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The Yates County Sheriff's Department was a ghost town. With phones slumbering in the background, empty benches for visitors to pick up their retained relatives, and barely a person in sight, the station only needed tumbleweeds to finish the effect.

At the front desk pushing papers sat the greeter, phone operator and gatekeeper to the rest of the building. A goat that, by the gnarling edges of gray chewing away at his cheeks, chin and forehead, was approaching retirement. The default expression etched into the edifice of his face said with no uncertain terms he'd rather eat his underwear than deal with the next problem that dragged itself through the door.

A uniformed coyote rolled in, backlit by the sunset's glow. Armed with coffee in one paw and a sack in the other, she was prepared for the gatekeeper's milk curdling expression.

"Evening Sam," she chimed.

Peeking up from his paperwork, Sam bobbed his head. "Vi. Enjoy a quiet evening."

"The night is young," Vi called over her shoulder as she passed Sam's desk.

Tail a-sway and stroll content no matter the fact she favored her left leg, she offered greeting to the deputies loitering at their desks as she descended further into the bowels of the building. Finally she came to a barred door. Vi reached up, slapping a fat button on the adjacent wall. Beyond rang a buzzer.

Squeak, screech, the unmistakable complaints of the chair beyond greeted her. Then the clatter of a cup and a hissed, "Oh fuck me."

Vi hid her grin behind her cup of steaming joe and punched the button again.

"Coming, coming!"

Another push of the button, longer this time.

By the time the rat rounded the corner, his ears were red. At the sight of the coyote, he practically seethed. "I knew it was you."

"Love you too, Baker," Vi sing-songed, blowing him a kiss.

After he buzzed her in, she walked past him, politely ignoring the fizzing puddle of blackness on the floor and the rat's dripping tail. Crossing around behind the desk, she rifled around inside a drawer until unearthing the time sheet.

Baker signed his name, cleaned up his mess, and offered little more than a "Have fun," before he was off.

"Boy's heart is going to pop through his nose one of these days," mussed the coyote to herself as she settled down behind the desk and signed in.

Once she swallowed a mouth full of coffee, Vi stuck a hand into her bag. With a wary look around, she withdrew a romance novel. The other officers would give her hell about reading trashy lovey-dovey mush.

Yates County was too small to afford an actual county lockup, so it was co-opted into the local sheriff's department, the sole law enforcement in the county. Anyone convicted of anything was sent over to a multi-million dollar pokey two counties over; the local lockup served as a holding cell until bond could be made, until the trial was over, or an impromptu drunk tank. And since the last incident to grace the lockup was a school board member crashing through a barn while drunk, the work of a jailer's a might quiet.

Just as the heaving bosoms started, a voice echoed down the long hall. "You got company coming!"

Immediately Vi started getting things in order, pulling out the appropriate paperwork, and otherwise tidying up. Then back to her book. Twenty minutes later, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. By the time the little buzzer went off, her book was hidden and she was half way there.

On the other side of the gate stood two deputes, a maned wolf and a collie, flanking a skunk in handcuffs. Once the door unlatched they stepped inside, collie leading skunk past Vi's desk and down the long row of empty holding cells. What had the coyote's attention was the skunk - ears and tail as low as they could go, refusing to make eye contact, walk next to lifeless. It wasn't any drugged-out haze; with a shirt and tie, he looked to clean for that. It was the face of defeat. All he needed was "GUILTY" tattooed on his forehead to finish the image.

When she looked up, the maned wolf was swishing his tail in mock agitation. "No hello?" He asked with a false huff.

Vi smiled. "Hello, Miguel." She sat down and picked up her trusty purple pen. "Perp's not local. What's his story?"

Miguel smiled like he knew she'd like the answer and passed her the paperwork.

Brown eyes scanned the paper until she found the charge. Whistling low, the coyote glanced back down the hall as the depute ushered him into the holding cell. Finally turning her attention back to Miguel, "Who got the collar?"

"Hastings."

Vi bobbed her muzzle. That sounds about right. "Those blue eyes and ringed tail get'm every time."

Miguel put his signature on the entry form in a few deft strokes, and with a salute, left Vi alone at the guard post. She gave a nod to the collie as he passed back into the squad room.

Time passed. When Vi looked up from her book, the wall clock a quarter until eleven. After a moment's deliberation, she sat her book down and checked the sign in paper, spying the perp's name. Then she hoisted her full ass off the chair and started down the hall. Relatively quiet footsteps stopped outside the skunk's cell.

Emerson didn't fit right in his surroundings; you wouldn't find a straighter arrow at an archery range. He sat on the cot, barely touching anything. Not really curled in a ball or withdrawn, but sitting with a posture far too straight to be comfortable. Around his neck, the simple tie had been loosened only enough to provide a modicum of relief. His lush tail draped over his lap, providing him something to stroke, not unlike one would a lap cat. The way he looked at everything was as if it might stain some part of him. For all the world he was a minnow dropped into a tank that smelled like sharks.

"Hey. You eat yet?"

Head turning, the skunk blinked at her owlishly, the simple question having dragged him out of his daydream. "Huh?"

"You're going to be here all night. Can I get you something?"

Emerson shook his head. "No, I... I would like some water, please." The simple plea accompanied a voice soft and slight.

