"Trio In Discretion"

Cap. 01: The lesser of two devils.

- There he is.

A pair of cat-like yellow eyes gleamed mischievously as they contemplated, almost hungrily, the unguarded prey in front of them, barely a few meters from their hiding spot, next to the tavern's fireplace... reading that utterly boring book of his again.

Her new toy, her newly discovered pastime. Poor bastard didn't know what was about to land upon him.

- Awww... isn't he cute? So big, so dour, so serious... so defenseless...

Another pair of cat-like eyes, burgundy tinted this time, observed the previous word's owner with narrowed eyelids.

- You sure? - asked this second one with a thin layer of insecurity coating her high-pitched voice – I mean... that holy hammer beside his chair surely looks big enough... And, as much as I like to annoy him from time to time, I don't want to know how much pain that thing could inflict. I'm... delicate, you know.

The first one, leader of a ragtag gang of misfits, thief, Harborman and the most naughty catty prankish tiefling she had meet in all her entire delictive life as a rogue, smiled so widely that her pale and dainty features mutated, giving her an impish look; her feline yellow eyes shining brightly like a little girl's.

Owch, she adored that face for sure.

- C'mon Neesh. - she pouted, pressing slowly, sensuously, her lips with that long-nailed finger of hers – He never tried to bash your skull before, right?

- Yeah, but those previous times he was unarmed. - the other woman reasoned – And in that last one he was literally fuming. Don't wanna put that mastodon on the edge.

The yellow-eyed tiefling smirked, clearly amused by her friend reservations.

- Paladin, remember? All that gentlemanish, Lawful and Good stuff rings a bell to you?

- Hey, being Lawful and Good doesn't mean always being NICE. - pointed out her comrade in mischief, crossing her arms.

- With a backside as NICE as that one, I think he has all the niceness enough on him. - she muttered absently.

- What?

- Nay, nothing. - she discarded, undulating a hand – Let's play Poke the Paladin, yay! - she declared before taking her companion's wrist and dragging the other tiefling in their mission.

Sighing deeply, Neeshka obliged. But not because she wanted that day particularly to annoy the man with yet another prank of her imaginative leader.

No.

They already had much fun with the paladin and this was starting to become an old joke.

When they first encountered him in that blasted place surrounded by endless mountain range, full of dust, slopes... orcs... and completely devoid of vegetation and water despite being called "Old Owl Well", she had – along with their leader – experienced what was most common to tieflings around holy rollers: skin itching.

And no, not that kind of itching, mind you, but the most searing annoying sensation like when you burn your skin after way too many hours under summer sun without the due protection.

That's what you got having Lower Planes blood running in your veins and sticking with boring-to-death holy warriors. First your skin itches for nature-collision issues... then later, when you adjust yourself to the constant presence of a do-gooder... that's when your skin starts to itch again when you try to know the dude a little bit being nice, forthcoming and stuff... and crash yourself with a huge wall made of bricks.

She could not stand people who took their obligations so seriously to-the-letter and NEVER EVER smiled.

But her tiefling leader seemed to think otherwise.

So they approached the unguarded and stern goodie-two-shoes, slowly, quietly, with the finesse and craft of two experienced cutpurses, melting with the shadows, reaching in no moment his neck nape resting against the chair's backrest... savoring the very fleeting moment before...

- YO, CASAVIR! WHAT ARE YOU READING, PALLY?!

Right next to his ear.

The due reaction to that loud shouting did not falter: in less than a heartbeat, the book resting in his hands went flying backwards in what looked almost slow-motion then, at the very same moment, the tall man stood up with his right hand holding up that monstrosity of a hammer with instinctive precision born of his martial training, tense, ready for a battle.

However, when he heard behind him the tiny laughter of two voices he knew so well, he simply inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself and concentrate in his teachings about Tyr and His mercy instead of paying attention to that primal instinct that shouted him to run after those little horned devils and spank their respective rears until they didn't harbor any more feelings to put him teetering on the edge of nearly madness.

