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>"That's quite a look you've got going on there, Anon."

>"What?"

>"Just what I said," Talia says, squeezing into the cab of the Hilux, "just quite the look."

>Your button-up and blazer aren't too aggressive, and you're not even wearing a tie.

>Given that you're meeting with not just one, but two different lawyers today -- the public defender the state chose for you, and Talia's contact -- you figured dressing up wouldn't be a terrible idea.

>"Fuck off, furbag," you say, pulling out from the driveway. "In case you didn't know, you're supposed to look nice for your lawyer."

>Making fun of her bandage is tempting, but likely not the best idea.

>"Guarantee you that Steve and his buddies are gonna make fun of you."

>You let the comment slide, waiting until you're at a stopsign to take another look over at her. She's wearing a nicer pair of jeans, at least, though she's still got a flannel on.

>Rather tight, it seems. Or maybe it's a consequence of her squeezing into the cab of the Hilux.

>You look away quickly, realizing that she's looking right back at you.

>"Got something to say?"

>You can't read the she-wolf's tone, but say something quick as you hit the gas.

>"Trying to see past your oversized-ass, don't wanna get T-boned."

>The 'fuck off' she gives you sounds distinctly relieved.

>"You prefer I lay down on this here bench seat?"

>"Honestly, I'd prefer your shaggy butt ride in the bed, but I gotta help you keep some of your dignity."

>She growls playfully, and undoes her seatbelt.

>"Oh, I'll show you dignity, you dick!"

>"Christ, woman, what are you--"

>The she-wolf presses her rear up against you, her upper half pressed against the opposite side of the cab as she cranks the window down.

>"Talia, don't you fucking dare!"

>She looks back at you with an evil smile before sticking her head and shoulders out the passenger window, rolling her lower half around in the bench seat. When she's on her back, she stretches her legs out right across your lap and out your window, forcing you to let go of the wheel and reach across her thighs.

>"There," she sighs when she's in place, her paws hanging out your window along with half her calves. "That's better for both of us, I think."

>You look over at her again; ohh, does she look smug.

>You turn back to the road; you're still on one of the lonely Sector Mainways, a good dozen miles from New Apple proper.

>You're the one to smile now.

>"Anon, what're you--"

>Before the she-wolf has a chance to finish, you shake the steering wheel. Not hard, not enough to make the tires squeal, but plenty to make the truck shake from side-to-side -- along with its occupants.

>Those that aren't strapped in -- like your once-smug companion -- are jostled around.

>"Anon! -- You fucking -- dumbass!"

>"You're the one that isn't buckled up," you chuckle.

>You let the truck straighten back out and look over at the she-wolf: she's not nearly so smug now, a half snarl on her lips as she un-braces herself.

>"Maybe you should -- "

>Your sentence ends in a strangled, wheezing 'hoh-fuck' as Talia shifts her weight up from your right thigh to between them, dropping her ass down in your lap -- and somewhat onto your jewels. 600-some pounds of she-wolf, even partway supported by the Hilux, is going to part your legs no matter what.

>"There we go," she says, settling between your legs, "I feel much more secure now. This going to be a problem, Ano--"

>You feel her stiffen between your legs; there's something else that's gone stiff between your legs, pressed right up against her left asscheek.

>"A-Anon!"

>Keep your eyes on the road, don't stop on the pedals. Keep your eyes on the road, don't --

>"W-why the fuck do you have a boner?"

>"Because you fucking sat on it," you say, chancing a look over at her.

>She's tense again, staring back at you with a slightly slackened jaw. You think you see a hint of blush on her face, her fur and flannel being blown in the wind.

>"What'd you expect?" you say quickly, turning back to the road again.

>For a few moments, it's quiet, the sounds of the engine, the road, and the wind all that fill the cab, those tight curves still pressed against your inner thighs. And then...

>"...you into getting your balls smashed or something?"

>"No!" you splutter, looking over again to make sure she's joking.

>The look on her face -- embarrassment mixed with curiosity -- says she's not.

>"No, I don't like getting my balls smashed!"

>"Well I dropped my ass on your lap and you got hard, what am I supposed to expect!?"