Vi turned, then glanced back. "It's not bottled or anything fancy - just tap."

He merely nodded.

When she returned with the water, passing it to him through the bars, he drank heartily before setting it aside. "Thank you, officer..." A sudden pause came as he tried to read her name tag. "Chay... Chay-Yee..."

Regular folk have such a hard time with native names. She interrupted the struggle, saving him the challenge. "Just call me Vi."

"All right, Officer Vi-"

"Just Vi," she corrected. "I'm not really a police officer or depute." Technically, she was a corrections officer, but the coyote had never been one for formalities unless she wasn't getting respect from the perp in question. Smiling just a touch, "Long day, huh?"

Without meeting her eyes, he said "You could say that."

"Need anything else?"

Licking his lips, Emerson began again. "Okay, Vi. If it's not too much trouble, I'd really like a smoke."

If she believed anything Emerson said, it was that. The glass had shaken a little in his hand.

"Sorry," and that she actually was, "but there's no smoking in government buildings here."

Emerson sagged a hint and sat back on the bench. For a moment there was quiet. When she turned to go, he called out, "Uh, ma'am... It wouldn't be, there's no way you could just guard me outside while I smoked, right?"

Smiling apologetically, the coyote shook her head. "You could do something rash."

Emerson's brows bunched up. "I have no where to go, no reason to try to attack you or escape, that'd be just stupid. People do irrational things because they overreact or are desperate."

"You wouldn't call picking up a hooker a little desperate?"

The moment the words left her muzzle, she regretted it. Especially when his face crumpled, stung with shame. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

Emerson simply didn't look at her, or respond at all for that matter.

Vi walked back down the hall and settled at her desk. As minutes ticked by, she was left to think about the request. The place is empty. He didn't appear to be much of a threat. Sure, it's a breech in protocol, but the poor guy seems to have had a hard day. She didn't need to have made it worse by having a woman of all people calling him desperate.

By the time the clock said eleven, she was digging out the keys from her desk. It was the jailers who handle the check out process once bail is made, so she had access to where they kept the possessions of the detained. She found the key and, easing out of her chair, slipped down the hall towards the store room.

Once inside she began sniffing each of the drawers before catching the scent of tobacco. That's it. Pulling it open, the coyote snatched a cigarette from the half-full pack and the lighter before closing it back, sliding them in her pocket, and re-locked the door.

Emerson didn't look up when she walked back into view. Not until, leaning against the bars, she called out, "Hey. Come here."

He sat there, blinking at her.

Once more, now with a solid undertone of authority, "Come here."

Emerson was up and over to her without further question.

"Hands through the bars."

As soon as he stuck his hands through, Vi slapped a pair of cuffs on them. After unlocking the door, she lead him out, down a side hall to a door listed "STAIRS". Just beyond was the emergency exit. Tugging it open, she lead him out and jammed a pen in the crack between door and wall.

Outside, Vi unlocked one of the handcuffs and, while holding on to the now free paw, snapped the empty cuff around the door's handle. "Don't go anywhere," she said over her shoulder with a self-directed grin, and walked a few paces from the back of the building.

Even with night settled it was hot, a muggy weight that hung in the air like a wet blanket. She wanted to be back inside with the air condition. Extending her tongue, the coyote proceeded to lick her muzzle until the fur was thoroughly damp, and then lifted her head.

Air tickled wet fur on her right side. It was subtle but detectable.

Turning back, she strolled over to the skunk, passing cigarette and lighter to him. "Now, when you plan on blowing smoke, aim it to your left." With that, she stepped with her characteristic limp several paces to the right and propped up against the wall.

With a shrug, Emerson lit up and did as bayed. The cigarette's tip glared in the murk like the red light of a VCR in a dark room. He drew a slow breath from it, clearly savoring, before blowing it out in one long stream.

Vi wrinkled her nostrils. Even after he directed it downwind, it clawed up her nasal passages. Still, by the light seeping in from the open doorway, she could tell Emerson's posture had shifted a little bit. With his head back against the cold steel door, smoke easing in the back and forth breathing, some of that tension had melted out of him. Up rose his tail like a drunken cobra before it wound around his waist, the white stripes stuck out in the night like some two-line belt.

"So." The words seemed almost alien in the darkness, rubbing the silence the wrong way. "Is Vi short for anything?"

She couldn't help but smile. "Vidalia."

Emerson turned, a line of light emphasizing half of his soft face. Of what she could see, he looked amused; his tone sure was. "Your parents named you after an onion?"

The coyote's head shook with a laugh, "Naw, nickname." Answering before he could inquire, "Because I'm spicy, bad on your heart, and if you cut me I'm gunna make you cry."

The skunk had a good laugh, one that brought out a dimple on his cheek. It sounded like he needed it, too - tension spilled out of him like an overflowing cup. "That's good. I like that."

"You're not from around here. How'd you end up in Flattop?"

Emerson grunted just a little, as if he was reminded of just where he was and what got him there. "There's a conference in Springfield and I tried to save some pennies by staying in a motel across the river."

An ear perked. Vi turned her head, ignoring the smell to sate her curiosity. "A conference, huh. What for?"

In the dim light, Emerson's muzzle ducked and he glanced away. "Nothing really."

"No, come on. I won't laugh."

