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“Warning! Warning! Artificial gravity lost!”

The escape pod was bathed in emergency red light. Gryeen antimammary bombs continued to bounce off the hull, cratering new wounds in the metal. As sparks flew, and gravity vanished, Captain Cynthia Havilick was lifted weightlessly into the air, a proton pistol in her hand and a human male between her legs.

In the script, Havilick and Jogoo had made a daring escape from the Gryeen boarding parties, initiating a critical meltdown of the Furred Razor’s engines. They had hoped an escape pod could slip through the Gryeen armada in the chaos. They were wrong. Now, the pod was crippled, quickly losing its orbit above a lava world a dozen miles below, and the Gryeens were closing in fast, intent on capturing the pair for their own twisted ritual.

In reality, the set was a cylindrical pipe made of painted wood, the Gryeen bombs were nothing more than some stage grips shaking the set, and Michael and Kaylee were being lifted into the air by a harness and dozens of wires. They flew like puppets, not sexy warriors.

Michael just hoped he wouldn’t hit the padding too hard. His dick could snap in half.

“Oh, Cynthia!”

Havilick shot her proton pistol over his shoulder, blasting a Gryeen attempting to climb in through the escape hatch—at the same time, her hand pressed Jogoo’s face into the fluffy white prison of her breasts, both to keep him from floating away and to remind him of his task.

Michael thrusted. Kaylee wrapped her calves around his ass. With their bodies suspended three feet off the ground, there was almost no leverage for his thrusts, leaving him as impotent as a fish on a hook. Kaylee tried to guide him in—hand on his back, thighs on his waist, her velvet tunnel as wet as a mouth. She swung backward, momentarily going upside down to dodge a Gryeen laser, and the upswing of her pelvis lurched him deeper inside, like a centrifuge of pussy. Gravity fucked them together, inch by inch.

She blasted a second Gryeen. Michael sucked her nipple. With a shake of the walls, and a sudden yank of the wires, the two slammed into the ceiling of the escape pod, their moans mixing with pain. Sharp pleasure. Dull pain. Lights flashing. Cameras rolling.

Obviously, Jogoo was still infected with the sex parasite. He had passed that infection to Cynthia with his tongue. And, now, the two star-crossed lovers were violently fucking in the midst of their own capture. It was a desperate maneuver—they had to fuck to stop the parasite from killing them, but, of course, they were also fucking because it might be the last time they saw each other alive. They could only admit their feelings in the face of death.

It was poetic, Tammy had said.

It was a total fucking mess, Michael thought.

His harness was cutting into his back, and his wires were beginning to tangle with Kaylee’s, creating a spider web of high tension metal. Every slam into the padding seemed to come just a little too hard.

It might’ve looked good for the cameras, but, to him, it was easily the least sexy thing he’d ever done in his life.

The wires pulled them left. Kaylee shot right, her furry tit dancing beneath Michael’s lips. At the entrance, Austin pretended to get struck by a proton bullet, falling into the black expanse of space. Since she was playing every single Gryeen henchwoman in the film, she was going to have to run around the set and enter from the other side, like she was a completely different mook about to get killed.

Meanwhile, Michael was beginning to pitch forward, the pull of the wires spinning him like a gyroscope. For a brief moment, he was thrusting downward, and he used the advantage to full effect—slamming his hips, mashing his pelvis, burying his cock so deep in wolf pussy that he might’ve sired a new breed of dogs. All around him was soft white fur and screaming hot pleasure.

Kaylee gasped. Paws gripping, calves locking, her white mane blossoming as she spun.

His harness was tight. His ass was growing tired.

Flexing muscle. Squeezing walls. Slick, tight, burning hot.

Focus on the wolf pussy. Fuck her like a koala.

Despite the constant motion, and the dozens of people watching from the side, Kaylee was dripping wet. When she was not shooting Austin with her proton pistol, her paws were holding him tight to her body, gripping and scratching. Talk about a physical actor.

Sparks flew. Alarms rang. Slowly, on one side of the stage, a fire began to spread.

Michael continued to fuck. Kaylee’s pussy was the one source of pleasure in a spinning world of aches and pains. When he pulled back for a thrust, it felt like a loss. When he bottomed out inside her, it felt like he could never be deep enough. Sharp pleasure cut through the strains of the harness, distracted him from the lurching in his belly. He tilted and spun, fucking her with gravity, burning with desire, thrusting both for the cameras and the sheer animal instinct inside him.

“The Star Penetration will fall!” Austin shouted, clambering into the escape pod. “Your humies will taste the cock of justice! When we—”

Kaylee shot her, moaning. The camera grips rumbled the walls, and the wire coordinator pulled the wolf violently to the side, dragging Michael into a hard slam. As they bounced off the padding, there was a sharp pain in his back. Immediately, he knew something was wrong.

“Cut!” Michael yelled.

Tammy straightened in her chair. “What? No! Keep rolling!”

He pressed a fist into his lower back, trying to crush the pain. It only grew worse. “Hold on—God—the fucking—”

The wire coordinator tugged him again, forcing his legs into the air. His head spun violently towards the ground, and the pain in his back grew from sharp to piercing.

“Cut!” Michael yelled, trying to plant his feet.