>"I don't know!" you say, painfully aware of how warm she is now. "What did you expect when you fucking -- did that?!"

>"I -- I don't --"

>Talia gives up with a sigh, the road noise filling the cab once again.

>"Look, why don't you just move back like--"

>"No."

>The she-wolf's tone is more firm than it was before. Scarily so.

>"No, it's fine, I --"

>"We've got a few miles before we reach the city, and -- "

>"No! It's just... more comfortable."

>"Than squeezing in normally," she quickly adds. "My busted nose n' all"

>You look over at her again, again trying to discern if she's serious.

>She is, though her ears are still pulled back.

>You turn back to the road with a long sigh, shifting slightly in the seat to try and get comfortable -- only to be reminded of the large, lupine ass between your legs.

>You scoot back as far into the seat as you can, though there's no escape from that soft flesh on yours. There's nothing for it but to try and ignore it.

>You'll go soft before you get to the DA's office, surely.

>You don't. Not by a longshot.

>Every bump in the road, every stop, start, or turn taken even slightly too harsh, and you felt Talia's rear press up against you harder, rubbing up against your member.

>The way she looked when she fumbled out from the car, she felt every bit of it too.

>"So..." you say, your voice echoing slightly in the underground parking garage. "Off to the lawyer?"

>"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."

>The she-wolf walks stiffly, not quite the same way that you do. You try clenching your fists, thinking about having to piss, and every other boner-killing trick you've ever heard, but they're all as effective as they were on the torturous ride here.

>That is to, say, not effective at all.

>Neither of you look at each other as you walk in together, silently finding the elevator. You both stand at opposite corners when you enter.

>...Why is it so awkward? The two of you have fucking kissed before, so what's so weird about you getting a perfectly understandable stiffie?

>You're asking this of yourself just as much as Talia, because no matter the rationalizing, you're just as put off.

>You shake your head when the final floor-chime comes; there'll be time to deal with that later. For now, you two have to act like --

>"Anon?"

>Talia's voice is almost back to normal, almost that same semi-exasperated tone she defaults to.

>You still don't dare look, and you can tell that she isn't either when the two of you walk out.

>"Yeah?"

>"Remember we're going into this as a couple."

>"Just what I was thinking."

>The tension between you has cleared up, if only for the act. You enter the suite your emails specified, and a secretary directs you to a 'Mr. Lyons' after a quick gawk at Talia's nose. You enter to find a small, clean office, reflective of the male lion that quickly rounds his desk when you enter.

>"Mr. Anonerson and Ms. Grilliz, I presume?" he says, reaching out a hand.

>You answer in the affirmative, looking him over briefly: he's hardly bigger than Talia, to your surprise. His lionly mane is neatly trimmed, as is his dark suit. After introducing himself -- full name Steve Lyons -- he has the two of you sit down as he goes back around the desk and does the same, pulling out a stack of paper.

>"So, as I understand things, the gentlemen you mentioned will be handling the firearms charges Mr. Anonerson is facing, correct, Ms. Grilliz?"

>"Yeah," Talia nods, "we're going to be meeting up with them later, actually."

>"Excellent. Here, if you wouldn't mind--"

>Lyons leans over the desk, handing his card over to the she-wolf.

>"-- I would like to coordinate with them, if possible. Even if I'm going to be focusing on the other charges, it's still my job as your public defender to at least be in the know."

>"Of course," Talia says, and you nod in agreement.

>"Now then," the lion says, going back to the papers, "let's review. The two of you are facing: one count perjury, one count perjury under investigation, and one count of harassing an officer while under investigation. All of it in relation to false courtship claims."

>He sets the papers down, looking back up at the two of you.

>"Assuming the two of you aren't ready to move on to a proper Civil Union, then we've got a fight on our hands. You wouldn't happen to be --"

>"No," the two of you say in unison before he can finish, a strange feeling running through you as you say it. Memories of faking kisses and intimacy come unbidden, and the events of the ride here as well.