With a shrug the skunk puffed a bit on his cigarette. "It's not a matter of laughing. It's just a little dorky." He gave a resigned sigh, "It's for market analysists. I work for a company in Trenton; I watch trends on who's buying our products, who's buying our competition, what ad campaigns seem to work or not, and so on."

Vi clucked her tongue. Completely out of her league. "Sounds complicated. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Well, it's fun in a... nerdy way. Just neat to see what works with consumers, how the economic wind blows. A simple bad commercial can drop sales at least three points, and just having a product placement in a movie can increase sales up to six percent, depending on how well the film does at the box office."

She really didn't know how to react to that, but regardless she smiled - even though he likely couldn't see it - and made an interested sound.

The skunk just shook his head and stared off into the empty lot behind the building. "I told you it was nerdy."

For a time, the only sound came from the crickets serenading them with the mating tune, interspersed with a cicada's whining yodel. Emerson finally broke the silence as he dabbed some ash off the cigarette. "How'd you get into this? I'm sure you didn't grow up wanting to be a guard."

Chuckling a hint, Vi crossed arms over her belly. "See, My daddy was a ranger-"

"Army?"

"Naw," Vi said. "Park. So I grew up running, jumping, climbing trees, wrestling with my brothers. I liked what he did, but I wanted more." The coyote paused, gazed up at the stars peeking out of the clouds. Smiling almost ruefully, she finally offered, "I wanted to bite life by the ankle and hold on tight."

"Did you?" asked Emerson around a smoke ring.

Vi didn't answer immediately; it was a question she had to think about. "Almost. Tried to join the military."

"Tried?"

"Yeah. Couldn't run the mile. I have the lungs of a five year old or something" Vi flicked her tail. "Even if I could've run it, they wouldn't let me in because I'm really allergic to bees." The last was given with a hint of bitterness coloring the otherwise casual tone.

Emerson remained quiet. After a few moments, She continued.

"I joined the force in Springfield. Liked it a lot. Then my transmission fell out... no, not my transmission, it was the muffler. The muffler went out. So I had to moonlight as a security guard to make a little extra money. And during my rounds I walked in on some guys trying to rob the place."

Turning to face him, she extended her right leg. "He shot me right here." She pointed at the spot where her thigh meets her hip. "Clean shot, broke the bone right where it pops into the socket. Broke the little round ball thing clean off."

He winced. "Ow."

"Yeah ow," agreed the coyote before turning back to lean against the wall. "I got lots of support from the force, but with a replacement, they didn't want me walking the beat. Instead of sitting at a desk, I checked in with the requirements for sheriffs in other counties, found Yates was lax enough to let me be a depute."

Emerson watched her sidelong. "But you're a jailer."

That got him a dismissive swish of her tail. "No, not until I tried to chase down a peeping tom and liked to have fallen over and cried when my lungs and leg wanted to blow." The sigh that escaped her was almost through her teeth. "So I decided a desk job was appropriate, but at least this one would let me get up close to perps, I get to do more than push papers."

It suddenly occurred to her that she had just exposed so much to a complete stranger. One who was handcuffed and awaiting return to his cell. Why would she share so much? It wasn't like her to just open up like that - she was warm and talkative, but never to the point of wearing her life story on her sleeve. To someone who'd see a crippled girl where a cop was, and think her unfit for any uniform. But the more she talked, the more it just kept coming, like a jug with a hole in the bottom, leaking everywhere.

Vi watched the ash pepper off his cigarette for a time. "Better enjoy that while you can." He was. "Last one you'll get before the morning."

He shot a glance her way before drawing out a long breath, making the tip flare up. Smoke trickled out with his words. "That's all right. I'm not a chain smoker, I just... really needed this. Long day."

"I bet."

For a minute or so he watched her over the smoldering tip. "So... this whole bail thing. How is the process supposed to work? I've never... done this thing before..."

That much she could've assumed. "Well, tomorrow's Saturday. That means someone has to get hold of the judge before he goes fishing. They'll fax over the paperwork, he'll take a look, and put down a charge. You pay, you leave, you come back on your court date."

"Wait," said the skunk as he straightened up. "I don't need a lawyer?"

Vi licked her lips, looking thoughtful. "Well, you could get one, but it wouldn't really do you much. If you got no record, didn't resist, it ain't no heinous crime, the judge around here ain't going to screw you on bail charges. A hundred, two... Then, you go home, and come back to Flattop for your court date."

Incredulity colored the skunk's words. "He's not conservative and morally abhorrent to such sinful behavior?"

Vi laughed. "A little bit, yeah, but he's also a dirty old male."

"Speaking of court date... What would I be charged, I mean what would be the..." He searches the air for a word. Finally, "What would the likely punishment be for this?"

"Solicitation's a class D misdemeanor. That's... oh," she scrunched up her nostrils, trying to remember. "Up to a five hundred dollar fine and three days to six months in jail."

Emerson winced and had a silent conversation with his cigarette.

Silence again. This time though, it was her who wanted to say something and not just because she was enjoying the conversation that otherwise would be an empty night. It had been nagging her since the moment she got a good look at the skunk. Even if it was none of her business, Vi had a habit of sticking her nose where it didn't go.

"Mind if I ask you something?"