“No cuts!” Tammy shouted, jumping from her chair. “This is the money shot!”

Kaylee glanced between Michael and Tammy. Austin, who was supposed to be dead, raised her head from the floor.

“Places!” Tammy yelled.

Michael and Kaylee were now hanging completely upside down, bodies intertwined.

“Lights!”

The emergency lights began to flash and spin, bathing the two actors in a deep, red glow.

“Effects!”

A shower of sparks began to rain behind them, drizzling the red light with gold. To the side, a fake panel exploded off the wall, falling into the growing flames.

“Now!” Tammy said, clapping her hands. “Kiss!”

Kaylee looked down at Michael—with their difference in height, and his lower half coiled between her legs, his head only barely made it to her chest. Her amber eyes reflected the red alarms and the orange blaze of fire. Concern.

Michael grunted. His back throbbed in pain.

“Kiss!”

Kaylee folded her ears, closed her eyes, and kissed Michael. The contact was electric. Fur on his lips, hot breath on his cheeks, a long tongue invading his mouth and painting everything it found. Despite the pain, and the growing nausea, Michael felt himself melting into the arctic wolf’s grasp, allowing her to bend him like a wire, kissing all the deeper.

Around them, the set was destroyed on cue. Sparks gushed from the ceiling, panels fell from the walls. There was a raging fire, a dozen overlapping alarms, and the deep groan of rending metal. For the camera, it was two lovers stealing a final passion as their enemies closed in.

Kaylee broke the kiss, breathing heavily. Michael looked at her with lidded eyes. As they hung upside down, the blood rushed to their heads, and the world seemed to grow still.

Austin grabbed Michael with a green-painted paw.

“Mwhahahaha!”

Communications Officer Iaini Jogoo was ripped from Havilick’s arms. The Gryeen invader threw him like a doll, and the human male soared through the zero-G space of the escape pod. In editing, the special effects department would make his cock spray droplets of cum throughout the pod, like a pearly sea of stars.

Michael crashed into the padding again.

Something cracked. He gasped.

“Cut! Cut!” He grabbed the wires hanging above his chest harness, desperate for leverage. “Fuck!”

Hanging in the air. Sharp, blinding pain. Animal panic.

Tammy ran to the side of the soundstage, her bushy raccoon tail rising at her back. “Wait, wait, let the—”

“Fucking cut! Jesus Christ!”

Kaylee grabbed her own wires, trying to flip herself up. Austin rushed over to him.

“Shit, dude,” the yeen said, “sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Help me down,” Michael said, breathing. He tried to pull the wires for support—instead, he felt the pain gush from his lower back, throbbing and warm. “Gah, fuck!”

Some of the crew behind the painted walls emerged onto the stage, rushing to extinguish the fires. Slowly, with half a dozen different people, Michael was lowered back to his feet, the harness on his chest going slack. He ended up leaning heavily against Austin.

“Hey, hey,” she said, her voice gentle, the fur between her leather straps soft to the touch. “Easy. Breathe. You good?”

At the edge of the soundstage, Tammy watched the crew gathering around Michael with folded ears. Her tail swished behind her. After a moment, she turned to the camera operator. “Cut the feed. We’re done.”

Michael tried to straighten himself. He managed to stand on his own, but the pain in his back was radiating all over his abdomen, and the slightest twist would leave it throbbing. “I’m alright. Just—shit. Think I pulled something.”

Austin kept her paw on his back. Kaylee, still hanging from her wires, attempted to walk along the wall, peering over the heads of the gathered crew.

“Make a hole! Come on!” Tammy forced her way through the crowd, her short stature carrying her between chests and elbows. When she reached Michael’s side, she placed her hands on her hips. “You alright?”

Michael kept his hand pressed to the small of his back. “Yeah. Just. . . .” He tested his range of motion. It was not far. “Strained something. I think.”

“Should we call an ambulance?” Tammy asked.

The thought of an emergency room bill made Michael panic more than his injury. “No, no, just a sprain. I’m alright.”

Tammy nodded. “Good. In that case, all of you, quit gawking over the human. Back to places. Time is money.”

The film crew glanced between each other, shrugged, and slowly trickled away. To the side, Kaylee managed to cross several of her wires together, leaving her dangling horizontally.

“We got the take, right?” Austin said, pressing herself closer to Michael’s side. “Wrap scene?”

“Almost,” Tammy said. She sniffled, wiping her nose. “We need a wide angle of Major Manly being carried by a Gryeen, then some shot/reverse-shot of him reaching for Havilick.”

Michael grimaced. Austin folded her arms.

Tammy looked at him intently. “Can you still do that?”

“I. . . .” He straightened his back, trying not to grunt. “Maybe. Shit.”

Austin placed herself halfway between the human and the raccoon, towering over both. “You can use a double.”

“I don’t want a double,” Tammy said, still looking right at Michael. “I want Major Manly’s face, front and center on the screen. The emotional climax of the scene can’t be some random in a wig. We need a close-up.”

“You can make do,” Austin said.

“Can I hear that from him, Ms. Henchman?”

By now, Kaylee had managed to cajole the wire rigging into letting her stand straight. She glided above the conversation like a white-furred angel, outlined by sparks and ash. “Uh, ma’am, if he’s hurt, then we have to . . . call it, don’t we?”