>"No judgment here," Lyons says, holding up a calming hand. "Let me explain what we're up against, then, assuming the two of you are pleading innocent. According to your files, the two of you are eligible for mandatory Assignment -- those yearly state check-ins recommend it. But because the two of you have entered courtship, that's being held off. If the court finds you guilty of falsifying those courtship claims, or if the two of you break things off, Assignment will take effect in addition to fines and sentencing."

>His gaze turns to you specifically.

>"The investigating officer has recommended Special Assignment for you specifically, Mr. Anonerson. Whether or not that would happen is up to the judge, but it's a definite possibility."

>"Otherwise, you're looking at anywhere between 20 to 50 thousand in fines, and up to five years in reeducation."

>Your heart sinks, and you hear Talia whine slightly as you let out a low groan.

>"What can we do?" you ask, trying not to focus on the lightness in your chest.

>"We have two main options," the lion says. "One: we prove that the two of you are in courtship, or two: we disprove that you two need Assignment. Then, with luck, the state will put less scrutiny on the case since even if the two of you get convicted. You're wouldn't be going into the Assignment system, and you'll get less harsh punishments if we can't prove things wrong."

>That last comment eases your mind somewhat. Not because the lawyer is saying you've got a good chance, but because he's at least acknowledging the state's primary goal: Assignment.

>"What about throwing the case out?" Talia asks. "We've got reason to believe that Patricia Bitc -- the investigating officer -- has something against us."

>Lyons takes a breath, and your mind finally breaks free of that awkward haze as you realize what Talia's setting up.

>"It's possible, but highly improbable. Ms. Birch is an agent of the state, so unless you have some solid evidence to prove--"

>Talia turns to you, and says "Anon?"

>You dig in your pocket and pull out the flashdrive you prepped the night prior, handing it over to Lyons.

>"We might have some," you say as the lawyer holds it to the light between two large fingers, giving you a look before plugging it in.

>He switches on the client-side monitor, and you watch him open up the drive, clicking to the folder you named 'highlights.'

>"Start with the first one," you say, watching him stare at the different .mp4s, each numbered sequentially.

>The video from Bay 6 plays, the view same as it has the 10 other times you've seen it. You find yourself watching Lyon's rather than the video -- and hear a soft whine from beside you when the gun goes off.

>Lyons, for his part, merely blinks, though you see him tense up.

>"...I was wondering about the bandage..." the lawyer says, closing the window.

>"So?" Talia asks when it's over, "is it enough?"

>"I can't say for sure," the lion says, choosing his words carefully, "but it's a solid piece."

>"There's more videos with more evidence," you tell him. "Originals are on there as well, under the other folder.

>Lyons nods, clicking through the folders to confirm.

>"Put in conjunction with witness testimony, I would say the two of you have a definite chance at a mistrial."

>"We fucking better... I took a bullet in the face..."

>You manage the stifle a laugh at the she-wolf's muttering, disguising it as a sigh of relief.

>"A counter-suit is certainly a possibility," Lyons says, less able to hide his chuckling as he stands. "For now, though, let's focus on this one. I already have Ms. Maldovich's information, but if the two of you could provide me with more people to call upon as witnesses -- both of the event and to prove that Ms. Birch has a vendetta -- it would make our argument much stronger."

>You and Talia surf through your phones, rattling off a few different contacts, noting more aloud that might help. Lyons sends the two of you out with a handshake, a card, and a promise to keep in touch.

>As jovial as things were in his office, the two of you retreat to opposite corners of the elevator once again.

>Once again not speaking to each other,

>Once again not looking at each other.

>You sigh a little when you're in the parking lot, where the echoey background of traffic, buzzers, and your own footfalls can hide it.

>You suppose it was all just an act.

>When you open the truck, you hear the rear suspension pipe up as Talia puts a foot on the tailgate.

>"Talia," you say, the words from before stinging, "you don't have to --"

>"Nah," she sighs.

>She slumps down against the cab, the bed bouncing slightly as she stares off at the far wall, eyes low.

>"I'll be fine."

>You hesitate, thinking about trying to convince her to do otherwise. You don't, climbing into the cab.

>"One thing, though, Anon," you hear her say after the engine fires up and you begin pulling out.

>"You swerve around again, and I'll smash your balls for real."

