An Expanded Role- Part 2

Prince starts adapting to his new body, and even starts flaunting it, thanks to some encouragement from a fellow Disney Dad. Comes with two variations- enjoy!

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It was the early morning hours, the sun just coming up as Patrick paced in his living room, his stance and gait still lumbering and somewhat off balance, meaty trunk-like thighs rolling off one another with each step; the older stag was still getting used to a sudden and dramatic transformation, packing on several hundred pounds of muscle in mere minutes. Scraps of cloth and ruined clothes littered the floor, and scraps of food and an empty fridge remained from a massive binge- gaining so much brawn in so little time had left him terribly hungry.

"You're going to wear out the carpet if you keep pacing, man," John said. Patrick's screen son had rushed over when Patrick called him, and spent the rest of the night calming him down- it had been one of John's elicit "enhancers" that had caused Patrick's transformation, after all.

"I'm wearing everything else out, why not?" Patrick muttered, finally flopping into an armchair that groaned ominously as his weight settled. He was clad in a bathrobe that clung now to his oversized, beefy chest, sleeves warped around swollen arms, sash wrapped tight over cobblestone abs. "Help me understand, John- you said one of these puts on ten pounds. This is demonstrably more than ten!" He flexed his arm to illustrate, a bicep nearly as large as his head tearing the fabric of his robe, leading to more frustrated grumbling.

"I know! I know, yes, it's only supposed to be ten," John said. The young buck was,himself, practically a bodybuilder, and feeling strangely dwarfed by the other deer in the room. When he left a needle behind yesterday, he didn't think the old stag would actually go through with it- he just wanted an excuse to come back for another free lunch. "I- I don't know! Maybe it's… genetics? Is it all… you know, real muscle?"

Patrick arched his brow as high as it would go. Without getting out of his seat, he yanked a floor lamp over to him, twisting the metal frame into a pretzel like it was a piece of straw, and casually tossed it aside. "Yes, John, we can be pretty certain it's real."

The young buck blew air out of his cheeks. "Well… okay, so… what do you want to do about it, then?"

The stag finally shot up out of his chair. Irritation and indignation etched into his face, he snapped. "Do? What do you think I want to do?! I want… I want…" Patrick trailed off, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror; the lines of his rolling, mountainous shoulders, the profile of his profound, cliff-face chest, and… he didn't hate it. "...I'm not sure."

There was a pregnant pause between the two. John spread his arms. "Do you… want another hit?"

"No." Patrick snapped. "I want to know what happened." He clapped his thick hand on John's shoulder, the weight disparity between the two evident as Patrick casually flexed his arm, a tightening vice grip making it clear that the older stag wasn't going to brook any dithering from John. "Tell me who gave you this stuff in the first place."

John cleared his throat, Patrick looming over him and his own snout level with the stag's clefted chest. "I'll just, uh, set up a meeting, then."

"Here. Tell them they have to come here." Patrick said, gesturing to his already strained robe. "I'm not exactly decent enough to go out in public at present."

It was close to noon when John's mysterious benefactor arrived. Patrick had torn through his entire wardrobe, and still the best he could manage were a pair of trunks that clung to his sculpted thighs and an old undershirt stretched across his sprawling torso. It was hardly the sort of thing he would wear to entertain someone in his home, but what else was he supposed to do?

There was a heavy knock at the door, and Patrick sprung to his feet, his gait settling into a heavy, lumbering stride. When he opened, his doorway was filled with a solid wall of muscle in tawny fur, covered in a white button-down shirt that could do double duty as a sail for the sheer brawn it managed to envelope.

"Mr. Prince?" a deep, rumbling voice rolled over Patrick- one that struck a familiar chord.

"Mufasa? Is that you?" the stag blurted out as he stepped back to give the juggernaut of a lion room. The lion came into his apartment at a side angle, arms thick around as the stag's waist, the sheer mass and bristling power in his frame resonating with each step.

"Ah! Patrick, it's good to see you again! It's been, what, five years?" A huge hand clamped down on the stag's, shaking it firmly. "You look fantastic, I've got to say." Mufasa winked.

Patrick's mind was reeling. Mufasa, like him, had been typecast ever since that one defining role years back- but where Patrick had fought to break free of his previous reputation, Mufasa had fully embraced it. Always being a big man, even for a lion, now he was positively monumental- every part of his body was given to exaggerated musculature that may as well have been stone for how solid it was.

"You're John's contact? You gave him that- that stuff?" Patrick blurted as the huge lion settled on to his couch, the only thing big enough for the lion, and even then it almost cracked under his weight.

Mufasa held up his hand. "Well, it's not like I make it. Before you worry about John, or yourself, this stuff is entirely legal."

Patrick gave the lion a level look. "Really."

The lion chuckled. "Well… the powers that be can't outlaw something they don't know exists, right?"

"And where do you get it from? I don't think you have a degree in chemistry or the like."

Mufasa nodded. "I get it from a friend. Someone with… unique talents. But that is neither here nor there- Patrick, I can spend hours going through the whole rigmarole, or, I can tell you what you're really worried about- is this stuff safe, and what happens next?"