“No,” Tammy said. “You know why? Because The Three Hotties Problem has a shooting schedule tighter than ant pussy, girl, and every hour we lose is money down the drain. How much you think wages cost?” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “How happy you think the studio will be if I tell them one of my leads can’t shoot for a couple days?”

On the other side of the studio, one of the film’s producers, a male shark, was pacing back and forth, talking fast into a cell phone. After a moment, he glanced back at Michael. Rows of teeth glimmered beneath a lipless mouth.

“Smash Queen productions greenlit this project,” Tammy said, “because I’ve been an earner, and I sold them on the script. I told them we could corner a new market. Fair use parody, the schlocky porno with heart. They’ve put more money into this feature than they’ve put into a hundred pussies. They have big investments, Manly, and they don’t like risk. Do you think they’ll like you, if you make a thing of this?”

The shark continued to walk and talk, his fin cutting through the glare of a headlight. Around them, stagehands watched from the curving walls and ceiling wire rigs.

“So what’s it gonna be?” Tammy raised a furred brow. “I need a rockstar. Someone who’s not gonna put this film behind schedule, and someone who’s not gonna leave a couple dozen people outta work. Are you a rockstar?”

Michael grimaced.

“That’s not a rockstar answer.”

“I just. . . .” He tried to straighten himself. The small of his back was still tight and throbbing, threatening a new wave of pain if he twisted the wrong way. As the seconds grew on, though, the strain seemed to be fading from a sharp ache to a dull cramp. “I can try.”

“Mike?” Austin asked, ears twitching.

He stood away from the hyena, keeping his posture very careful. “I can try.”

“Hey, great! Alright!” Tammy gave him a slap on the cheek, which required a small hop. “Major Manly! Fucked by yeens, unfucked by scenes!”

“. . . what?”

“Nothing. Look.” She leaned in close, her belly spilling beneath her Battlestud Galacticum T-shirt. “Sorry. Alright? The producers here are sharks. Literally.”

To the side, the male shark was trying to talk on his phone and snort a line of cocaine on a prop table. His fin bobbed like a saw.

“Take the harness off,” Tammy said. “We’ll adjust the blocking, get it so Ashley here can just carry you over her shoulder.”

“My name is Austin,” Austin said.

“Isn’t that a boy’s name?”

The hyena’s lips began to curl.

The raccoon waved a hand. “Sure, fine. But, hey—no more wires. Alright? We’ll keep it simple, make sure you don’t get flung around again.” She grasped his arm. “Zero-G’s over. Promise.”

Michael didn’t know whether he should sigh in relief, or wiggle out of the raccoon’s grasp. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” she said. “You want some Speedball?”

“What?”

She sniffed. “Cocoa Puffs?”

“. . . I’m sorry?”

“Flake,” Tammy said. “Snow. Booger Sugar.” She raised a brow. “Come on. Nose Candy?”

“Oh,” Michael said, blushing. “Oh, uh, no. I would not like some cocaine. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah. No. Uh, thanks.”

“Hey,” Tammy said. “Too bad. Nothing like a bump to get the juices flowing. I wrote the entire script that way.”

“Wow,” Austin said, completely deadpan. “Couldn’t tell at all.”

“Serious, though.” Tammy released her grip. “Just ask, if you need something. I got Xannies, Vallies, Flower, Crystal, K, Blue Caps. Alright? Mi casa, su casa.”

Michael gave an awkward smile.

Behind him, Kaylee began to whine. She was still floating above the ground, struggling to keep herself balanced. Her arctic white fur contrasted with the blackened wood behind her.

Tammy peered around Michael’s chest. “Are you alright, Captain Havilick?”

“Y-yeah! Fine!” She began to furiously scratch her nose. “Uh, nothing!”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’m just—excited! Stunt work! Wires! Woo!” She tilted to the side, like a kid twisting on a playground swing. “Uh, was my—uh—performance good, ma’am?”

“Well,” Tammy said, “you moaned like a virgin, but, otherwise, yeah, pretty good.”

Kaylee flinched. It made her jerk through the air. “Virgin?”

“Yeah. You know.” Tammy gave a loud moan in demonstration. It echoed around the studio. “Little too much like a prom night slut. Havilick’s a veteran officer. So, you know, in the future, I want more grunts and snarls. Something dignified.”

The wolf looked at the director, Michael, and the floor. Her tail crawled between her legs.

Tammy snorted, playfully elbowing Michael. “Must be giving her some good dick, Manly.”

He didn’t answer.

The raccoon clapped her hands, turning to face the rest of the crew. “Right! New lens! Change the marks! We’re going for close-up before we wrap!” She waddled over to the edge of the soundstage, tumbling back to flat ground. “Time is money! I don’t gotta tell you that!”

“Bitch,” Austin whispered.

“Cocaine Karen,” Michael said.

The yeen snorted. Kaylee attempted to smile.

Michael pressed a fist into his back again. The pain was subsiding, but he didn’t like the way his muscles were growing tight. He already had a broken car that was about to eat a couple grand—he absolutely did not need a medical bill thrown on top of it, either. Getting put on bed rest would mean not owning a bed for much longer.

Hopefully, it was just a sprain.