>Music makes the ride back to her place bearable, or maybe it's the distance between you two. Neither of you say anything until you pull into the gravel drive, seeing the old van parked further up, close to the old farmhouse.

>"So who are these guys, the fucking A-Team?" you ask as you get out, seeing Talia smile at the black GMC.

>"You better hope so, if you want to get those gun charges dropped."

>You shake your head and follow her to the driver's side door, the window rolling down as you approach. There's movement past the slightly pudgy, smiling face that greets you.

>"So we did get the right house," the man says; you realize the wrinkles there aren't just from fat, but age as well.

>"Yeah, you did, Mr. Nova," Talia chuckles, stepping back as the other doors come open. "How long were you waitin'?"

>"Not too long," another older human says, this one sporting a suit and 'stache straight from the 70's. "Long enough for Ian and him to get into one of their arguments."

>"It was a discussion, Steve," comes a younger voice from the far side of the van.

>"Oh, give him a break," the first one -- Mr. Nova -- says, "he's a lawyer. Everything's an argument to him."

>The three of them chuckle as they all come around, gathering around Steve. You don't recognize him -- the lawyer-guy -- but the other two seem somewhat familiar. Mr. Nova is the largest, both in height and mass, Ian clearly being the youngest and the one with the most hair left, the neat gray worn long. Both wear polos, treading the line between casual and professional.

>"Mr. Anonerson, I presume?" the lawyer asks, and you nod, his associates giving you one back.

>"Well then; Anon, I'm Steven Halbrooke. Let me introduce you and Talia to my pair of specialists: Mr. Mark Nova, and Mr. Ian O'Pillar."

>It hits you midway through shaking hands, and you hear yourself let out a quiet 'oh, shit.'

>"You're the Ian O' Pillar, and the Mark Nova?"

>"Sure as shit," Mark says, Ian just nodding.

>You manage to restrain yourself to just a smile: you've read books by these guys, seen videos and online posts from them. They're as big of nerds as you are for weird and archaic weaponry, just with a couple of decades more experience.

>"You didn't tell me you knew these guys," you whisper to Talia as she corrals everyone to the front door.

>"I just know Steve," she says quietly, "he's the one with the lawyer connections."

>The she-wolf leads the four of you to her living room, everyone sitting around her coffee table. The air is much more relaxed than the downtown office you were in just a half-hour ago, but the setup is the same; you and Talia sit on a pair of chairs across from the couch, where the other half of your legal team lounges.

>Well, at least that's what Mark does. Steve sits up straight in the center, while Ian leans forward.

>"Just to confirm, you're the only one with weapons charges, right Mr. Anonerson?" Steve asks, setting down a manila envelope and opening it up.

>"Yeah."

>"Good. Makes things easier," he says, going through some papers. "If you got slapped with some, Talia, things would be much more serious, given your occupation."

>Talia grunts.

>"We've got one count of Negligence and two counts of Illicit Possession," the mustachioed man says, setting down the paper. "I take it you're pleading innocent?"

>"Yessir," you say.

>"Don't be so formal, kid," Mark chimes in, "even with that little blazer, you're not gonna out-professional Steve."

>Talia nudges you with an elbow, and you groan quietly. The lawyer smiles.

>"Why don't you walk us through what happened, Mr. Anonerson?"

>"Well, I was taking the gun out to the range for the first time, and--"

>"What was the model?" Ian asks, pulling out his phone.

>"Kolibri, 2.7mm," you answer. He lets out a low whistle, and Mark nods appreciatively when Ian shows him a picture of the gun.

>Probably the one with the penny for comparison, the coin being about a third or fourth the size of the pistol.

>"Anyway, I was testing it. Brought it out to the target -- was helping someone else at the time, and showed it to her and Talia -- and fired. All six rounds went off, no one got hurt, but the bitch that--"

>You stop yourself, taking a breath.

>"The officer that's instigating all this stuff was watching, and she took the opportunity to charge me."

>"You said no one got hurt," Mark says, sitting up now, "then why does Talia here have that Rudolf thing over her nose?"

>"Same fucking officer," the she-wolf growls before you can answer. "She shot me in the face with his fucking gun."

>"Slow down, please," Steve says. "When did she do that? Sunday?"

