is otherwise engaged…”
Blue Boxer blinked, cheeks glowing again. “You—you really didn’t have to do that. I mean, that guy was my sidekick.”
"Sidekick? He looks more like a caveman to me," Fatso chuckled.
Boxer tugged awkwardly at his too-big utility belt. “Gosh I feel so weird. You’re kinda... assertive.”
Fatso stroked his beard. “I am a man of action. And indigestion.”
Blue Boxer leaned on a nearby filing cabinet, trying to strike a suave pose but slipping a bit. “So, uh, you got like... plans after this? Besides humiliating us further?”
“Oh, young man,” Flatulent Fatso cooed, towering above him. He ran his fingers through the boy's hair, “you and your monkey-minded guardian are just the beginning. I have so many surprises waiting. This is only our first date.”
"Date?" Boxer's voice cracked and he nearly lost his balance. His teenage cock stirred in his pants, but he desparately tried to keep his cool.
Ken hooted in the background, happily gnawing his banana.
Blue Boxer gulped. "I'd love to go on a date with you, s-sir." His oversized gloves kept slipping off his hands—he stood a little straighter, cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed red that somehow felt good. His eyes sparkled with a mix of teenage crush and that old vigilante fire. He cleared his throat and gave a nervous, charming smile.
"And why should I, a man of considerable size and importance, bother with a scrawny teenage boy?" He leaned in close and pinched Boxer's reddening cheek.
“Okay, Mr. Fatso,” he began, voice a little breathier than usual, “here goes nothing. You’re... well, you’re really something. Not just the tux, or the belt, or the—uh—explosive talents, but the whole package. And I feel like, gosh, I'd do just about anything to spend more time with you.”
Flatulent Fatso raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amused disbelief. “Oh? Do tell, little Blue. What do you like about me?”
Blue Boxer shifted from one foot to the other, trying to play it cool but clearly struggling. “I mean, you’ve got guts—literally—and style. Not many guys can pull off a tuxedo and a belly like that and still look... confident. You’ve got charisma, you’ve got pizzazz, and you definitely keep things... interesting. Gosh I'd love to see you with your shirt off.” He blushed a darker shade of red, astonished that he'd allowed that to slip past his mind's filter. But he suddenly felt completely out of control.
He took a breath, trying to sound more mature than his teen voice allowed. “Dinner with you? I think it’d be... fun. I’d get to know the man behind the, uh, mighty belches. Maybe learn a few things about… courage, confidence, and how to handle a situation when you’re the biggest guy in the room.”
Fatso chuckled, folding his arms over his impressive girth. “Impressive, Ethan. For a boy trapped in a man’s past, you speak with the wisdom of a thousand belches.”
Blue Boxer smiled shyly. “I’m good at sounding older when it counts.”
The villain leaned closer, his grin widening. “Very well, Blue Boxer. Impress me enough tonight, and perhaps I’ll let you and your... charming sidekick walk walk away unscathed. But if you agree to dine with me, you agree to certain terms and conditions. Firstly your primate pal will be kept under my arrangements for the duration of our evening together.”
Ken, still happily munching his banana nearby, gave a low, confused grunt.
Blue Boxer nodded, a new fire lighting his eyes. “Yes sir. What did you have in mind?”
***
Back and Flatulent Fatso's hideout, Blue Boxer adjusted his oversized blue boxing gloves nervously as he observed Ken, a butt naked, hairy, middle-aged man, happily munching a banana in his new primate habitat—a surprisingly cozy cage with a jungle mural and soft leafy pillows.
Fatso ran his pudgy fingers along Blue Boxer's shoulder. "What's your name boy? Your real name?"
"Ethan," he said, without a moment's hesitation.
"Ethan, your hairy companion will remain in my exhibit until I feel you're both no longer a threat, understood?"
“Yes sir.” Ethan sighed, trying to sound casual but feeling his teenage heart pound like a bass drum, “I guess he's safer this way.”
Flatulent Fatso beamed proudly, patting the giant banana-shaped control panel on the cage. “Excellent. Gorilla man is safe and content, and now you’re all mine for the evening. But a gentleman always lets his date choose the venue, right?”
Ethan blinked. “Uh, actually, I usually pick the spot.”
Flatulent Fatso’s grin widened like a Cheshire cat on steroids. “Not tonight. I choose. And you’ll wear what I pick.”