"Well… yes," the stag finally settled into a chair opposite the lion, still working to wedge in his sprawling torso and thickly roped arms. "Am I ever going to get back to normal?"

"Sure, sure. If you starve yourself, live spartan for years," Mufasa quipped. "Or, I can show you how to live with it."

The stag frowned. "Live with it?"

"Patrick, you have a gift. Look at you! I don't know how you got this much out of one dose- you might just be born lucky like that- but this can give you opportunity," Mufasa said, leaning forward to better look at the stag past his swollen chest.

"I don't follow you. What opportunities does this-" he flexed his swollen arm, "Represent? Getting myself into debt on tailor made clothes? What casting director is going to want someone like you or I in a serious drama?"

"Oh, Patrick," Mufasa scoffed, shaking his head. "Use your imagination! You've got a chance to completely reinvent yourself. Will you hear me out on what I have to say?"

The stag thinned his lips, thinking for a minute. "Alright. Give me your pitch."

The massive feline grinned, standing up and clapping his hands. "Perfect! Let's get to work, then."

Patrick spent the entire day with Mufasa, as the lion helped him acclimate to this huge shift in lifestyle. The two musclebound actors spent several hours going over the logistics of Patrick's new lifestyle; where to go to get custom-tailored clothes, the type of diet the stag would need to support his huge body, and the workouts he would need to devote himself to maintain his size. He treated it like any other role he had played, the new diet and workout routines like they were a character study, and was able to keep it up. Even still, it was a lot.

His head was reeling as they left a gym suited for people for their size- Patrick saw exercise machines he had never seen before, and weights that looked like they could crush the old him. It was daunting to the point of overwhelming- and Mufasa could see it starting to wear on his face.

"Come on," Mufasa nudged the deer in his sculpted arm. "There's one last place we have to visit before the day's out."

Their last stop was a trainyard. Patrick arched his brow, uncertain of what to say, but Mufasa took the pause to speak. "I've told you a lot of things, Prince- how to get the right clothes, what to eat, how to keep your new body in shape, but I haven't gotten around to the fun part."

Patrick echoed the lion. "The fun part?"

The lion grinned, striding confidently over to a freighter car and patting it. "Want to know just how strong you are now?"

A few minutes later, the stag had thick iron chains draped over his broad shoulders, his feet digging deep against the tracks. He snorted, gripping the chains and tugging until they grew taut, the other ends tied to a train of hulking freighter cars. He glanced nervously to Mufasa, but the lion nodded curtly, offering a thumbs up. Patrick breathed in deeply, letting his chest surge, tightened his grip, and pulled. At first, he couldn't feel any momentum, but then the wheels creaked to life. Huffing, Patrick felt his body ignite, his earth-shaking legs tensed and starting to churn like engine pistons, his sprawling back muscles bulging and spreading out, arms pumped, biceps mashed against his heaving pecs, as he dragged the titanic weight along, building up speed. The deer let out an adrenaline-fuelled roar, dropping the chains as he stood to his full height and looked behind him, seeing how far he had dragged the train.

"Wow…" he finally grunted, running a hand along his head and antlers.

Mufasa came up behind him, patting Patrick's broad back. "It's a rush, isn't it?"

Patrick chuckled deeply, tensing his arm, seeing his rising bicep in a more appreciative light. "Yeah…"

"Let me show you something else." The lion stood beind the stag, hands running over horseshoe triceps and the heaving flanks of his lats. "Now… pose yourself properly. Lift your arms, like so. Lean forward on your right leg, let your quadriceps flex and ripple out. A little contrapposto, like a classical statue." Mufasa guided Patrick's musclebound body, squeezing at his tensed biceps and heavy forearms. "Carry all this muscle well, and you can move with as much grace as before- but radiate power and strength. You'll never miss out on a casting call again."

The stag groaned, holding the pose and feeling the deep wells of strength bubble up inside him. "Yes… I have an audition in just a few days. This… this helped."

Mufasa chuckled deeply, squeezing at Patrick's boulder shoulders, the lion's own chest pressing against the tapestry of muscle of the stag's back. His own swollen arm worked under the deer's, holding another enhancer shot out. "Would you like to really impress them?"

Patrick smirked, snatching up the shot. "I think I shall."

The test photoshoot was not quite going according to plan- the crew had severely underestimated how big Patrick Prince had gotten. He had landed the role of a dynamic, heroic barbarian chief, and oh, was he leaning into the role. The equipment clattered as the massive stag took his spot center stage, every lumbering stomp shaking the ground. The stag radiated unrestrained power in every part of his mammoth body, shoving aside prop trees that still weighed several hundred pounds as if they were flimsy curtains.

The barely present costume on him was ready to burst, with a loincloth that stretched over his well-endowed assets, a belt girded across his thickly muscled torso with stone-like abs, and thin straps of leather and rope traversing the sprawling canyon of his chest, the geographical landmass of his back, and his mountainous shoulders. His arms were thicker than they were long, triceps like anvils and biceps cresting taller than his head when he flexed. His overwhelming presence had the entire crew staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed as he went through dominating poses for the camera.

"Well, Director? Do I have the role?" He heard the camera snap, the entire crew still enraptured as he struck another pose, Patrick chuckling deeply. "I'll take that as a yes."