“Gonna get some catering,” he said, beginning to exit the cylindrical walls of the escape pod.

“I’ll join ya,” Austin said. “Show the herbivores how to eat.”

“Go eat a bone, stinky.”

“Eat my dick, humie.”

He flipped her off. She raised two fingers in reply. When he laughed, she punched him in the shoulder.

“Sorry for throwing you, dude,” Austin said.

“You’ve done worse.”

She gave him a carrion-eating grin.

“W-wait for me!” Kaylee had managed to lower herself enough that her footpaws were scraping the floor. She was still scratching insistently at her nose, trying to suppress a whine.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just—” The whine broke free. Her tail swished and slashed. “God, I need to go outside. Some fresh fucking air.”

She continued to thrash. Her co-stars stood to the side, watching. After a moment, the arctic wolf sighed.

“Can you guys help me down?”

---

“It’s fucking bullshit, man.”

Outside the studio, the sun continued to crawl through a hot and muggy day. Before, it had been hanging up in the sky, beating down onto heads and shoulders—now, it was peering to the side, slanting through alleys and going straight for the eyes. Long shadows slashed along the concrete.

“Just once,” Michael said, “you know, just once, I’d like to have something go right, without the universe smacking me in the dick. ‘Oh, you got a new job? Fuck you, car’s broken down. Oh, the scene’s going well? Fuck you, have a broken back. You thought you could be happy? Eat shit!’”

“Could be worse,” Austin said.

“How?”

She gestured at the strap-on.

Michael groaned.

They were standing outside Studio 17, waiting for the next set to be completed. Stagehands flowed in and out of the building, carrying a variety of objects—bags of sand, bundles of wood, medieval braziers, bags upon bags of red corn syrup. More than once, a pickup truck had backed into the building, carrying fake stone props. Columns, archways, sections of walls.

Michael had seen the slab of stone he was going to be tied to. In the script, Iaini Jogoo was captured by the Gryeens, brought to one of their coliseums, and fucked upon an altar. Full spitroast.

Stretched. Defiled.

Like a magnet, his eyes wandered back to the strap-ons Austin and Veronica were wearing.

Christ.

“Can you point that thing somewhere else?”

“Oh, what?” Austin said, stepping closer. Michael was sitting on a crate, leaving the green shaft of her appendage right at eye level. “This? This thing right here?”

She gave a playful thrust. He dodged, attempting to swat the cock like a mosquito. A lurid jousting match began.

“I like it,” Veronica said. She was stroking her appendage with a loose grip, a grin slicing through her muzzle. “Feels majestic. Powerful. This is raw authority, right here.”

Veronica pretended to orgasm, spraying Michael with imaginary cum. Meanwhile, Austin had slapped her cock onto his head, and was now actively fucking his scalp with exaggerated moans.

“I hate both of you,” Michael said.

Austin snickered. Michael yanked one of the leather straps on her costume, letting it snap back into her thigh. She let out a loud “fuck!” as she flinched away.

“Look,” he said, “I’m sick of this shit. This is the last scene of the shoot, so let’s just get it done, get paid, and go home.”

He continued to eat his muffin and fruit salad, courtesy of the catering department. Austin and Veronica glanced at each other.

“Is that it?” Veronica asked. “Not gonna make any friends?”

“With Tammy? Jesus.”

“With your co-star,” Austin said, like he was as sharp as the cock between her legs. “She’s been eyein’ you the whole shoot, man.”

“Total virgin with her tail,” Veronica added. “Swishing like a feather.”

Austin snorted, imitating Kaylee’s voice. “Oh, Jogoo! My love! Ohhhhhhhhhhh—”

“I get it, thanks,” Michael said.

“Then what’s the plan, Major?” Veronica asked. “If you can smell what she’s putting out, are you gonna mix some scents?”

Michael shook his head, taking a sip of stale coffee. “Maybe. I dunno.”

“Get that shit, dude,” Austin said. “Come on. I’m tired of fuckin’ ya all the time.”

“Look, she’s nice, you know? Small town girl, wants to be big time actress. I’m just a. . . .” He paused. “I’m just a loser. I don’t wanna drag her—”

Across the street, Kaylee appeared from the alley between Studio 18 and Studio 20, carrying a Victorian umbrella. It was pink, thin, and covered in frills.

“Found it!” she shouted, jogging over to the group.

Austin and Veronica gave him significant looks as they stepped to the side.

“Man,” Kaylee said, her white fur shining gold in the late afternoon sun, “you would not believe what they’re doing over in 24. Like Anne Rice meets Backdoor Sluts 9. Don’t think I’ll look at powdered wigs the same way again.”

Veronica scratched her nose. “Nice umbrella.”

“It’s a parasol, thank you.” Kaylee opened the canopy, which produced a large mushroom cap of fine pink silk and hanging frills, all carefully embroidered with birds and flowers. It seemed horribly out of place on the barren concrete of the studio lot. “Humans used to use these things to keep the sun off.”

“Why didn’t they grow fur?” Austin asked. “Are they stupid?”

Kaylee grinned down at Michael and gave a playful spin. “How do I look?”

Michael cleared his throat. “Great. Um. . . .” Act normal. “Like you’re ready to spit on some coal miners. ‘Oh, I say, such filthy peasants.’”