This was almost daily basis for him: he couldn't relax anywhere... even in his rented room on Duncan's place. Last time he tried to read there, avoiding purposefully company in search of that blessed-yet-elusive solitude he missed so much since he departed from Old Owl Well, the two fiendlings had made their way through the locked clench and were sitting on his bed, making that I've-never-broke-a-dish-in-my-life face, swaying their tails like mesmerizing snakes when, suddenly, they had jumped from their seat and, before he could even construct a coherent phrase, ran away laughing and dodging him so easily that had left him stunned, completely speechless, wondering what in the Nine Hells was had just happened.

It was true that their... pranks were most of the time harmless (harmless if you didn't count his mental health and this little twitch the corner of his right eye sometimes made when their little mischief set him off badly), but... he was starting to run short of patience... and he was a patient man, for god's sake!

- Duuuuuh... - he heard one of the voices, the Lady's voice to be more precise, moan with feigned weariness, showing matter-of-factly the discrete title on the cover embossed in leather and gold leaf: "The Path of the Even Handed". – Again with the same book, Casavir? You never get tired of this disciplinary sacred stuff, do you? - she rolled her eyes melodramatically, holding the said tome between her delicate hands.

- There's a lot of books to read, you know. - added Neeshka with both hands folded behind her back, looking almost like a petulant child – And there's a lot of genres to pick: Adventures, Historical, Drama, Biography, Poetry...

- … Comedy... - the Lady added without hesitation and a big toothy smile decorating her not-so-innocent face.

- Yeah, that one probably will cheer you up a little bit, man. - continued the redhead tiefling, now with an impish grin looking at the dumbfounded paladin before them – But there's also Romance, Tragedy, Military...

- … Erotic... - said the Lady with an uncomfortable sultry-ish voice, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at the suddenly pale-faced man.

- Well, that one definitely will make your days brighter. - laughed the tiefling rogue with a sassy wink of her eye – You should try some of my... personal stack. - and that way of pronouncing the word "personal"... - They should be in good condition... although maybe they may come from... let's say, dubious sources.

And with that, Casavir found himself speechless again. Speechless and white as a paper parchment. Thank Tyr that the Flagon was nearly empty at this hour, so it saved him the shame of the unwanted public witnessing the flamboyant spectacle the two devils were displaying.

So he took a deep breath and, with all the serenity he could muster, approached the Lady, who was still holding his book.

- With your permission, my Lady, I would like my book back, please. - he said with that deep, resonating monotone voice of his, extending his palm with a mannered yet demanding gesture.

- You sure? - asked the slender tiefling moving her hips from side to side while her hands made the tome dance before the paladin's eyes – You really should try some of Neeshka's stuff. Maybe that will keep you warm these winter nights... despite your attitude, Sir Paladin.

- My Lady, please, the book. - he intoned, not raising at the bait, not faltering a single syllable. All measured and controlled body language.

- Awww... you're not funny. - she pouted, returning to him what was of his property, closing the distance between them with two long strides, making immediate contact to his chest with her own, a move the man had not predicted and unbalanced him just enough to her be able to reach his considerable height on tiptoes and... kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to the left corner of his lips – Enjoy the reading. - she added with that sultry-ish tone before slamming the book to his chest and making haste in run along with her fiendling companion in mischief, laughing musically.

As the laughing faded above the stairs that leaded to the guest rooms, Casavir remained still as a statue, holding his old tome to his chest, where the Lady slammed it after...

Not blinking, not risking even a single sound, his right hand came up to the left corner of his mouth, where that brief kiss still burned under his skin, and he swept his calloused fingertips over it.

That afternoon he was incapable of concentrating on his reading and eventually gave up in favor of some sword practicing in the tavern's barn, where his warhorse was munching hay nonchalantly meanwhile the paladin worked himself to sweat thoroughly.

He didn't know another way of liberate tension and, after all this time in near solitude just commanding a troupe of men who admired him but also regarded him not as a person, but as an icon, a heroic figure to follow and behold in the distance... after that, reconnecting with the social world was proving... unnerving.

He never understood quite well how to... ah... socialize properly.

He was a paladin, yes, and knew what to say to people in distress to soothe them and made them feel safe in order to bring some comfort to their lives or made them to collaborate, if necessary.

