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That's a Wrap!

Part 1

For DuskCypher

By Draconicon

Charlie knew that there was a reason that he didn't go out to bars and clubs very often. It took the 'Madame' bringing him out here in the first place to get him to go, and while she tried to get him drunk quickly so that he didn't remember why he hated it, it didn't always work. Particularly times like tonight, where she was completely deep in her own cups, throwing back shots like the bar was going to be out of business by the morning.

He turned on the bar stool, the black-furred feline looking back at the dance floor. Half of the men on it were already bumping and grinding against each other, and the other half were looking for partners to do the same with. He watched for a moment, feeling some twitches down between his legs as he imagined what it would be like to be approached like that, only for embarrassment to rear its ugly head and remind him that he would never be able to tolerate it in public. Not without at least -

"Have another," the lioness at his side said, barely keeping from slurring her words.

"..."

"Or I'll take it."

"Anything to keep you from going to the emergency room again."

He shook his head and took the shot. It smelled like whiskey. Not the worst, he supposed, tossing it back. He barely tasted it, but the burn followed with the familiar kick. Yes, that was whiskey; not harsh enough to be tequila or anything stronger.

Shaking his head, he started to turn away when he saw someone coming towards him. A bear, in this case. He waited, half-hoping, half-dreading that the big, leather-bound man was coming for him.

For a moment, the bear looked like he was going to ask something. Maybe even make an offer. Instead -

"Hey, bud, can I scooch by? Need a drink."

"...There's space on the other side," Charlie said, scooting a bit closer to the 'Madame' to make his point.

"Hey, no need to be a bitch."

"If there's any bitches here, it's you."

"Fuck, put the knives back in the drawer, Mr. Sharp."

As the bear leaned around his other side, obviously half-drunk already and probably hoping to get that magic blend that would get someone out of his league to keep indulging his company, Charlie shook his head. The whole place was filled with delusional guys hoping to suspend the rules for the night, if only for their own pleasure.

He included himself in that little list. He wasn't exactly the best guy in the room, considering that he had allowed himself to go to seed rather early in life. He was barely in his twenties, and yet, he had the gut of someone in their forties, and one that looked like it could have come from heavy drinking or rich eating. Either way, it hung over his waist, made him look like a muffin, and he knew that whatever other assets he had - a good face, a hot smile, and a big dick - were going to be obscured by that. Maybe in a pantsless club he might have had a chance once people saw what they'd be working with, but out here in public? No way in hell.

The bear walked off, leaving him and the 'Madame' in their cups again. He lifted his own latest shot, staring through the clear vodka at the bottles behind it, at the bar and the leopard that was running around serving drink after drink to the desperate men and women that frequented the place.

"Ever think of just saying 'screw it' and giving up on it all?" Charlie asked.

"What, like suicide?" the lioness asked.

"Not that drastic. Just...giving up on people."

"Don't think that's really possible, hon. It's like giving up on getting anything if you do that."

"Why keep chasing something that's impossible?"

"Eh, because there's nothing better to do?" She chuckled, giving him an elbowing that almost carried her off her stool. She groaned. "Seriously, what else are you going to do? Just keep tinkering with that computer of yours until it starts flying around your room?"

He smiled despite himself. It wasn't that far off, honestly. He had been refining bit after bit of the operating system on his home computer, stripping out those bits that the companies insisted were needed when they weren't, doing what he could to make sure that it ran faster, adding bits and pieces here and there. For that matter, there were enough cooling fans installed that he was half-sure that the computer tower could probably function as a hovercraft, if not a flight drone.

But it did mean that he spent every waking moment not at work doing that. Sitting, sitting, sitting around doing nothing...

No wonder I'm fat...

He sighed, rubbing his forehead, and the lioness gave him another nudge.

"Or you can be like me."

"Drunk?"

"Naaaaaah."

"Oh, you mean, delusional."

"I am quite the draw, you must admit. I have earned my name. The Madame. The grand Madame, as a matter of fact."

Of the orchestra, and of the brothel, he thought, though he didn't quite dare say it out loud. Maria, as the 'Madame' was actually named, had dragged herself up through the independent music scene, always with a focus on the old-time jazz that she was insistent could make a comeback. Maybe she was right; she had managed to book some serious gigs for herself through the city and in many nightclubs, including ones that weren't dives. And she maintained her looks, despite the heavy alcoholism that she indulged in.

And the various men that she indulged in, too. He sipped his vodka, shaking his head.

"So, who are you up to now?"

"Oh, some crocodile. He's boring me, though; no talent for oral. I'm looking for someone that can keep his head between my thighs properly, without leaving scratch marks on my stomach."