The arctic wolf gave a laugh. The yeens continued to glance at him.

After a few seconds, Kaylee looked back at the wide disc of the sun, cresting over the flat roofs of the studios. Her excitement vanished. “Probably won’t do much against the heat, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Sure you don’t wanna go inside?” Michael asked. “They got air conditioning.”

Kaylee grimaced. She tried to say something, but didn’t find the words, leaving an awkward silence in the hot, muggy air. The frills on her parasol continued to dance.

Everyone looked at their feet.

“So,” Austin said, “you ready for the next scene?”

While Jogoo was being violated by the Gryeens, Captain Cynthia Havilick would be fighting for her life in the coliseum, battling a gauntlet of beasts and warriors with her bare claws. The script described it as: INT. GRYEEN RAPE-APOLIS.

Kaylee’s expression did not improve. “Yeah. Easy. Practiced the choreography for a couple hours last night.”

Austin blinked. “Couple hours? Really?”

“Yeah, you know.” She shrugged, giving her parasol a light twirl. “It’s like a dance. You learn all the steps, find the rhythm, just flow and weave. I mean, all my co-stars are CGI monsters, so, really, I’ll just be flailing around by myself. Not much to it. I spent days practicing for the climax in King Lear, and that was just some high school play.”

“Impressive,” Veronica said. “I did the Hector/Achilles duel in the Iliad for my stage combat exam.”

Kaylee’s ears perked up. “Oh! Nice! I did Taming of the Shrew for mine. Big laughs from the crowd.”

“A combless cock!” Veronica said, dramatically. “So Kate will be my hen!”

“No cock of mine!” Kaylee replied, equally as loud. “You crow like a craven!”

They pretended to duel with rapiers. The wolf grinned beneath the pink halo of her parasol, her white fur dancing in the shade. Michael watched her for a moment, realized he was staring, and looked away.

Suddenly, Kaylee stopped. Her eyes drifted down to the strap-ons nestled between Veronica and Austin’s legs, like the long green shafts had completely escaped her notice. She glanced at Michael with flattened ears.

“Wow, uh—” She gestured. “Are . . . you guys ready for the next scene?”

Austin shrugged. Veronica tried to helicopter her dick. Michael shook his head, focusing on the last bites of his muffin.

“I mean—wow.”

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Wow.”

“That’s gonna be . . . something.”

“Whole lotta something.”

“I mean,” Kaylee said. “Uh. . . .” She tried to choose her words. “Is that—are you—” She tried again. “Um—exciting, right?”

Michael gave her a blank stare.

“It’s fucking dumb,” Austin said, smacking her cock like it was a kid reaching for a cookie. “The people who watch this flick aren’t gonna wanna see pegging, or futa, or whatever the fuck.”

“She’s sacrificing her demographics for shock value,” Veronica said. “You don’t challenge someone’s perspective when they’re just looking to challenge their wrist.” She mimed a stroke on her cock. “That’s how you get a thumbs down and a closed tab.”

“Yeah!” Kaylee said. She took a glance at Michael. “Yeah, that’s right. The Gryons aren’t supposed to have yogurt shooters, anyway. They don’t even have cloacas! In the books, they reproduce by spores!”

Michael leaned back on the crate. He could almost forget the strain in his back if he sat right. Almost.

“We should say something,” Kaylee said. She was still taking glances at Michael. “Right, Mike? Get her to drop the dicks? I’m sure if we all come at her at once, we could probably—”

“I don’t care,” Michael said.

All three of the anthros stared down at him. For a moment, the only sound was a golf cart driving by, carrying a witch’s cauldron full of cum. In the silence, he took another bite of his fruit salad.

Cantaloupe, pineapple, honeydew. How long had it been since he’d bought fresh fruit?

“Look,” he said, “I’m definitely not all that happy about getting—you know—perforated, but, same time, that’s how it is, right? If I’m gonna be a pornstar, I gotta learn to be uncomfortable.” He gestured at Austin and Veronica. “If I’m gonna be a chew toy, I gotta learn to think of England, right?”

The yeens frowned at him, shifting on their feet.

“Besides,” Michael said, “you saw how Tammy acted when I got hurt, and that wasn’t even my fault. Imagine how she’s gonna be when I’m telling her to change the script.” He snapped his fingers. “Gone, just like that.”

“I doubt it,” Austin said. “She answers to the producers, and the producers just want to make money. Low-risk investment. Push comes to shove, they’ll side with the popular option.”

“She got hard on you,” Veronica said, “because you getting hurt would’ve gotten her in trouble. Pure ass-covering.”

Michael speared a piece of cantaloupe with his fork. He wanted a full meal. He wanted to smoke. He wanted a lot of things.

“Come on, dude.” Austin stepped close. “Stick up yourself. You don’t gotta sit there and take it.”

Michael looked up at her, scowling.

“What?” Austin asked.

“That’s real fuckin’ easy for you to say.”

Austin blinked, cocking her head.

“What do you got riding on this?” Michael asked. “Huh? Some networking? A bit of clout? If I get fired, I’m not gonna have enough money to eat. I gotta get my car fixed, which means I gotta pay, which means I gotta take money from other bills, which means I’m not gonna have shit for groceries. Four days without food, if I’m lucky. Thank fucking God the water’s still got a month before shutdown.”