He was also a trained warrior, yes, and knew how to command, give neat and precise orders, instruct untrained people, give practical and tactical advise or rise the moral with words of encouragement when others needed it.

He was even a healer, yes, and knew the appropriate chants for each type of wound, working the will and mercy of Tyr through faith...

Yes, he was all of the previous things, which had made things relatively easier for him in social exchanges regards... but he knew that it was not enough. It never had been.

To act as a protector, a holy warrior of the Maimed God was an easy thing to do for him... but to actually act like a human being... well, that was simply... not meant for him.

Too much thinking, too many ways and options, too many faced feelings... that kiss... it thrilled him but, at the same time, repelled him with equal intensity. Why the first, he couldn't fathom; why the second, because he actually didn't know what to make of it.

Should he take it as another form of pranking? Or should he give it some further consideration?

Or perhaps that was the way of Harbormen to show some degree of affection to someone? True that the Lady and her tiefling companion Neeshka had given him some hard moments... but normally the Lady tended to treat him with cheerful comradeship, including him always in the group talks even when he purposefully stayed silent, trying always to bring him – even by force (not that any time before that particular method worked), trickery or simply invoking crocodile tears in those yellow eyes of hers – to the "parties" the misfit group celebrate after each little triumph... or each time the dwarf, Khelgar, choose to initiate one of his infamous drinking contests.

She even relied on him about some of the important decision regarding tactics in battlefield.

In short, she seemed to like him somehow... or, at least, tolerate with a copious amount of glee his presence despite telling him sometimes openly that he was "boring-as-hell".

With all those thoughts swimming inside his head, Casavir ended up frankly exhausted both physical and mentally from training and munching the same doubts again, again and again.

Panting hard, letting the sweat drops drove downwards all over his body, feeling that liberating pulsing through his muscles and ribcage, savoring the sensation of tiring, head to toes sore from the exertion, he decided that a good, slow-almost-ritualistic bath was in order.

Not that he liked to reek of sweat and adrenaline, though.

With barely a whispered gasp, her eyes finally surrendered to the awakening sensations she had been experiencing for about ten delicious minutes. The pointy and very naughty tip of that wet tongue traveled down her neck deliberately slow meanwhile expert hands were dancing only their fingertips over the tanned and creamy surface of her skin, sometimes here, sometimes there, brushing sensitive areas, torturing her receptive nerves, sending electric waves along her spine.

The source of that bittersweet pleasure was looking at her intently, with that feline gaze fixed on her features, probing with her hands and lips new ways to play with her, to communicate with her through her body, invoking delicate sensations, honeying that gentle torture she was damn sure she was inflicting over the map of her companion's skin.

She was always delicate, always treating her body like some precious treasure to open and become lost in its golden and silvery corners, massaging her tense muscles until they became complacent, ready at her hand's commands.

She treated her old scars, a product of the life in the streets stealing and dealing with offended targets or thievery rivalry, with a strange sweetness that sometimes almost got her to the edge of tears; never ever someone had been this soft and gentle to her when having sex. Never. That's the thing when some rude brute wants to fuck a tiefling: they think that having Infernal blood makes you a wild beast in bed, all rough sex, cussing and sweating.

She had been accustomed to that kind of relations... until she, the yellow-eyed devil, broke through not only a well-made mask of kinky depravity... but also her own prejudices about having sex with another woman.

Do not misunderstand her situation: she knew that homosexuality existed and respected it... but she knew with pristine clarity that her thing was men, even if all of those who shared her bed ended, one way or another, being ruthless bastards.

But with her... it had been entirely different.

How could she explain...? It was not the carcass what she felt attraction towards, but the way she pleased her, the way she explored her body with coddling and care, not leaving a single spot unexplored.

And the way she whispered that unmistakable mixture between sweet nothings and ardent words freshly baked in the oven of her inventive... She sometimes allowed herself to think that she was not just having sex with her, but making love to her. It was all so beautiful, so hot and yet so subtle and mysterious... rasping only barely with her pretty little fangs, never cutting skin, kissing every inch or her, making gentle biting which never left a single mark.