Having been lost in thought, Emerson just looked up, blinking. When he'd put two thoughts together, a simple shrug and an almost absent "sure" was given.

Licking her lips, she started with, "You don't look like the sort who... would solicit."

For a few moments he just looked at her until he no longer could.

Where before the stretches of not-talking had been relaxed and comfortable, it was suddenly dense with tension. Night sounds dragged on, each like the loud tick of a second that went by without a voice to fill the void. Vi leaned against the wall in a loss for what to say. Being around men enough, she knew talking wasn't necessary or easy, and where a woman would pour her soul, a male would rather take a beating than share. When he's pride's been kicked, he'll cling all that much harder to every bit he had.

So it startled her when Emerson spoke. "After a long day at work, do you go home and cook?"

"I... well, sometimes," she said, twitching her tail. "When I want something good, but usually I don't want to dirty dishes just for me."

He nodded, chugging away at the waning cigarette. "So what do you eat when you don't?"

Frowning at the line of questions, she shook her head and shrugged. "Cereal? A sandwich, maybe just something to chew on and then I go on to bed and have a decent breakfast. Why?"

"Do you ever decide to get fast food? You know it's not going to be good, or good for you, but it's cheap and easy with very little effort involved, just to get you through to the next meal? Especially when you're tired, worn out and just want something right now?"

Vi opened her mouth to answer yes, then closed it. The pieces sifted together. "Oh."

"Yeah." He contemplated the ash at the end of his cancer stick for a moment. "A car wreck on the interstate meant two hours of traffic this morning before I get to the conference. The morning was long and strained. I gave a lackluster presentation, spilled coffee on myself at lunch, drove back to the motel to change, another long stretch. By the end, I just wanted to relax. I wanted an orgasm, wanted someone to just touch me. That hasn't happened since my fiancé left."

"I'm sorry." It was the best she had.

He glanced sideways, incredulous. "For what?"

"That you have to feel that way." Adding after a moment, "And that you got caught."

Another good laugh from him, even if it did hold a touch of skepticism. "But you're a co- you were a cop. I broke the law. Why would you not want me to be arrested?"

"Cause it's a bunch of bullshit," she said with enough firmness to make him stop mid-breath. "The law I mean," Vi hastily added. "Just cause it's wrong doesn't mean you shouldn't be able to do it. It don't hurt no body. You ought to be able to do what you want as long as you don't hurt no body, or sue because you screwed up. The job of the law is to protect the victim, not the individual from themselves."

For a moment Emerson smiled, gazing back at her with a touch of respect and, in a glimpse, warmth. "Yeah." That appeared to be all he had on the matter.

Once more the two fell into quiet, but it was more comfortable than the last. Vi broke it first. "I understand you were tired and you just wanted... some fun, but why not just approach one of the women at the conference?"

Emerson just looked at her.

"What?"

"You want to take a guess as to how many single female analysists there are?"

Her ears flicked. "Oh. Good point."

"Besides," continued the skunk around his cigarette, "I don't know how to talk to women very well."

The coyote canted her head. "You're talking to me just fine."

Sputtering around his cigarette, Emerson shrugged. "I-well, that is, I see you- it's hard to see you as a-a-a regular individual, not someone with, in a..."

"Uniform," Vi finished for him.

The only answer was a confirmatory nod and a glance away.

"That's okay." It wasn't. "That happens a lot. Folk see a badge and that's about it." Flicking her tail in agitation, though at what she didn't know, "Then again, if you're not from some small town you don't exactly see the guy cooking your burger as more than a burger flipper, either."

Emerson scuffed his shoe on the dirt. "Yeah. I never thought of it like that." Moments later, as if it just popped in his head, he spoke rapidly. "But you're different. As a person, I mean. You don't seem like what I would expect from someone of authority. You're nice, and funny. Here I thought all cops were hard asses."

Unable to contain her grin, Vi glanced over. "I can be quite the hard ass, honey."

The response was quick, the skunk peering out over the dark tree line as he toyed with the ash. "I'd think it'd be a rather soft ass, from what I could see."

Both paused, surprised. Vi because she wouldn't have expected something so fresh from him, and Emerson because he wouldn't either. The skunk wore an expression like an inside thought had made it on the outside by accident.

Not that she minded in the least. In fact, it made her smile, even if she was trying to hide it in her tone. "Are you flirting with me?"

"Well, I-ah..." Wisely the skunk wrapped his lips around his cigarette and drew in a long breath before letting it seep out of his mouth in a slow exhale. "Maybe." He dropped it onto the ground, snuffing it out with the tip of his shoe.

They slipped back into their roles with reluctance, seeming to walk away from that bond. Vi re-cuffed Emerson's hands, and he walked in front of her back to the gate. She tapped the emergency release from her side of the door, popping it open, and led him back to his cell. Once he was inside, he stuck his hands through the bars, allowing her to work on the cuffs.

"Vi?" Emerson had a look about him as though something wasn't fitting right.

Intent on working the latch, she didn't react immediately. Though once she looked up, the coyote halted putting the cuffs on her belt. A look of intensity regarded her. Her voice was too soft. "Yes?"

His tone was careful. "Are you attracted to me?"

Choosing to reward that bold step, Vi answered, "Yes."