“Mike—”

“You know,” Michael said, “it’s real fucking easy to talk about pride when you’re living with your parents, Austin. You paying rent, huh? Is Mommy still covering your phone bill?”

The hyena did not reply.

“Whatever, right?” He threw up his hands, causing a new spurt of pain from his back. “Same old shit. I’m getting fucked in the ass? Well, shit, man—get in line. I’ve been getting fucked for months, every goddamn day. Don’t know how a dildo could fuck me any harder than rent, man. You know, it’s just my fucking luck that I get injured when shit’s looking up.” He threw his coffee cup into the concrete. Liquid sprayed. “Christ.”

He stared through the anthros standing around him. Concrete alleys, flat studio walls, and a sunset bathing in smog. For a moment, the wind picked up, carrying a blanket of heat and the smell of desert sage. The day was coming to an end.

No one spoke. There was shuffling feet, eyes searching for distraction. The silence lingered.

Michael sighed.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean—”

“No, dude,” Austin said. “It’s . . . you know. . . .”

“Hey,” Kaylee said. “It’s alright.”

“You’re fine, Mike,” Veronica said.

He shifted his gaze down to the concrete. Scattered cigs, little rivers of coffee. His face burned in embarrassment.

He really hated the way they were looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to snap. It’s just. . . .” He gave a humorless snort. “It’s just everything, you know?”

“Yeah, man,” Austin said. “No worries. I’m just . . . tryin’ to look out for you. Right?”

“Yeah. Right.” He swallowed something sharp. “Thanks.”

Another silence fell. In the distance, a car honked its horn. The noise of a highway.

“Call for makeup! Where are my Gryeens?”

Tammy poked her head out of the studio entrance. Her brown fur was puffy, and her expression was nearly manic.

“‘She’s the ball-cracker!” Tammy shouted, pointing at the hyenas. “‘The bitch-breaker, the gut-quaker! A death with every thrust! They shall learn, by the dust of them all! Ladies and slaves, toys and girls—dying time’s here!”

The air was filled with silence.

“Be right there, boss,” Austin said.

“No, come on! Say the line!” The raccoon cleared her throat, attempting to mimic the deep voice of the yeens. “‘Two women enter, one woman leaves!’”

Austin sighed, glanced at Michael, and began to walk toward the entrance of Studio 17. Veronica whispered “Thunderdome-stealing bitch” before following suit.

“Hey, V,” Michael said.

The two yeens paused.

He forced himself to speak. “Can I still get that ride home? Please?”

“Of course,” Veronica said. She glanced at Austin before speaking again. “Yeah. Anytime, Mike.”

“. . . thanks.”

The yeens almost said something. Instead, they continued on, their green cocks bobbing between their legs, like the antennae of a praying mantis. Tammy continued to lean out from the entrance, her striped tail swishing erratically.

“Getting into character, huh?” the raccoon asked. “I feel it! Guilt! Anguish! Oh, soon the lovers shall part!”

Kaylee fidgeted. Michael leaned forward on the crate, burying his face in his hands.

Tammy pounded a quick drum roll into the studio wall, her grin widening. She looked like she had the heartbeat of a hummingbird. “Keep that energy! Roll in twenty! This is magic, people! I’m feelin’ it!”

She pulled herself back into the studio, disappearing with the hyenas. There was a muffled sound of conversation—rapid speaking, a subtle growl.

Michael rubbed his palms against his face. He had a growing stubble on his cheeks, and the makeup on his cheeks was beginning to smear with sweat. When he ran a hand through his hair, it felt a little too thin for his liking.

Was he going bald? Jesus.

No, stop worrying. One thing at a time.

Breathe.

“Hey.”

Kaylee was standing close. Very tall. With a slight hesitation, and a twist of her parasol, she sat down on the crate with him, easily taking over the space. There were fleeting brushes with her soft, white fur—a graze of her paw, the pillowy cloud of her tail.

“You, uh. . . .” She gestured. “You alright?”

He poked at his fruit salad. It was getting soggy. After a moment, he stared up at the sky. “Long day.”

She nodded. “Long week, for me.”

“Long fuckin’ year, now that you ask.”

She breathed out, in a way that might’ve been a laugh. “Never ends, right?”

“Nope,” Michael said. “Never.”

“Always something,” Kaylee said, leaning back against the studio wall. Her parasol leaned to the side, shielding him from the setting sun. “You go to fix one thing, and something else breaks while you’re gone, and then a third thing can’t get done because fourth thing went wrong, too.”

“Meanwhile, fifth thing’s a lost cause. The sixth thing won’t shut up.”

“The seventh thing makes the eighth thing look like the ninth thing.”

“I bet my tenth thing could beat up your eleventh thing.”

Kaylee laughed again. He looked over his shoulder, smiling. They made a long moment of eye contact, which neither side seemed willing to break. In the distance, there was a flashing headlight from a golf cart as it backed into a studio.

“Yeah,” Michael said, looking away. “I’m alright. It’s just getting to me.”

“You sure you don’t wanna . . . lube your way out of the strap-ons?”

He glanced back at her. “Interesting choice of words.”