Sometimes her slow rhythm would change suddenly and, always pleasantly surprised, the rogue usually came to the other tiefling's arms to be engulfed by a passion never unveiled before.

Her tongue went downwards, and downwards... licking the space between her breasts and leaving a wet and hot path that left her skin planted with goosebumps behind it. Then that soft like satin lips started to deposit a trail of light feathered kisses around the roundness of her bosom.

The redhead tiefling shuddered as those kisses began to stimulate more and more areas until she no longer knew where the electric waves came from.

The long and dainty fingers of her partner started to apply more pressure in different well localized points until they reached the line of hot water where they were immersed... and traveled below.

The vapors steaming from the water contributed not only with stimulation and relax, but an atmosphere of ethereal surrealism, making them the sole two creatures in a space full of scented mist (thanks those herbal oils made by the tree-hugger) where only sensations mattered.

Sensations... and a deep care the redhead had been developing for her partner since the very moment she joined her violet-painted lips with hers, dragging her to a world of newly discovered sexuality... and she was afraid.

Afraid for what she was feeling lately, when her heart ran wild and full of a certain soothing heat each time they lay together in her partner's larger bed, intertwined limbs and hugged tails, naked and pure inside the warmness of the blankets, her thievery fingers caressing the much larger horns of her leader, the only mortal being who treated her kindly.

Afraid because she had seen the way she looked at the paladin and... perhaps she wanted no more of her and she was starting to elaborate a plan to drag the man to her bed. And the lucky bastard would enjoy it, gods knew he needed it.

And she didn't want to be tossed aside like some old cloth, she still wanted her kisses, her voice murmuring into her ear late at night, her warm body close to hers, her caressing hands...

It was true that the other woman had never told her that she loved her or something, but still...

Those deliciously wicked fingers finally found that thin line that they opened as a portal to another dimension, reverent but full of eagerness to unveil its secrets.

Throwing her head backwards, the burgundy-eyed fiendling clamped her hands around the edges of the wooden giant bucket that substituted a proper bathtub and spreaded her legs instinctively, allowing her companion to deepen in the Abyss where all fire just needed to be rekindled to start an unstoppable burning.

And, with extreme care and dexterity, that fire had its good time being rekindled, slowly, wetly, that fire started to build like a concerto: in crescendo.

The swollen lips of her lover drove her half-mad releasing wet kisses along her jaw until she could abide this tortuous wait no more and her own mouth found its way to her partner in a feverish union that reached its high peak when their tongues intertwined in a fiery sparring in close co-operation with the wicked fingers below and...

With a surprised gasp, the rogue moaned with broken voice inside her lover's mouth when she felt the crotch of the latter scrubbing thoroughly with hers, the lithe fingers never abandoning her inner fire.

One trembling hand went to the other woman's breasts, deciding that she already had given her enough and now was the redhead's time to elicit some electricity.

That afternoon, nearly evening, Neeshka learned how to reciprocate the many favors her leader had been giving to her body, letting her hands wander as they please, memorizing angles, curves, strokes and lines of a slender body, much less doted in certain parts than hers, but still beautifully constructed nonetheless.

And she realized how selfish she had been all this time during their previous intercourses, always guarded, distrusting, letting the pleasure come but rarely letting it go.

And now, with fear of losing that woman mewling softly between her legs for maybe another person who can gave her all the pleasure and care she deserved... she made her best making that night a special one, surrendering to passion, letting down all her walls, acknowledging this new feeling unleashed creeping from the posterior part of her brains to her very pulsing core.

And, with that last thought, she disintegrated in the scented mists along with her lover, who kept holding her until the shuddering of both of them dissipated.

And then, in the aftermath of their loving, their foreheads were pressed one against the other, eyes shut and half-opened lips.

When their respective cat-like eyes focused on their partner's ones, both women smiled shyly and reached for a kiss...

Until a discreet knock at the door exploded their bubble.

- It's occupied! - shouted Neeshka's high-pitched voice with the slightest hint of annoyance.

- Pardon me, I will return later when the bathroom is available. - came from the other side of the thick wooden door the measured and always polite voice of a certain paladin.