He chuckled at the mental image, something that would have been vaguely disturbing if he had been more sober and less down. As it stood, it was rather funny.

Draining the rest of his shot, he looked over his shoulder at the dance floor. Filled with people, and most of them either well out of his league, or him out of theirs. Very few actually fell into that narrow valley of having one or two exceptionally good features while also having an overwhelmingly negative one, like he did. Everyone always shot way too high first, and then started dropping their standards bit by bit until they reached him. Always late, too, third one asked at the very best. Never even second, and sometimes as far back as seventh.

Charlie shook his head, pushing the shotglass away and turning from the bar properly this time. Maria grabbed his wrist.

"Come on. Stay."

"You stay. I have other things to do."

"More computer work?"

"..."

"Come on. At least take a few offers on the way out."

"Public stuff...isn't my thing."

"Then you haven't gotten drunk enough."

"I don't need the hangover tomorrow. I need to be sober."

"Says who?"

"Says my boss."

"A sober bartender. Ha."

It was a little bit more than that, but he had to admit that he agreed, for the most part. There were a good many things that he could do while drunk, and serving drinks was among the easiest of them. Pour, hit the right mark, and send it off. He wasn't a showman. He just had to look good while serving, and he did look good in his uniform. Mostly because the muffin-top was hidden below the bar most of the time.

The black cat knew that he'd be fired if he came in drunk again, though, so he pulled his hand free. Maria rolled her eyes, but waved him off, calling for another drink. This time, she had someone bring it to her from the crowd, and from the eyelashes being batted at the lucky giraffe that had come her way, he imagined that the crocodile had already been replaced. Provided that this guy had the right equipment elsewhere...

Shaking his head, Charlie dragged himself from the bar, making his way through the crowd. Here and there, he got looks of disgust, then desperation, and then a few stragglers that were wobbling about more drunk than the 'Madame' was that followed him to the edge of the crowd. He tried to avoid them, the stink of desperation hardly flattering, but some were more persistent than the others. One white-furred rabbit managed to get through the crowd, hobbling over to him and leaning on his side.

"Hey, shexy," the lapine male slurred. "Howsh about you and me...get to the alley?"

"...I will pass."

"Come on, it's just a blowy."

"No thanks."

"But I'm the one shucking you..."

"No. Thanks."

"Micro-prick."

Charlie held back on the urge to throw a punch, though only barely. He knew that it would be more trouble than it was worth, particularly when there were witnesses around that would declare that it was his fault, that he had thrown the first punch, that he was committing assault.

Still, he didn't hold back from shoving the rabbit back to the crowd. The short twink disappeared into the dancing morass, and probably got groped and ground on more than he deserved for that kind of attitude.

He made his way into the night air, and he sighed as the shock of cold air in his lungs helped pull him part of the way back to sobriety. Not all the way, by any stretch of the imagination, but enough to make it so that he could stand without wobbling. No risk of a cop running him in today.

Should get home...

And do what? Stare at the screen and type away at the little glowing keys until he felt like he had made more progress? Strip away more code and make it that much more efficient? Stare at the screen afterward and look through the dating sites in hopes of finding someone that would accept him for even a bit of fun?

He was rather desperate, and he knew that. He accepted that he was going to be doing something stupid if he didn't get some action, or at least, some intimacy, before too much longer. There was only so long that someone could actually live like this before they started to consider the insane alternatives.

Not the sort of thing like blow-up dolls and stuff like that - the feline still had some dignity - but there was something about his situation that had made him start thinking of rent boys and prostitutes in general. Sex workers had never been the sort of associates that he had willingly gone looking for, but when nobody wanted to be with him due to his body, looking for cash to spend on those that would take it as a transaction was a little more appealing than it should have been.

Charlie shook his head. He was drunk, and he was going to make bad decisions at the moment, so better to table this and come back to it later.

Tomorrow.

When he wasn't so out of it.

"Taxi!" he shouted as one started his way from down the street. He waved his hand, and the driver pulled in close. He stumbled inside, shaking his head as he gave his address. "And quick..."

"Something the matter, sir?"

"Yeah...might throw up if you're not fast."

The driver could not have pulled away from the club quicker.

#

He managed to make it to his apartment before heaving hard, thankfully. And he even managed to make it to the bathroom before it all came up. Down the sink rather than down the toilet, unfortunately, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

On the plus side, when he came back up from the heaving, he felt better. Not more sober, but a hell of a lot more focused as he stared at himself in the mirror. For the first time in a while, he pulled off his shirt and actually took some time to study himself.