For a moment the skunk paused, as if deciding what to do next. Then a paw dropped, fingertips barely grazing over her forearm. She didn't move. Emerson continued as light as air, the caress only disturbing the tips of her fur. She shivered. When his hand reached her sleeve, Vi pulled back.

Their eyes met, and this time she looked away.

Frustration broke the surface, spilling across his words. "Did you stop because you're a cop?" There was almost a thread of accusation, yet beneath it the words held a thread of ache, as though that small rejection had hurt him more than the arrest.

Vi's answer was just as quiet and careful. "No."

That seemed to screw his face up ugly. It was the hasty look and jerky action of sudden anger, but the slow avalanche of stress and irritation building momentum. "Then...? No, wait!" As she turned and started to walk away, Emerson grabbed her wrist.

Things slowed down. It was one of those crystal clear moments where the options are on the table, and there's knowledge of what would happen with each choice, something that happens to cops when they have to make a tense decision. She was well within her rights to hit him. Just like an act of aggression to an arresting officer is not only resisting arrest but assault, the same holds true for corrections officers; attacking them gets you in deep shit. If she hit him, he would back off, so stunned at the act, and would immediately know who was boss, and that he was indeed fucked. She could pull out of his grip (since it was a weak one) and just ignore him, leaving him cold and alone in the cell, wondering what had happened since the bonding outside. Or she could stay and answer, and there's no telling where that would go.

This time though, she also knew how she would react. If she hit him, she'd feel awful, because she knew he just wanted to know, felt something and wanted to go after it. It wasn't like him to do that, but the connection they made had taken him out of his shell. If she walked away, she'd regret it, because she's not that cold, and if anything, would be left thinking about that touch that left a quiver in her tail. And if she stayed...

Emerson backed off, obviously realizing just how far he'd crossed a line.

Vi turned and they shared a long moment of silent, stomach tightening eye contact. She suddenly felt rusty, unable to get to her feelings, or remember what to do in this sort of situation, due to all the dust covering her earlier years. In the academy, they teach action, not reaction, and she went with her gut.

Stepping forwards, her paws wrapped around the iron stalks lining the cell. "You're on that side, and I'm on this side. I can't let you out. And I'm not going in there. I don't care if you are my brother, I can't take any kind of risk." Keeping her head on her shoulders is what allowed her to survive on the beat. Regardless of where she was, Vi would always be a cop.

"But you did take a risk," He whispered back. "You took me out to smoke."

Vi's face wrinkled up and she glared like she'd been punched in the stomach. It was true, and she couldn't deny it; in some respects, it was a stupid move. But she wasn't going to let it happen again.

Her voice came out as the law, but there was sadness in it. "We can't do anything." Clanging her fist on the bars, "These have to be between us."

Emerson paused. Then, stepping close to her, he breathed, "Even so, that's not a great obstacle." Holding up a hand, so she saw it, and knew it was coming, he reached forward and laid his hand on her stomach before gently rubbing.

When she closed her eyes, squeezing them a little tighter than necessary, he stopped, stopped touching her entirely. Letting go of the cell, she turned and walked back to her desk.

There she took the gun out of her holster. The cuffs followed, then all the necessary pocket junk, and the band holding her hair in a ponytail, letting the creamy white curls loose to pool around her shoulders. In the second drawer she found a bottle of mace and slipped it into her back pocket, only to button it, and shifted the bottle in a manner that she could get it out with a little fuss.

What was she thinking? What was she doing? She didn't know. The only thing that was clear, though, was what felt right.

The top two buttons of her uniform were undone by the time she got back to Emerson's cell. He was sitting on the cot, looking as defeated as she'd found him not long before. Pressing up against the cell, she whispered out "Hey," and when he looked up, he found a smile and a wagging tail.

That garnered an owlish blink. Their eyes touched long before their bodies. It took several seconds before Emerson was on his feet, crossing the tiny space between them. At first it seemed as though he didn't know what to do, where to start.

Opting to help him, or perhaps giving in to impatience, she reached through the bars and smoothed her paws across his shoulders. The simple gesture woke Emerson out of his haze of hesitation, his own fingers seeking her out.

Even if he returned the favor, the skunk only gave her the barest of fingertips, like she was some bubble he was afraid of popping. The pressure and areas of attention increased as she leaned forward until her breasts pressed into the cold metal keeping them apart. They played the game of tracing one another with fingernails, her combing through the denseness of his tail, he following the lines of her uniform.

Slow but sure, Emerson slipped into a more comfortable place where he could rub along her sides, then her hips, only to glide up and cup her cheeks. Thumbs stroked her jawline before diving into mass of ivory curls behind her, toying with the tangles that clung together from having been in the ponytail so long.

Cradling the back of her head, Emerson took that last step, closing the miniscule gap between them. When his lips touched her chin, Vi let loose a breath she hadn't realized she'd been grasping. The skunk explored her muzzle with his lips not like a virgin stepping into uncharted territory, but as an old fogey remembering how to ride a bike.

When their lips finally met after all that bush-beating, it was slow and almost a little clumsy. But like stepping barepawed into mud, they sank into it until they could wiggle around and get comfortable. Several long moments of the simple rippling of lips and sharing breath commenced before things crept along; Emerson's tongue tasted a little bitter and foul from his cigarette, but the flaw made the experience all that more real and enjoyable for the coyote, like a chewed ear or an asymmetrical muzzle can give a face character.