- Casavir, wait! - exclaimed the yellow-eyed tiefling, disentangling herself from her lover's embrace – We almost already done here, just wait five minutes and you will have the bathroom for you alone, 'kay?

Neeshka glared at her half indignant... half suddenly hurt and sad that she had preferred to give priority to the paladin's comfort over their intimacy.

After a few heartbeats, the man on the other side finally answered.

- I thank you, my Lady. I will wait outside.

Taking a deep breath, holding in her lungs the remaining herbal scents, the tiefling leader turned her head briefly just to witness a suddenly mute Neeshka getting out of the tub, letting the steamy water trail sinuous paths down her tanned body, bending to reach a towel.

Giving a pensive look at the water, the yellow-eyed fiendling, raven haired like a crow's flock, drained her long strands quickly and covered herself nearly indecently with a too short towel.

And in that guise she went outside, emerging from the bathroom all wet and half-naked, surrounded by steam, swaying her hips and her tail maybe a tad rather... blithely.

And when his eyes got used to all that steamy mist, Casavir got wide-eyed in the very moment he caught full sight of the Lady standing barely a meter from him with her long black hair dripping water, stuck around her shoulders like a gleaming dark mantle, her feline eyes now tinted with a golden shade looking at him intently along with an odd expression of seriousness, completely out of character in a person usually fond of laughter, jokes, songs and pranks.

He was well aware that she was wearing not a stitch under that excuse of a towel and became increasingly conscious of the lean and soft forms that lay under that cloth.

Suddenly tense, paralyzed, he not dared to move until Neeshka's silhouette emerged from the vapors. She was wearing a towel too, though in a fashion undoubtedly more decent than her companion. Under her arm, their dirty clothes were carried with extreme care, as if the rogue feared dropping them on the floor.

- Your turn, Casavir. - the Lady muttered with soft voice, giving him an unreadable look before passing by his side, grazing slightly his left hand knuckles with her index finger.

Thunderstruck, the man felt that feathery contact like a shock of electric current emerging from his knuckles and going upwards by his arm with such intensity... that he barely registered by the corner of his right eye the venomous look Neeshka gave instantly to him.

And he remained in that still position even when the two fiendlings were left, with frozen body covered in sweat and his mind racing from one thought to the next, blind to the real world surrounding him and engulfed in the mist from the bathroom he had completely forgotten to enter.

That night Neeshka went to bed with a frowned face, and the next week she spent her time in the company of her lover and their companions with a mixture of body language very uncommon in her person: crossed arms, pensive looks, sulky attitude and, the most unsettling of all, shut-mouthed.

Everybody had noticed that but nobody had the willing to talk with the redhead tiefling... nobody, until Khelgar got out his head of the providential mug of ale and went bluntly to have a chat with his favorite "goat girl".

- Spit it out, skinny bull. - he had said bringing with him two mugs full of his favorite beverage, putting one in front of Neeshka's nose – Tell ol' Khelgar whut's goin' on with dat long face all day. I'm startin' to miss yer annoying whining, ya know.

- And why should I tell you nothing, moss-breath? - she replied giving a tentative sniff into the mug in front of her, like some nosy cat – This is something related to your monk thing in the church? Because I'm not buying that crap. Save your charity for someone who will appreciate it; you see, that blue-eyed goodie-two-shoes with a hammer will do, for example.

Khelgar risen a brow.

- Whoa, goat girl, tis' s'new. Whut's wrong with ya and the lad, huh?

- He makes my skin itch.

- Aye, we all know about dat. - said Khelgar sitting in front of the broody tiefling, giving a long gulp to his drink – Ya know... tin can man s'sometimes a lil' high on his horse, I'll give ya dat, but s'not a bad pal. Even for a human who don't like to let growin' a decent beard an' tha most strong thing he drinks s'dat flowery water he calls "tea". - he added with a huge smile, showing all his missing teeth.

The corners of Neeshka's mouth rose a little bit before giving a try to her mug... only to start coughing almost immediately.

- Holy horns! - she exclaimed in between the coughs – What the Hells is this thing, Khelgar?!