He had let himself go. There was no other way of looking at it. What had been mild chub had turned to being overweight, and while he wasn't entirely obese yet, it was a hop, skip, and a jump away. His 'muffin top' stomach was barely kept that way with a belt that pulled in like a corset, what had been a fine ass when he was in high school had bloated out and regularly ripped his pants if he wasn't careful. Even though his cock still stood out as something bigger than average, his weight kept it from being the monster that it used to be, and his erections were no longer so hard and firm as he remembered from his teenage years.

In short, he had lost most of his malehood to this. And if he didn't do something about it soon...

He was still drunk enough to be thinking less than logically. He stared at himself, and then poked his reflection right in the forehead, narrowing his eyes at himself.

"You were sexy," Charlie said. "You used to be so...so fucking hot..."

There was no response from his reflection. He took a deep breath, holding his finger right there, right on the mirrored forehead.

"You're going to fix that. First thing in the morning."

He didn't have a shift until three in the afternoon, and considering that he'd left the bar early today, he wouldn't be on so much of a hungover bender the next morning. He wouldn't need to sleep in nearly as much as usual. He would have time.

The black cat, feeling the effects of the alcohol more now that he was home and wasn't just wandering around, wasn't distracted, wobbled as he walked back down the hall to the bedroom. He leaned against the wall, rubbing his shoulder against it as he fished his phone from his pants. The despised jiggles that followed were just one more thing that made him hate himself in that moment as he tapped the screen.

"Gym..."

It was a simple word, but his phone almost seemed confused. Then he realized that he'd spelled it with an 'I' rather than a 'y', and corrected it. Three options popped up, one right around the corner from where he lived.

It was harder to do than it should have been, and he blamed the alcohol for tripping him up as he worked in an alarm for himself for tomorrow. Instructions, go to the gym, and then...then start making...progress...

He was fading fast, and he knew it. He managed to apply the settings for the alarm, and then collapsed into bed, his half-charged phone resting on the pillow beside him. Drool pooled around the side of his muzzle, and he knew that he'd be waking in a state fit for hell.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't care. That would probably be better than here.

#

The next morning, the alarm woke him like a banshee from under a hill, screaming from beneath the pillow that had half-hidden it. The black cat bit off a whimper at the sheer, cutting pain that stabbed through his ears at the sound of that shrill alarm, fumbling around to find it. An incidental nudge sent it over the side of the bed, but did nothing to silence it, forcing him to chase it over and fall out of the bed himself. The padding that he carried did nothing to soften the blow, either.

He managed to pick it up, staring at the screen. One word blinked at him again and again as the sound continued to struggle against the muffling effect of his hands.

Gym.

Charlie stared at the screen for a few more seconds, then sighed as he got back to his feet. He didn't need to lean against the wall anymore for balance, but he did anyway, shaking his head as he remembered what he'd decided last night. It was the right thing, something that he desperately needed, but...

You're up anyway...and you can't focus enough for the computer...

And the 'Madame' wouldn't be up for anything. She was down harder than he was after these nights out. He didn't have anything better to do.

Might as well...

The black cat got dressed, making his way dumbly out of his building and down around the corner. The gym loomed in front of him, tinted windows hiding whoever might be inside. He shuffled around, feeling out of sorts in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, but it was better than going in with the coat that probably wouldn't fit with the whole thing. The cat had to force himself to walk through the front doors, and thanks to the misery of the bright morning light, it was easier than it would have been if he wasn't hung over.

A calico cat at the front desk gave him a brief look before offering him a cup of coffee. Charlie took it black and downed it, the bitterness settling in almost immediately and chasing some of the hangover off with the hot, horrible taste on his tongue. He chugged the rest of it in a second long gulp, then tossed the Styrofoam cup in the garbage.

"Want to join," he muttered.

"Paperwork now or later?" the calico asked.

"Later."

"Alright. Let's get you set up."

A few minutes later, Charlie was at the free-weights, and he was pulling a small dumbbell up and down. The feeling of stress in his arm was something different, the burning new, but he liked it. It felt like something good. Felt like something running off. Something burning away.

He imagined that it was the part of him that he didn't like, the fat, useless bits of him that were getting taken off him and put somewhere else. It was a nice thing to imagine, and it pushed him to work that much harder.

From the dumbbells, he moved to the machines, and then finally to the bench press. That exercise, he knew as soon as he started, would become his favorite. The sheer feeling of pushing the bar away from him, feeling the crushing feeling of it trying to come back down to break him, was exactly the feeling that he had when he looked at himself in the mirror. That fat, useless, depressed part of him wanted to just smother him and erase him.