Hands floated down her body, and she reciprocated, caressing Emerson's flanks as far as she could reach with the bars in the way. While he may not look it underneath those clothes, the coyote found him to be a little on the scrawny side. Which made plain a sudden distinction: with his paws on her hips, rubbing over outer thighs chastely, then back up over her hips and sides, Vi suddenly felt fat. So much had happened - hitting the big three oh, hurting herself, leaving Bruce - it had left her depressed, inactive, and so she had put on enough spare pounds to feel big and unsexy.

He seemed to not notice. Whither from enjoying the softer, rounded curves of hip, thigh and stomach, or because the feel of a woman in his grasp had been long in coming, Emerson eagerly caressed and squeezed, every touch a reassurance to the sudden bolt of self-consciousness.

They broke for air, the meeting of eyes drowning with emotion. Emerson kept the gaze going while licking along her bottom lip, then chin, until Vi simply tilted her head back. He took the invitation, a wet trail of fur left in his wake until lips halted at the dip of her throat. Every inch of the dent was traced until the skunk was satisfied, and once he had left the officer shaking just a hint, started nursing upon her throat.

In all honesty, Vi wasn't sure how Emerson's hands wound up on her backside. So very warm and caught up in the attention to her neck, those paws could have easily slid in under the radar, but that didn't seem like his style. Regardless, the male was rolling her full cheeks between his fingers, pressing them together, and molesting them to the best of his capacity past the bars and through her uniform slacks. Perhaps it was the same way she discovered her paws on his chest, rubbing in tight circles through the thin barrier of his work shirt.

Immediately she began to loosen his tie, popping button after button until her fingers could dig into the fur of his chest. Tickling a nipple on impulse, she managed to get a little muffled chirp out of him, something adorable and encouraging at once.

Vi found herself panting like she'd hiked too long with no water. Beneath the uniform, white undershirt and her bra, her nipples ached with every pulse. Thighs rubbing together pushed her underwear against her crotch, making her acutely aware of just how wet they were. Behind, the bitch couldn't help but flag her tail.

Something stirred inside of her. Since she had left Bruce, Vi had neglected a part of herself, just thrown it in the basement and forgot. That desire kept from starving by the scraps of romance novels she tossed it, but that diet of fluff left it malnourished. Now the door was flung wide open, letting the famished need loose.

On the heels of that sudden surge of lust came a realization that made her whimper: she couldn't have what she wanted. He was on the other side of the cell, and neither was going to stand beside the other, as far as her principles were concerned. No matter what she wanted, there was still a semblance of duty left in her, and it made her need all that more rabid, forcing it back into another cage.

It didn't help that his touch was narcotic. That tongue, those paws, his smell, all that thrummed in her mind was "more, more, more".

As he teased over her ass, the coyote pushed her breasts against the bars, cool metal doing horribly blissful things to her nipples that left knees shaking a hint. Emerson must have caught the scent eking through her clothes, since his mouth was moving southwards. Paws had migrated to the front, popping shirt button after button.

While she wanted him to keep going, he couldn't. If someone buzzed her she'd look a mess. But he, the both of them needed this. Instead of encouraging him onwards, up came one of her paws, taking hold of his jaw and, angling his mouth up, she pressed her muzzle to his.

They kissed like stags locking horns. A lot of pushing, grinding, grunting, and gaps in between as lips' seal broke, letting wet noises and drool leak out. Tongues openly wrestled, pulled one way, then the other; Vi having the advantage of just having a bigger, more agile one than the skunk.

The passion bubbled out of her and into him it seemed, since suddenly his paw was back at her breast, squeezing, thumb pressing through cotton to dig right into her nipple. She barked, tail snapping, and narrowed her eyes a bit.

For a split second Emerson's expression said 'uh oh'. That's when her paws shot to his belt and began wrestling it free. Once it was unfastened, the slacks didn't last a chance. He watched in surprise as she tugged open his boxers' elastic band and thrust her hand in, seizing his arousal in one greedy paw.

Vi stood, marveling downwards in mere appreciation. Compared to many, Emerson wasn't big at all - hell, Bruce had over an inch on him - and there was a hint more thickness to him than would be normal. But it didn't matter. He was there, in her paw. It throbbed between her fingers, pulsing heat. In the dim overhead lights, his shaft looked angry-red and wet, the tip glistening with eagerness.

A breath later the odor hit her like a speeding truck: dense and pungent, aroused to the hilt and almost bad. It's a common stereotype that skunks smell skanky even with a shower, but canines (among a few others) often are capable of appreciating the not-too-finer aromas. She rolled it around inside of her nose until she could almost taste it, and it left her tongue lolled just a bit.

Still moving in almost a haze, Vi used both paws to stroke him. Tugging forward on the shaft until Emerson's pelvis ground against the bars, she squeezed and slid her paws all over him as if she were trying to coat her palms in the glistening pre shining at the tip. Then fingers just wrapped around and started sliding up and down, bumping into each other at the knuckles as she pumped.