- Ol' Ironfist Firewhiskey, tiefling! - he stated with a half moon-like smile, laughing with no little amount of archness – Best fine throat-burner in tha whole Sword Coast!

- Yeah, I would agree with that... blergh... - she muttered under her breath putting the blasted liquid a tad faraway from her. One sip was enough than enough.

Waiting for the woman to recover from her first experience with the Firewhisky, the dwarf gave his mug another hearty gulp.

- Now seriously, fiendling. - he started – Whu's tha mess with tin can man an' ye?

- He's boring.

- Aye, he's. But dat's not tha problem, right?

- Yes, it is.

- How so?

Neeshka sighed.

- How a girl could see something in a dude so quiet, so rigid? - she said absently.

Both Khelgar's brows had risen so up that they almost touched the suppose-to-be-hairline of his shaved cranium.

- Wait... - he started – Dunno whut dis s'goin' to, but...

- She wants him. - came bluntly the thief's declaration – Our leader.

Khelgar remained a few seconds with the cognitive processes of his mind going on stand by mode.

- Huh? - he managed to articulate.

- You heard that. - she replied curtly.

- Aye... and I still don't know whut's wrong with dat. - he said cautiously. And the good dwarf was not known precisely for being... cautious of all things, in words or actions.

- Shit, Khelgar, do I have to explain you everything?!

But she did after all. Because she didn't have real friends within their group... not friends of that kind, the kind you can confide your joys and your pains. Her closest friend had been the yellow-eyed tiefling who led them, another baatezu like her with she had related so much... and now, she could confide in nobody to release her troubles.

Shorty was, at least, the most close thing she could call a friend next to their leader... despite being a mouthy belligerent fat-bellied barrel knee-high.

And he proved to be... less thick-skulled that she had expected when he finally spoke.

- I say ya talk with tha lass. - he said with conviction – She's not half bad... for bein' a devil girl like ya. - he added with a toothy smile, gaining an instantaneous frown from his devilish interlocutor – She will understand an'... well, at least she will give ya some piece of whut's on her mind, hey?

And that, surprisingly, if incredibly obvious, was the best advice Neeshka could ask for.

And she put it on practice as soon as she found herself alone with her lover.

She spotted the slippery raven haired tiefling later on the afternoon spying from a hidden spot, AGAIN, the incautious paladin helping Duncan in the distance with some heavy barrels since the dwarf resident never allowed an entire ale consignment to last more than a week.

- You know... no matter how much you will look at him, he will not become funnier. - said the burgundy-eyed tiefling emerging from the shadows behind her – Sorry to disappoint you.

Blinking a couple of times, the yellow-eyed devil didn't turn or take her eyes from her prey.

- Yeah, I know. - she said simply.

- Of course. - Neeshka insisted, sudden bitter malice dripping from her voice – But with all those muscles and that well molded butt, who needs a man to be funny?

The other tiefling's shoulders tensed a little bit, but she didn't move.

- Not to forget those piercing blue eyes, cold as Cania, or that statuesque face. - she continued with the barest hint of contempt – If the dude didn't talk, you would confuse those features of his with pure rock, you know. But with that immovable perfection... who needs a man to be witty and talkative?

The raven haired young woman turned so slightly to her lover, bearing a shocked look in her eyes.

- But of course I didn't mention that bass voice of his. - Neeshka finally spat – So gravelly... so monotone. It probably could put a sheep's flock to slumber... but you surely find it appealing. Each time he speaks boredom through his mouth your knickers are sliding down your ankles, isn't it? - she added showing her lithe but pointy fangs in an irate sneer – But, hey, for tastes there is plenty of colors, right? Given that, who the fuck needs a man to be tender and assertive, huh?

And before she could know what was happening, a pale hand with long sharp nails came to her freckled face, begging be allowed to caress it.

- Neeshka... - the other fiendling implored, getting slowly close like if the other were a jumpy little fawn, ready to start to run any time now.

But her thief companion slapped softly her hands, getting away and starting to rise her walls again.

- Don't "Neeshka" to me, I'm not stupid. - she said now guarded, with a neutral voice that couldn't hide the plain hurt in her burgundy eyes – I know you like him, and not just to look upon.