This...this gave him the feeling of being able to fight back, and he liked that.

#

Four years later...

Ring ring.

Ring ring.

Charlie reached for the phone before it hit the third ring. He had a pleasant buzz left from the night before, something that was a far cry from the hangovers that he used to have. Still felt some of that from time to time, when he over-indulged and forgot that his body didn't have quite the tolerance that it used to, but not very often. He imagined that Maria would have more of one than he did.

"Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"Home. Where else would I be?"

"Hello? The interview?"

The black cat slowly sat up in bed, the blankets falling off a body that bore no resemblance to the feline that had made the massive imprint on the mattress currently sitting in the alley, waiting for someone to cart it off. He was slender, now, his skin pulled tighter over muscles that had come in over the last four years. He slid his legs out from under the blankets, standing up and walking to the window.

"What interview?"

"The one that we talked about at the bar last night? The one that I arranged for you? Or were you too busy hitting the cream to remember that?"

"Pretty sure that it's sauce...and apparently." He rubbed his face, clearing out the sleep from his eyes. It was easier than it used to be. "Remind me?"

"Do you at least remember that I told you that I got hired on as actress AND score-writer for this TV series?"

"...Yes?"

"You know what, I'll give you credit and say that I believe you there." She chuckled on the other end of the line. "But I set up an interview for you. They're looking for people to play parts on the show. Something big."

"How big, and how perverted?" he muttered, closing his eyes.

"Why do you think it's perverted?"

"Because I don't act, but I do look good."

"Well, I suppose that's a fair point. Do you remember Game of Bones?"

"Please don't remind me of that. The first season was so good, and then...ugh. Nothing made sense."

"Well, it's the same studio and company, but different writer. Promises to have about as much sex, and maybe more."

That was what he was afraid of. He rubbed his forehead, trying to think of a good excuse to get out of it, only to find the best reason to go for it as some of the other memories from the night before started intruding.

Namely, that he had gotten into a screaming match over the phone with his boss and quit that bartending job of four-plus years. He was out of a job, unemployed, and rent was coming due pretty quickly. Without a new source of cash, he was going to be reduced to doing things that he really didn't want to.

"I told them that you'd be here for a noon-time interview."

Pulling his phone from his ear, he saw that it was already eleven. There was no time to cancel, then.

"Where's the studio?"

"Just past downtown."

"I'll be there."

#

The interview room was normal. Those that were conducting the interview were not, and could not have been more different from one another, whether you took into account height, species, or general mannerisms. For his own amusement, Charlie just stared at them from across the interview table, trying to figure out who was actually going to be making the final decision about whether he was hired or not.

On the one hand, there was the six-foot-plus lion that sat on the right. Gray-furred along the back of his neck and streaked through his mane, he had the look of an elder leonine statesman, dignified but with that slight twinkle of mischief in his eyes that told Charlie that he had probably had a number of his own scandals behind him. For that matter, he almost looked like the sort of person that would have fit into the 'Madame's' personal fantasies about the old time, where the glory days of jazz and the fancy men and women that loved it were at their peak. His suit screamed 'money', and Charlie guessed that he was an investor or something like that.

On the other hand, there was a three-foot hamster that was struggling to be seen over the tabletop, obviously sitting in a raised chair to make it possible for him to see over the table at the same level that the lion did. He was twitchy, but with bright eyes that could have been eagerness or cocaine. He was all but vibrating, too, which made him that much harder to look at.

Charlie cleared his throat.

"So...this place -"

"FDN," the hamster said. "Furry Drama Networks. Came up with it myself. Really good, isn't it?"

"It's...expansive."

He had to give them that; the studio itself was surprisingly large for something that was based off-Hollywood, and that was something that had adjusted his expectations. Regardless of his personal thoughts of that 'Game of Bones' show, they were obviously making money from something. He shook his head.

"I'm here because Maria set this interview up. So...let me be honest. I can't act."

The lion and the hamster shared a look with one another, then looked back at him. The lion spoke this time.

"You can't act?"

"No. If you have a character that acts like me, then I can give it my best shot, show a little stage presence, but...I'm not that good at putting on masks and pretending to be someone else."

"Well, that's disappointing. Ah, well. Thanks for coming -"

"Wait, wait, Henry." The hamster shook his head. "Let's at least see what he can do, huh? I mean, look at him."

"Maurice, he looks...close, but that doesn't mean anything if he can't -"

"Give him the script. Come on. What do we have to lose?"

"...Fine. But I had best see something amazing. Some pizazz, as you would put it."

The lion passed him a tablet with the script already loaded. Charlie flicked through it, reading the summary at the start, and internally he was already groaning.