Emerson initially just quivered, and then started thrusting into her grasp. Yet he wasn't going to give in without a fight, returning the only way he knew how: brushing aside Vi's uniform shirt, he cupped an ample breast and dipped his muzzle down, lips wrapping around the cotton-tenting nipple. Suction translated through the minute cloth barrier, not to mention his teeth grazing the delicate skin, and that infectious tongue applying pressure, denting her flesh inwards to swirl it around.

The exchange seemed to melt into a game of one-upmanship or even a race: oral flirtation assaulting Vi's breast with enthusiasm, coupled with one paw on her breast and the other on her rump, the latter once or twice spanked, making her gasp and growl; paws sliding and shuffling with demanding intensity, grinding her palm-pad in tight little circles over the head while tugging at the ringing flare as the coyote took turns pumping the rest of the arousal, or rolling balls around in her paw, coaxing out a little squeak with each tug over the orbs.

Emerson was going to lose the race - or win, depending on the beholder. With breath huffing, hips jerking, tail snapping, the skunk reached out and desperately gave Vi's shoulder several taps.

Vi stopped.

Eyes bulged from the male, sputtering in confusion as he suddenly slammed on the breaks of his imminent orgasm.

The unzipping of pants is a most distinct sound, one that perked Emerson's ears. Before any response was provided, he was muzzled by her kiss. Hot and deep, yet slower than before. As mouths wrestled, she claimed his shaft once more and, pushing until her hips scraped against the bars, forced Emerson inside her open fly.

Beyond his sensitive tip brushed across the wet cloth of her underwear. It was no challenge to press him against the venting heat of her yearning, sliding up and down to drag across him. Moans were muffled by the dueling muzzles, Vi taking the lead as he tensed.

Before long, Emerson found himself nestled just beneath her mound, gripped tight between the soft curves of her inner thighs. Heat above him, fur around him, damp with need, he had a sensation buffet compared to her grasp. With paws clinging to the bars, he could do nothing but hang on for the ride as Vi began to rock, sliding back and forth with a leisurely pace. Her thighs loosened here and there, allowing a more teasing glide of the fur over flesh, before they'd close and squeeze all that much tighter, adding an extra thread of friction while she forced him through the vice of her thighs.

Mouth opening and closing like a bass out of water, Emerson lifted drowning eyes to the officer. She knew, and without a word, cupped the back of his head, pushing it into her breasts. There the desperate gasps were felt, not heard. Just before his tail arced up, the pace shifted just a tad - rather than back and forth, Vi's thighs alternated, one sliding down while the other glided up, grinding his arousal between them. It was a harsh on her bad hip, but she didn't have to do it long.

Watching the pleasure mount in Emerson's face had stolen her attention. First his eyes close tight with brows pushing forward, his nostrils wrinkled as the pressure built. As soon as the dam burst, all that tightness went the other way as though he'd stuck his head out of a car window at fifty; brows pushed high and back, nose dilated, mouth dropping into a tight 'o', eyelids plastered half-open as his eyes rolled up into his skull.

Heat spilled across her lap. It soaked her thighs, spreading as pressurized spurts shot through gaps where it could. With the hand still holding him, the coyote merely directed the sudden sprung leak right against her panties, saturating them. Emerson was pent up to say the least; he had a lot to give. When the flood petered off to a drip, she wiped him off on a thigh and, removing him, zipped up.

Vi hugged him. She'd have hugged him harder, but the bars would push in on him, so she did the best she could, simply stroking the plush fur while licking his ears. Heavy breathing became a churr, and that shifted to simple nuzzling and nosing. For a time they lingered, clinging to each.

When their location occurred to Vi, she slowly eased out of the embrace. Another long look stretched between them.

"I have to go get cleaned up," she said finally. "And it's late. You ought to get to bed; got a long day ahead of you. What with the conference and all..."

Ears flattened as Emerson's striped tail slumped. "Yeah." Words had failed him.

Turning, Vi tried not to run to the bathroom. Hell, she tried to walk like she was in water. With the mess in her pants, the least that stuck to the inside of her clothes, the better. Even if she knew that was shot to hell, it was still an illusion worth keeping. Not to mention every brush of her thighs against one another left sticky squishes pushing into her fur. She could practically feel the strands of stuff stretching before snapping.

Thankfully there was a bathroom near the lockup, to avoid trucking through the front of the station just to handle your business. One look in the mirror confirmed that she was beyond a train wreck. Thank god it was past midnight. Loading down with paper towels, she dived into a stall.

Stripping of everything else, her trousers were last. As they came down, the carnage stared her in the face. Whitish blotches clung like sloppy cobwebs to the fur of her thighs, while the faded purple of her worn panties would drip if wrung. The inside of her navy slacks had managed to retain mostly safe, but speckles that had turned to black stains shown in the dull florescent bulbs above.

Vi saw all of this in a moment's assessment before she was waylaid. The smell rolled up her body and gushed up into her nose. Pure sex, something as raw and instinctive as the drive of food and shelter. Oh sure, Emerson's particular aroma was there, but that was overwhelmed by the sheer stench of Male. It permeated her crotch, mixing with her own feminine spice, forming an aural cocktail of raunch.

On impulse her paw scrubbed through a thigh, scooping up some of the mess to bring to her muzzle. First she sniffed, then licked, consuming it, until she was pawing the gunk and rubbing it on her muzzle. The scent marked her, clinging like some pleasant dream just before waking. They say smell is the strongest sense tied to memory, and if it were true, Vi was making sure she never forgot that signature.