The yellow-eyed tiefling hesitated a flighty instant and, finally, she broke visual contact with the other woman, ashamed to admit what her confused heart was trying to hide all this time.

- I am mistaken? - the redhead pressed.

The other hesitated again.

- No, you are not. - she said finally, not daring to look at her, which cause more pain to the other fiendling – I do. I do like him. Very much.

- Thought so. - said Neeshka with a defeatist intonation, sighing deeply. All her previous anger quickly dissipated, she couldn't be angry at her, she had told her the truth directly, something that her previous male lovers didn't have the deference to do – I'm not blind, that had to happen one way or another; you two are always orbiting around each other. He's always ready to assist you despite all the pranks you make to him and he's always protecting you verbal and physically from anybody who attacks you... I imagine that somewhat he likes you, and very much... while you are the only person, besides Shorty, that actually can engage in a conversation with him longer than two or three followed phrases... and I don't count Bishop because they only trade shit to each other.

- I'm sorry... - the other muttered with genuine sadness. She didn't want to hurt Neeshka's feelings and had done it anyway.

The said redhead sighed again tiredly.

- Look... you don't have to apologize, I understand... - she spoke miserably, lowing her eyes to a non-particular spot in the dirty floor, Duncan has to mop the damn thing one of these days, not just sweep – I mean... I won't deny that he's pretty hot, because he is, and I fucking envy the lucky bastard with all my heart. - she added finally with watery eyes, not daring to avert her look from the floor and it's dirtiness – But if you... like him so much, I will not interfere... I understand. - she repeated mechanically, not sure if wanting to reassure the other or to make her own mind to the new situation.

- No, you don't.

A sudden silence fell between them.

Neeshka was looking at her with a single tear rolling down her tanned cheek, confusion written all over her features.

- Wh... - she started.

- You don't understand. - the so called and persecuted Kalach-Cha, a cute witty planetouched girl raised in a swamp with a slightly annoying penchant for jokes and a box full of smiles for everyone, who had the bad luck to have some githyanki silver shit stuck in her ribcage... that same person took a giant step towards Neeshka, hold her head between her pale hands and planted a kiss right on her lips, not giving a damn if someone would see them.

If first startled for such a change of attitude, the tanned, freckled tiefling couldn't resist such a tide of faced feelings... and ignoring that tiny little voice inside her head shouting her that this would hurt further if she will not put a stop to the situation, she kissed the brunette back with all her might.

Once they separated, they maintained both foreheads pressed against the other's, just like that evening when all the good and bad feeling had flourished between them.

- I don't understand... - muttered Neeshka with big wet eyes, not knowing how to feel or what to expect.

- Of course you don't, because I'm so damn obtuse that I assume others had the power to read my stupid intentions. - the Kalach-Cha replied anxiously, not having a single clue of how to even start – I... - she hesitated, feeling utterly dumb for being so sharp-tongued most of the time, but in the very big moments like this being unable to put her words and thoughts in coherent order – I... crap... - she sighed, fighting for words that wouldn't come easy – I am not... the kind of person who... likes people easily. You know? - searching her partner's face for a moment and looking at the dumbfounded expression Neeshka bear at that very moment, the Kalach-Cha knew that she was not explaining herself the right way – I mean... if I liked people just this easy, I will be bedding with almost everybody, right? - the look in those burgundy eyes grew in confusion – No... that's not what I was meant to... scratch it. - she stumbled a little bit, thinking the next choice of words carefully – What I am trying to say is... that I not just have to find a person superb attractive, but to like them very, VERY much to bed them, 'kay?

- Uh huh... - replied Neeshka unconsciously, not knowing really in which direction this conversation was going exactly.

But the yellow-eyed fiendling, noting the lost expression in her lover's visage, tried another explanation.

- I... I find both Casavir and you very attractive, yes? - she stated, noting how her cheeks started to burn in unison to Neeshka's, whose face adopted an adorable dark pink shade – And... when I started to lie with you was because I liked you very, VERY much, not just your pretty face, 'kay? - right, she was hyperventilating now – And now... I want to kiss and, given the opportunity, bed Casavir because I like him very, VERY much, not just his pretty face... get it?