“We’ll lubricate the director,” Kaylee said. “Get her nice and slick, then jam our way in. She’ll be gaping once we’re done.”

“Everyone’s a comedian.”

“I dunno. I guess these cocks do come with some . . . low-hanging fruit.”

Michael groaned.

“Balls,” Kaylee said.

“You are physically hurting me.”

She flashed a wolfish grin. Behind him, he could feel her tail against his back, casually wagging up and down. She had spread it around him like someone would wrap their arm around their date in a movie theater.

“Maybe I’ll talk to her,” Michael said. “I dunno. I guess if we get enough people, she’ll have to listen.”

Kaylee shrugged. “I’ve got your back. Like you said, we’ll save her shitty movie together.”

He smiled. It didn’t have to be forced. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence. Her pink parasol, laced with birds and flowers, tilted above his head. Slowly, she tugged at the collar of her naval uniform, trying to free a tangle of fur.

“No, yeah,” Kaylee said, breaking the quiet. She was beginning to pant in the heat. “I know what it’s like. Never catching a break.” She shifted back and forth on the crate. “I’m . . . getting close to ending things. Out here.”

Michael straightened his posture. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned back against the studio wall with her. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She stared up into the lacing of her parasol, watching the frills dance back and forth. “It’s just never working out, you know? Like, sure, you go to an audition, you read for the part, and you never hear anything back. That’s fine. You do that for a couple months, never getting anything better than a handshake, and that’s fine, too. Gotta be patient. Wait for your shot. But. . . .”

She tilted the parasol. Through the thick white fur, her expression began to sag.

“But you do that for years, and, suddenly, it’s like—is this it? Is this all I’m gonna have? Working shitty jobs for rent? Some fucking porno?” She gave a weak pant. The studio wall glimmered with a pink, dying light. “No bit parts, no commercials, no starring features. Nothing to show after years of my life. Just this.”

She waved at the studio.

“I woke up this morning,” Kaylee said, “and I thought—would younger me be proud of who I am? Would she still be filming all those home videos, if she knew the future?”

Michael watched the wolf in silence. Their arms laid against their thighs, inches apart.

“I want to go home,” Kaylee said, kicking the coffee cup at her feet. “I miss the snow.”

“That’s it?” Michael asked. “You’re done?”

Her only response was a shrug. Behind them, there was the sound of hammering, the shrilling whine of power tools. Stagehands. Distant laughter.

“I mean. . . .” Michael chose his words. “I’m not gonna sit here and tell you it’ll get better. I think we’re both a little sick of hearing that.”

Kaylee nodded, watching him.

“Maybe going home’s a good idea,” he continued. “Take a break. See your parents. You know, just get away from things and sort yourself out for a while.”

The wolf suppressed a whine. “I can’t go back to them like this.”

“Why not? They won’t approve of Cynthia Havilick, captain of the Furred Razor?”

“I . . . need to go to rehab first.”

Michael shifted, his back brushing against the soft hedge of her tail. “Rehab?”

“Oh, yeah,” Kaylee said. There was a creeping exhaustion in her voice. “Thought I could beat this thing on my own. You seen the price tag for those live-in resorts?” She snorted. It was immediately followed by a whine and several pants. “I’m going crazy around this furry bitch. Like, actually losing my mind.”

Michael thought back to everything he’d seen. Kaylee had suddenly insisted on coming outside the studio, despite the heat and her arctic pelt. She’d been acting nervous and jittery. When Tammy had offered him some cocaine, she had given a very loud whine. . . .

Oh.

“She has a fucking mountain of powder,” Kaylee said, as if she’d been dying to tell someone. “I’ve seen it. Straight outta Scarface. The way she snivels and waddles around on her little jumped-up legs—I’m here nearly losing my shit, feeling like I’d give my left tit for a single crumb, and there she is, strutting it out, jolly as goddamn Santa Claus. God, I want to fucking throttle her.

“You’re a cokehead?” Michael asked. “Really?”

“I don’t look the type?”

“. . . no?” He gave her a onceover, just to be sure. “Not really. Thought you were . . . kinda nerdy, to be honest. You know, shy.”

She made a noise in her throat, wringing her hands. Her ears bent and danced. “That’s my typecast. But, hey, when a producer chats you up after an audition, and he tells you to come to this party of his—well, you’re not gonna say no. Not if you want that role.” Her muzzle curled. “And if he offers you a bump of baby powder, well, you’re still not gonna say no, ‘cause it’s not really a choice.”

Kaylee began to fidget on the crate. Michael wasn’t sure if he should give her room, or lean in closer.

“Of course,” the arctic wolf said, “he just wants to fuck you. That’s it. You were something disposable, like a paper plate. One use, and that’s all you’re good for.” She gave an open-mouthed growl. Michael felt it travel through her body. “And, you know, a couple bumps is all it takes. Then you want more. Then it’s suddenly not that hard to find. Then you’re spending money on moon spice and not on bills. Then you have to take a starring role in a porno.”

Michael turned to face her. For a moment, all he could do was blink and stare.

Kaylee flinched. “Shit. Sorry.” Her entire body began to react—eyes, limbs and tail. “Fuck, I don’t mean to dump. Sorry. I’ve just been clinging to you this entire shoot, haven’t I?”

“A little,” Michael said. “It’s fine.”