A fight between Heaven and Hell, centered around a black cat lead...kicks Satan down to Hell and takes his powers...uses them for his own pleasures before being drawn into a bigger conflict...

All in all, it had the basis of something...okay, if not particularly original, but the more he flicked through it, the more different sex scenes he saw, and he started to lose track of what the plot actually was as more and more scenes where the main character was completely naked and dominating all and sundry before him popped up. It was...extensive, to say the least, and the fact that he would be that naked if he got the role surprised him. He knew that this studio did porn - hell, Game of Bones had an orgy on every season finale, and there were episodes that were nothing but rutting in different positions - but this one seemed to take that even further, with simulated lactation, hard anal fuck fests, multiple penetrations, simulations of tentacles and chastity spells...

It was a lot. He was kind of amazed that they had the budget for it.

"So, how about you read from here..."

Maurice leaned over the table and tapped near the end of one of the first scenes, which happened to be the scene where the main character - a cat named Dusk Von Doom - summoned the devil to his room and got fucked by him. One of the only scenes that actually had him bottoming, but it was from the very beginning of the show.

Ho boy...

Charlie stood up, clearing his throat. He hesitated for a half-second, thinking of all the scars on his body hidden under his fur, places where the loose skin from all the weight loss had been pulled away. He thought of all the fights that he had won to get here, and pulled on that to embody this person that had just beaten the devil.

And he read.

Maurice was all but spellbound, and Henry stared with one eyebrow raised. The scene played out with him ruminating over his new abilities, talking out loud about what he wanted to do with them, and how the devil had gotten his just desserts. The whole thing was as over the top as one could imagine, but Charlie felt...well, surprisingly at ease with the role now that he had started it. There was something about it that struck a chord with him. Maybe it was the way that this character had just reached out and taken control of his destiny in a way similar to how he had done with his weight, or maybe it was just the fact that he liked the idea of having that sort of power. Either way, he read smoother than he expected himself to, and he enjoyed the shocked faces before him.

By the end, Maurice looked at Henry, then back at him. The hamster shook his head slowly, whistling as he did.

"Now that is what I call pizazz."

"I'll admit that there's some...star power," Henry said. "But I don't know that I like that particular scene's dialogue. And calling him the Devil like that...feels too Christian. I think we should change that up."

"We'll talk to the main writer about that later, when we get him nailed down on a contract."

"Hmmm..."

"But Charlie - Charlie Dusk, right?" Maurice asked, and the cat nodded. "Charlie, you're a perfect fit, as far as I'm concerned."

"Just one moment."

Henry cut the moment short before Charlie could ask what the pay was, the lion looking him straight in the eye. The older lion cocked his head to the side, leaning back with one hand on the table and the other out of sight. He smiled.

"I want to see whether we'll need a stunt double for him."

"...I'm in fit enough shape to deal with anything physical," Charlie said.

"I don't mean that. Take off your pants."

"...You mean that, then."

"Yeah. Our main character has something big. Very big. I want to make sure that we don't have to spend money on a dick double."

"Well, that won't be a problem," Charlie said, reaching for the buttons of his pants. "That will most definitely not be a problem."

He could feel his cock...not quite shrinking, but scrunching up a bit in his pants. Despite all his time at the gym, all the time that he had spent working on himself, he still didn't like the whole idea of public displays. He wanted to enjoy himself privately, if he had to enjoy himself at all, and he wouldn't have gone for this porno production if it wasn't for the fact that he needed money.

But if they wanted to see whether he had a big dick or not, they were going to get an eye-full.

Unzipping rather quickly, he reached through the zipper gap and fished his cock from his underwear. The shaft was thick enough that it nearly scraped against the teeth of the zipper, but as he allowed it to fall down, all eyes were on him. There was a hint of shrinkage, pulling in by half an inch, but considering that it dangled at nearly eight inches without any hint of an erection, with the promise of some growth once he started to get hard, he knew that it should be more than sufficient.

Even Henry stared, and that meant that he had the job. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, belying his own discomfort as he cocked his head to the side.

"Is that enough pizazz for you?"

"Holy fuck," Maurice whispered.

"...That is sufficient. You can put it away now."

Before I upstage you? he thought as he did just that. He smiled as best he could as he zipped up again.

"So...how much am I going to be paid?"

The End

Summary: Charlie Dusk is a cat that's a bit down on his luck, but there might be some hope, both in self-correction, and in a new role in life.

Tags: M/solo, Weight Loss, Cat, Lioness, Lion, Hamster, Size Difference, Nudity, Exposure, Series, Porn Company, Audition,