With that, Neeshka finally thought she was starting to understand.

- Oh... - she babbled, hit with the realization – You... you mean that... uh... you... ah... you loved me and... mmm... now you love him.

Clearly relieved, the brunette let the air she didn't know until that moment she was retaining out of her lungs and smiled brightly. Her favorite redhead finally had got her.

- Well... - Neeshka smiled sadly, her eyes filled with tears again – They say it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all...

Now was the turn of the yellow cat-like eyes to wide open in fear.

- Wh... what do you mean, Neesh? - asked her interlocutor, misinterpreting the words and utterly dreading the answer.

The thief rogue looked at her with renewed confusion.

- W... well, you said that you loved me and now... you love Casavir...

- Yes, and?

- Well... uh... now you love Casavir...

- Yes?

- So you... don't love me... anymore...

- WHAT?!

Taken aghast by the sudden shout, Neeshka recoiled a little bit until the other girl's hands found her shoulders.

- No, no, no, you silly! - she exclaimed, relief mixed with exasperation – I FUCKING STILL LOVE YOU, YOU DOLT!

Neeshka looked at her with a dumb expression.

- You... you do? - she finally dared to ask.

- Of course I do! Sheesh... - the Kalach-Cha puffed like a horse – Why do you think I didn't want to say a damn thing? This is a fucking dilemma.

The redhead's left brow rose incredulously.

- Because you don't know which one of us to chose? - she ventured.

- No! Shit! I don't want to choose! I want you both!

Okay, that was... weird...

- Wh... what? - Neeshka asked, jumping from one craziness to another – Both?! You mean at the same time?

- Hells, yes!

- Uh...

- But I cannot... - the Kalach-Cha said defeated, looking at the not-so-clean floor of the Flagon, abruptly thinking about telling her uncle a couple of things about to put Qara moping the surface – Despite my not-so-spectacular dumb plan to get you to know each other, you don't like him...

Neeshka bit her lower lip, pondering too many things at so much speed in her mind. Obviously she still could retain her lover... but perhaps, in due time, that will prove not enough to the girl... and ultimately making both of them miserable knowing that she loved another one...

- Hum... - she started, licking her lips nervously – W... well... he's easy on the eyes, you know...

The raven haired tiefling slowly lifted her eyes.

- And chatting has nothing to do with having sex... - Neeshka continued, half scared at what she had just said, half softening from the look the girl gave her, all shining and bright eyes – So... as long as he is not a brute and he agrees... I wouldn't mind... kiss him and stuff.

And speaking of kisses... next time she knew, she was being covered in loud smooches all over her face by a beaming and exhilarated Kalach-Cha.

Well... perhaps this new arrangement could work smoothly and cool.

Proving that the goodie-two-shoes was not a tight-laced prude with a priestly penchant for chastity and crap.

Not far away, helping Duncan Farlong with straighten the last of those blasted gigantic barrels full of ale, Casavir sneezed.

Author's note: well, hi everyone! This is my first fanfiction written in English language, so please be kind (but, hey, I accept corrections in things such as verbal tenses, it's a good way to learn ^^).

This is intended to be funny and smutty, a little bit serious in some parts and with story. It will not last more than a few chapters, so don't be weary.

Ahem, about this little madness of mine, pairing my personal unnamed Kalach-Cha (nothing to do with my original one, Desdémona Farlong, another Lower Planar baatezu just because devils are cute ^^) with the energic, mouthy and adorable Neeshka and dour, serious Casavir. Just because, too much Casavir-Elanee / Neeshka-Bishop already and stuff, we don't like Elanee very much :D In my defense I must say that a reviewer from my NWN2 Main Story suggested something along the lines of "Yuri Tiefling" soooooooo :DDDDD

Nay, hope you like this lil' story of mine, guys. Reviews are Pure Powder of Love, free and 100% respectful towards the natural enviroment ^^ Cheers!

[ADDED: a million thanks to Winding Warpath for his correction in grammatical issues ^^]