>"No, yesterday. We were--"

>"--Testing the gun again," you cover quickly. "I think I figured out what had made it malfunction before."

>"Well, go--"

>Mark stops himself, looking at Steve for a moment. At a nod, he continues.

>"Go on, son. What's your theory?"

>"Well, when I got it, it was in need of some TLC. Only way I could find one that wouldn't cost a fortune. So, I had to get in the guts of it a bit, and I didn't quite trust the ammo that came with it. I fixed it up, did a function check, no problem. Reloading the ammo was an experience with how small it was, but nothing too bad. Made the mistake of letting Pat -- the officer responsible for all this -- know that I had to do some maintenance work on it, and that's why she thinks I 'manufactured a machine gun.'"

>The three of them chuckle, though the lawyer does the least.

>"Sounds like a pain in the ass, with how small those parts look," Mark chimes.

>"Keeping it fed would be even worse," Ian adds. "That cartridge isn't exactly available. How many do you have?"

>"Just 12. Don't know if I want to sacrifice one of them to a machinist to try and get the dimensions for it, though."

>"What, and do it in a solid case?"

>"Yeah," you reply to Mark, "Just let some guy scan it and CNC something up."

>"Cheaper than setting up a proper press," Ian says with a shrug, but Mark shakes his head.

>"CNC would get you the precision, but it wouldn't work right with the gun. It's gonna want to use sheet brass, not block, so--"

>"We're getting off topic," Steve says, holding up a hand. "Mr. Anonerson, please continue?"

>"Right. Anyway, I was tinkering on Monday, and Tuesday, trying to figure out why it ran off on me, and my function checks all came out the same. Hold the trigger, rack the slide, no click. Then I shook it, and 'click.'"

>Mark looks at you with piercing eyes during your little pause, while Ian strokes his small goatee. You recognize their looks, having come up in more than a few of their interviews with others into weapons and militaria.

>A slight chill runs through you as you realize now you're the other guy in the video.

>"I'm thinking it wasn't the gun that malfunctioned, but the ammo. I overloaded them, not enough to blow anything up, but just enough to bend those tiny parts inside so the striker wasn't catching on the disconnector. Since every cartridge there was loaded the same way, well, every single one did it. I loaded up a new batch with a lighter powder load and was going to test it yesterday, but, well..."

>"Officer Bitch took Anon's gun while I was on my ass with a slug in the nose," Talia says, an understandable growl to her tone.

>Steve and his friends give a solemn nod; Mark sits up proper for the first time with a slight groan.

>"Sounds possible -- wouldn't be able to tell for sure without the gun in hand, though."

>"From what I remember off the top of my head," Ian butts in, "the Kolibri would have likely been designed to make conversion difficult, given Germany's laws at the time. And since it was a sort of boutique pistol, even more so the round, I wouldn't be surprised if the tolerances were tight enough that the parts could be jarred from out-of-spec ammo. The inventor was a watchmaker, so you know, go figure."

>You look a little expectantly at Steve, waiting for some other revelation, but he just turns back to you after nodding at Ian.

>"What?" he asks with a slight chuckle. "They're the smart ones. I'm just the guy that makes the arguments."

>"And what do you think of ours right now, Steve?" Talia sighs.

>"If these two can come up with some evidence for me to present, I think we're in the clear."

>"I'll get right on it," Ian says -- but Mark grunts quietly.

>"I can't really help without having access to the gun," he says, turning to Steve. "You think you can get me a chance to look at it?"

>"I can try."

>"Good enough."

>"If that doesn't work, I believe I've got access to some documentation through the Arkives --"

>-- you just barely manage to avoid squealing, hearing the name of Ian's famous documentation and reference site --

>"-- I could go through. If you can't manage to get us access to the original gun, Steve, I can see about getting a 3d mock-up made, if there's not one already."

>The lawyer nods before the three of them stand up, the process not looking or sounding easy for the old men.

>"I'll see to it that they get right on it, Talia," Steve says to the she-wolf, his companions giving a slight bow. "We'll be in touch."

>"Wait, hold on," you say when they begin walking to the door, "What do I have to do? How much is this all going to cost?"