At some point during the smell bath, she had sat down and peeled off her panties. When the cloud of intoxication lifted, Vi found the sopping garment in hand.

One thing was sure: the female ached. Ached like a starving desert wanderer. No way was she going back now. There would be no denial. Tucking her underwear into her cleavage, Vi dropped her muzzle and huffed. While continuing to swim in the heady fumes, she leaned back against the toilet and propped her feet on the stall door.

Fingers walked up her mound, the mere touch sending her squirming over the toilet seat. The pink skin had gotten so flushed and puffy with need it was almost too sensitive at first. Like that was going to stop her. Without preamble she fed two digits in and began.

This was for her, an indulgence not taken in... it was depressing to remember how long. The thought was pushed out of her mind, replaced with the memory of Emerson's shaft in her paws, between her thighs, the sudden rush of heat and his orgasm face.

Guilt and shame broadsided her: she took advantage of him, using her position of authority; she was a slut, spreading her legs for a stranger, on the job no less, on the job.

Whatever that had been unleashed had gorged on the sex, the scents, and it wasn't going to let her give up, not now. Some how it, she, managed to wrestle all those feelings away and cram them down under the weight of need. That can be handled later, when her fingers aren't inside of her, when her thumb didn't rung that button until her back locked up, some time without the sexual smelling salts of her panties leaking onto her breasts.

Water splashing over her tail broke the spell for a moment, but with a laugh she flicked it out, draping over the back of the seat. Sitting a little straighter, Vi went back to work with even more vigor and an almost pragmatic smartness about it; toying with a nipple the way Emerson had sucked, pumping tight and keeping the friction across her button...

Vi peaked. There was no moving of the earth, or a fireworks display, not even crashing ocean waves. When she was young, the family took car trips; bathroom breaks were few and far between, so after holding it so long, just letting it go was bliss in that relaxation. The first clean shower after a long, hard day hiking or working in the garden, cleansing and soothing muscles, it was heaven. Vi peaked, and it drained her, spilled out of her muscles she didn't know had been clinching for so long, leaving her a puddle of droopy coyote.

With rubbery legs she finally stood and basked at the loss of some weight. Or at least, the shrinking of it. Cheerfully she picked up the paper towels and began the dutiful task of cleaning up. When the task was beyond her meager supply, the coyote just bathed out of the sink, scrubbing and splashing and trying to conceal the smell with too-strong liquid soap. It was a poor substitute for an actual shower and grooming. There were no dogs working tonight, she thanked Christ, but there are some things even a non-canid can pick up.

When she'd done all she could, fussed with her hair and fur, the bitch crossed back to her clothes. The smell of sex clung to them like cigarette smoke. For once, Vi wished she had one to cover up the red-handed stench.

Glancing at her watch, Vi smiled. It was almost time for her "dinner break"; half hour. She could run home, spritz with something better, change uniforms.

Emerson.

The name rang through her thoughts as she dressed. What was she going to do about him? Forget him? It was possible; she'd be off before he posted bail. Hell, he may all ready be asleep, so she might not even see him the rest of the shift. They wouldn't see each other again...

Redressing in the bathroom of the Sheriff's Department after having sex was not the place to think about this. That thought had her straightening her act up, before she walked out the door with as much convincing confidence as she was going to manage.

The halls were empty.

Walking back to her desk to get her keys, odds and ends, Vi stopped when she saw the romance novel sitting face up on the desk. The two characters, picture perfect, gazing into each other's eyes. Then her gaze drifted down the row of holding cells.

It was stupid. There was no deep romance there, no love, nothing lasting... But was that necessary?

At least a minute later, her shoes clicked down the hall to Emerson's cell. With a soft rapping, she clanged the bars.

Emerson sat up. He'd just tossed the button up on, forgoing the tie and shoes. It was a much more relaxed look, and it suited him. "Yeah?"

"Come here."

He was there at the bars. Into his paws she pushed a piece of paper and pen. "You have a carry phone?"

"Yes- who doesn't?"

Rolling her eyes, the coyote crossed her arms under her breasts. "Write down your number. Your hotel room. When the conference is over."

Emerson watched her. Slowly a look of relief or delight, or some hybrid of the two, filled the wary gaps in his face.

"Now don't be getting any ideas," she snapped a little too harsh for her own good. "Just... write it down. I'm not gonna say I'll call you, or anything. Don't expect nothing. Just, in case I want to. You hear?"

Only a nod of confirmation and a hopeful smile greeted her over the paper as Emerson quickly penned the requirements, and handed it over.

"Thanks. I'm gonna go. You get some sleep; you gotta busy day tomorrow, all right?"

"Yes, Vi."

Glancing over her shoulder, the coyote couldn't contain her grin. "That's officer to you." The air of professional crispness rang hollow. Folding up the piece of paper, she slipped it in her back pocket. The female walked with an extra sway in her crooked gait, tail happily adding to the rolling steps.

She turned out the lights in the holding cells, noted her clock out, and pushed open the barred door.

As she passed through the ghost town of a squad room, Emerson's number weighed down her back pocket. Vi didn't know what she was going to do, but one thing she did know: she'd have something to think about for a good while.