It started out like any other Saturday night: Kevin and Sam would torrent some superhero movie online, get slightly tipsy, and spend the next three hours bantering about comic book lore and whatever the movie did (or in most cases, didn’t) get right.
But that Saturday night, something was off. Kevin could tell the second he pulled up the torrent website. There was something weirdly sketchy about its layout, regular blockbuster titles thrown in with god-knows-what porn, most of it gay.
But the website had Batman v Superman, and that was all that mattered. He had been looking forward to watching it with Sam, his college buddy with a particular affinity for all things Superman. Kevin was more of a Bat-fan himself, so the movie was sure to spur a beautifully lengthy discussion on why the movie itself got Superman totally wrong, and why Batman would totally win in an actual fight.
Only after about ten minutes in, neither boys felt like talking. Sam’s eyes were transfixed on the screen, his mouth slightly agape like he was in a trance. And Kevin? Kevin felt like he was going to explode. Whether it was nausea, constipation, cramps, or all three, he knew that something was seriously wrong with his body, and he suspected that it didn’t have anything to do with the beer.
It was the website, he thought to himself. It was the only explanation. It must have been a corrupted copy of the film, some subliminal messaging that made him sicker and sicker every time he looked up at the screen. By the time the two heroes met up for the fist time, he could take it no longer.
“I… I’ve got to… pee,” Kevin lied. Sam didn’t make a sound. Kevin doubted he even heard him at all. He got up and rushed to the bathroom, slammed the door, and switched on the light.
“Holy shit,” Kevin said, staring at his reflection. He was covered in sweat. It soaked his Batman t-shirt and made it cling tight to his chest. He breathed in deep, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath. Kevin wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw it fall a little bit less every time he breathed.
His crotch grew warm. It was subtle at first, a slight burst of testosterone, but within seconds, Kevin’s balls were pumping out gallons of the stuff throughout his body. He stumbled back, his hands falling flat against the wall behind him as he closed his eyes. There was heat. Everywhere. Spreading from his crotch like wildfire, making him breathe harder. Faster.
He looked up. In the mirror, he could see that his muscles were tightening. It looked like he was in the middle of the biggest workout of his life, and he was just standing still. But that was impossible. Bruce never worked out… wait… Bruce?
Kevin moaned, deeply, the guttural growl escaping his lips as he threw his head back, letting another wave of testosterone flood his system. He was feeling hotter and hotter every second, and not just temperature wise. By now, his muscles were full on growing, rising higher and higher with every breath. His pec shelf was big enough to rest a glass on, and his abs were completely visible through the now dripping wet t-shirt.
He flexed a bicep. It flared, bulging upwards and glistening in the light of the bathroom. Kevin made a cocky smile to himself, imagining what Clark was going to think when he saw how jacked he had gotten since their last fight. Only after Bruce had been admiring himself in the mirror for five minutes did he realize that he didn’t know anyone named Clark. These were someone else’s memories.
He made for the door. His grip was so strong, the handle clipped off in his hand. “Fuck,” Bruce said under his breath. His voice was impossibly deep, hard, and raspy. He cupped his mouth in shock, slowly letting the words out one by one. “I… am… Kev—No… Kevin…. Bevin… Bru…”
A flash of black made him look back up towards the mirror, where his hair was changing from auburn to a dark shade of black. He watched, astonished as the hair started to pepper his face. It carved out canyons in his cheeks, giving him an imposing facade, before moving down his neck and under his shirt.
He tore it off, watching the little back hairs dust his now comically huge muscular physique. They prickled his pecs, ticked his abs, and gathered above the adonis belt leading down to his…
“Oh FUCK!” Bruce yelled. It looked like someone had inflated a balloon inside his pants. His tool started to push down on the zipper, exposing a veiny dick that pulsed with fluids it was yearning to release. In one final burst, the cock flung out of his jeans. Cum rocketed out of the tip as Kevin shook with the electric force of his orgasm. He screamed, teeth bearing and neck muscles flaring as he let go of his previous life, and embraced his new one as Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy extraordinaire. World’s greatest detective, member of the Justice League, but most importantly, “BATMAN.”
Just as he said it, he felt the familiar black suit wrap comfortably around his muscles. He felt his armor lock into the slits of his abs, his pants cup his still pulsing dick, and his cowl embrace the jagged lines of his his hardened face. A cape appeared around Bruce’s back, and he smirked at himself. “Damn,” he said with a growl, “feels good to be Batman.”
Bruce exited the bathroom and walked out into the apartment. This is weird, he thought looking at the comic book posters on the wall and the movie credits blaring on the TV across from him. How did I get in here?
“Looking for something, Bruce?” the handsome voice drew his attention to the couch, above which was floating an impossibly attractive man in a blue and red costume, his crooked smile facing down towards the Bat.
Bruce shook his head. “Man oh man of Steel. How I’ve missed you.”
“You ready for a re-match?” Superman said, stepping down so the two were face to face. He winced as he inhaled Bruce’s musky breath.
The Batman cackled. “Sure. But this time?” with his meaty hand, he reached around and gripped Superman’s iron ass, “This time, I’m on top.”
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