>"Not much you can do, Mr. Anonerson," Steve says, hanging back just a little. "I suggest you just try to relax, and help your other lawyer out."

>"Our fee will be letting us have a round with that gun when we get it back for you!" Ian calls back, and Mark laughs.

>You stand there for a moment, just staring as they walk out. For the first time since yesterday, you actually feel good. Confident. Like you've got a chance.

>You feel yourself smiling, and turn to Talia. She's standing looking down at you, her tail wagging slightly.

>"So?"

>"So?" you repeat. "We've got a chance! It worked, Talia!"

>She opens her mouth to say something, but stops.

>"It worked..." you repeat.

>That awkward air returns; you don't know what to say, and neither does she.

>What else is there to say, really?

>What happened happened, and it's best to try and ignore it. But that's hard to do when the person that caused it is right there in front of you. The one that you've been friends with for the better part of two years.

>"I-If there's nothing else, I guess," you say, "I'm gonna get going too. Figure I can get that load data to Mark and Ian, see if it'll help."

>Talia gives you a hesitant nod, the eye contact excruciating.

>"Okay," you say, turning towards the door. You only make it a few steps, not quite to the doorway when you feel the need to stop and say goodbye.

>"Talia, I--"

>She puts a paw on your shoulder, and you find she's right behind you, her expression serious.

>"We need to talk."

>Fuck.

>Even if your relationship isn't real, you get that sinking feeling. She keeps her hand on your shoulder as you're pulled back into her living room. She only lets you go when you approach the couch, figuring that you'll want to be sitting down for this shit.

>"So," you sigh, "what--"

>You never finish, the she-wolf slamming down on you for the second time today.

>It's a bit softer this time, and her old couch has much more give, but you still wheeze when 600 pounds of she-wolf drops on you.

>She's got you prone on your back, her paws heavy on your shoulders.

>Once again she's pressed up against your dick, resting her stomach against it this time.

>She's looking down at you when you manage to focus yourself, your hands going to her wrists as you try and read her.

>"Talia, what--"

>Again you're interrupted, this time by her lips.

>Her claws poke into your shoulders just a little as she grips you, pulling you up slightly into the kiss.

>Kiss is maybe the wrong word.

>Her tongue is already past your lips, filling your mouth while her teeth scrape your lips, hers only just touching yours.

>In seconds, she presses deeper, her teeth digging into the meat of your cheeks as she cocks her head, her tongue going deep enough to make your chest flutter.

>She hums, eyes closed; you hardly make a sound, eyes wide open.

>This isn't the first time the two of you've kissed, but it's the first time you've kissed like this.

>Done anything like this.

>Her on top, holding you.

>Pressing down on you.

>Her curves all over you,

>her grip on you tight,

>her teeth digging in tighter.

>When she finally draws back, she does so with an audible, wet, pop. She sits astride your legs, looking down at you as you both pant.

>"Wha... what the fuck?"

>Talia sits there, panting for a few breaths before she answers, her eyes locked onto yours.

>"Just... just making sure it's... there's nothing serious between us..."

>You sit there, your hands still on her thighs.

>"Whe- well, is there?"

>Talia looks down at you, her chest heaving as her breaths begin to slow.

>The flannel is too tight.

>Slowly, she sits up, her fingers tracing down your chest, her claws scraping against your shirt in a way that tingles.

>When her hands reach her own knees, her lip begins to curl, and her fists ball.

>She gets up with a grunt, just able to control her breathing now as she looks at the floor.

>"Get out."

>You lay there, staring up at her, even the summer air feeling cold in her absence.

>"Talia --"

>"Get out!"

>She's glaring at you now, ears pulled back as you stand, unable to read her.

>You're not sure if the tent you're pitching is helping you or not.

>When you slowly start towards the front door, she practically runs upstairs, the old wood thudding loudly with each step.

>Your heart pounds as you walk, slow as you can, back out the Hilux. Turning the key takes you a while.

>You think you know her answer to your question; you saw it in her eyes.

>But that's not what concerns you, what makes you blow through two different stopsigns before getting blasted at when you try and cross a third.

>It's that you don't know what your answer would be.

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