“No, man. Shit. I’m sorry. You don’t fuck someone a couple times and think you’re friends.”

“Hey.” He leaned forward. “Since we’re already being painfully honest, can I do something?”

Kaylee didn’t seem to know how to react. “Sure. I guess.”

“I want to give you a hug. I think you need it.”

She blinked. Panting and tired.

Michael closed the distance. Because she was leaning back against the wall, he had to twist and lean, using a few careful motions to keep his balance. Slowly, he managed to wrap his arms around the wide expanse of her back, leaning his chest between her breasts and his face against the crook of her neck. There was a soft bed of fur hiding beneath the synthetic fabric of her costume. He squeezed, burying himself.

Kaylee started to whine. Her parasol fluttered to the ground.

“It’s alright,” he said.

She hugged him back. With her size, and natural strength, it was like being constricted against a mattress. Her arms squeezed his back, her breasts spilled over his shoulders, her fur was so fluffy and thick that it felt like he was sinking for miles into her body. With her tail wagging against his hip, she hooked her snout against the top of his head, pulling him deep, trying—

“Wait, wait!” Michael said. “Fuck, my back!”

Kaylee loosened her grip. Michael shifted his legs until the screaming knot in his back was reduced to a mild pinch. When he found a more stable position, he leaned back in, embracing her. She held him tight.

Beyond, the horizon was slicing the sun. Orange lights bathed the concrete. There were dozens of people scattered around the studio lot of Smash Queen Productions—testing cameras, erecting sets, reading lines and having sex. Right then, in the dying light of the day, not a single one was watching them.

Time drifted on, like cars rolling on a highway.

Michael relaxed into her chest. She was soft. Warm. Panting back and forth, like the tail at his back. More importantly, she was someone who had not been uncomfortable when he had been honest about his problems.

He had needed this just as much as her.

And, then, suddenly, Kaylee began to sniff him.

It began as a few quiet inhales, testing the scent of his hair. Soon, it grew into a series of snuffles, quick and uneven. By the time Michael fully realized what she was doing, Kaylee had already graduated to pressing the cold tip of her nose into his scalp, drinking in the smell with rapid flurries of breaths and snorts. Her tail was loudly thumping against the crate.

“Uh, Kaylee?”

She continued to smell him, drawing in longer gulps, dragging her snout through the waves of his brown hair. Without seeming to realize it, she had shifted his position against her, pressing down for more leverage.

“Kaylee!”

She flinched. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Having fun there?”

“It’s . . . an anthro thing. Reflex.”

“Just try not to get carried away.”

She sniffed him again, more cautious. “Fuck, you smell so good.” There were a few more sniffs, rapid fire. “Except for the yeens. They’ve rubbed you deep.”

“Oh, they’ve left quite a mark.”

“I saw.”

He blinked. “You saw?”

“I may have watched a couple videos.”

“Oh, God. Why?”

“Research. Obviously. A good actress knows her co-stars.” He could feel her sly grin above. “By the way, you have some very cute moans, Major Manly.”

He gave a tired sigh. She giggled, rubbing her arms along his back. After a probing series of snuffles, she began to lick. There were several tugs on his hair.

“Kaylee!”

“It’s a canine thing! How do humans not know how good they smell?”

“Just you wait,” Michael said. “I’ll stop washing the yeen cum. Then you’ll smell me for miles.”

“You would never.”

“We don’t call it YEEN’D for nothing.”

“It should be called a war crime.”

He tried to sit up. She loosened her grip, but did not fully let him go. When he looked up, she was gazing at him over the sharp point of her muzzle. Ears folded, amber eyes reflecting the streetlights.

“Hey,” she said. There was a squeeze on his back, and, when she spoke again, her voice was very soft. “Thank you.”

He gave her a squeeze in reply, then attempted to sit up. Unlike her, his arms hadn’t been able to reach all the way around, and he was forced to push against her chest to regain his balance. The two of them shifted into their previous positions on the crate, looking at each other but not meeting any eyes. Her tail continued to wag.

His back was aching. Stretching over for a hug had not done him any favors.

“So,” he said. “Last scene of the shoot. Is Cynthia Havilick ready?”

She took a deep breath. Her hand lifted and fell, as if she was trying not to scratch her nose. “No. Not really.”

Michael watched her for a moment.

“But,” she said, gaining some courage, “she does want to know something first. Can she count on her communications officer?”

Michael hopped to his feet and flashed a salute. “Lieutenant Iaini Jogoo, ready to serve the Star Penetration, ma’am.”

“Jogoo.” She began to speak like her character. “The situation . . . is dire. Hopeless! Will the Gryeens take—our will—to survive?”

“Never, captain.”

“Will the light of democracy shine . . . through the piercing cocks? The emerald spears?”

“Always, captain.”

“Jogoo,” Kaylee said, standing up, towering above him. “Do you. . . .” She paused for a moment, losing her words. When she spoke again, it was not Cynthia Havilick, but the very same wolf who had gushed about her favorite books. “Do you wanna do something after this?”

“I would be delighted,” Michael replied. “Captain. Ma’am.”

Despite her exhaustion, despite the strain in her eyes, she gave him a smile, ears perked and tail wagging.

“Let’s save this shitty movie.”