The oversized villain pulled out a custom tuxedo with tails—tailored for a teenage Blue Boxer, complete with a sleek black bow tie and a hint of electric blue piping that matched Ethan’s gloves. “You’ll look smashing,” Flatulent Fatso declared with a wink.
Ethan hesitated but eventually he nodded, disrobing in front of his enemy and slipping into the tux. He felt dizzy, he'd never felt so completely without agency, but he found it impossible not to agree with the villain's instructions. The fit was surprisingly sharp—he looked like a teen prince out of a fairy tale.
Dinner was at “Le Belchier,” a fancy, bizarrely themed restaurant with bubbling water features and murals of legendary belchers through history. Fatso ordered for both of them—a massive steak smothered in blue cheese for himself, and a surprisingly delicious grilled chicken with roasted veggies for Ethan.
“Eat up,” Flatulent Fatso said between proud, thunderous belches that rattled nearby glassware.
Ethan grinned, doing his best to act suave while his teenage hormones buzzed wildly.
“So, uh, what made you pick this place?” Ethan asked.
“I like to celebrate my passions,” Flatulent Fatso said, eyes sparkling. “And I like to share them with those who can appreciate greatness—even if they start out a little confused.”
By the time dessert arrived—a chocolate soufflé with a delicate puff of cinnamon air—Ethan felt like he was floating.
Walking Flatulent Fatso back to the door of his hideout, Ethan felt every flutter and throb of his teenaged heart.
“Thanks for dinner,” Ethan said softly. “I—I really had a great time.”
Fatso gave a low chuckle, the kind that made Ethan’s stomach flip.
“Likewise, young man. You’re more than I expected.”
Ethan swallowed, nerves buzzing. He shifted awkwardly on the sidewalk.
“So… um… should I, uh, walk you inside?”
Fatso shook his head, smiling slyly.
“No, no. I think this is where we say goodbye.”
Ethan’s heart squeezed painfully. Not ready to say goodbye, he fumbled for words, trying to stall.
“You know, the night’s still young. Maybe we could… hang out a little? Watch a movie? Or I could show you my top secret Gym sometime.”
Fatso raised a brow, amused but amused in a way that made Ethan hope.
“Careful, kid. You’re treading on dangerous ground.”
Ethan smiled shyly. “Yeah, well... I guess I like a little danger.”
The wind rustled around them, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Ethan looked up at the man who had turned his world upside down, hoping—just hoping—for a goodnight kiss or an invitation inside.
Fatso smiled softly, eyes glinting like stars in the night.
“Goodnight, Blue Boxer.”
And with that, the door closed.
Boxer felt absolutely devastated. He ran back through the city toward the secret entrance of his headquarters, sniffling back tears. Back in the dim blue glow of his HQ, Ethan—trapped in a teenage body but still harboring the heart of a hero—sat on the edge of his boxing ring, fingers trembling over his phone. His slender nervous hands he barely recognized as his own.
His mind raced with all the moments from tonight: the way Flatulent Fatso’s tux hugged that enormous belly, the thunderous yet strangely charming belches, and the way those eyes held a mixture of mischief and something softer, something real. How easily, readily he'd surrendered his crime fighting partner to his care. How much he desired to follow his instructions. How much he wanted to see that big powerful man without his tux on.
Finally, with a shaky breath, Ethan dialed the number Fatso had given him earlier that night. The line rang twice before Fatso’s deep, rumbling voice answered. “Ethan the Boy Boxer? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Ethan swallowed, voice soft but steady. “I... I just have to say it. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”
There was a pause, then a chuckle. “Flattery will get you everywhere, kid.”
Ethan laughed nervously, then dove in. “No, seriously. I admire you—your strength, your confidence. Your body—big, powerful, commanding. I respect how you own who you are, no apologies. I want to spend all my time with you, learn from you, be with you.”
Flatulent Fatso’s tone shifted, warm and intrigued. “Go on.”
Ethan’s cheeks flushed deeper as he confessed with surprising honesty. “I think about you all the time. How your mighty belches fill the room, how your laugh shakes the walls, and how your huge belly somehow feels like the safest place in the world. I fantasize about being close to you, wrapped up in your arms, hearing your breath and... well, your ‘special’ talents. I want to make you proud, to be someone worthy of your attention.”
A low, satisfied grunt rumbled from the other end. “Ethan, you have no idea how much I like hearing that. You’ve got fire in your soul, and maybe a little gas in your future.”
Ethan smiled, heart pounding. “I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
“Good,” Flatulent Fatso said with a mischievous edge. “Because I have plenty of surprises left for you.”