Author comments:

Be forewarned, this is definitely M 'cos it's got a bit of cursing, "carnal desires" and sex and PLEASED LOINS coughhack insidejoke… Yeah, well, if you don't like those things, then don't read. So, here you go. Enjoy, and reviews definitely don't hurt. ;)

I think I used a few game lines, but they were probably misquoted and it's only in flashback-esque parts. -crosses fingers-

It could just be me being silly about Bishop's character, but I think he's rather conflicted. He pushes people away 'cos he hates being tied down to anything, but still wants someone who can understand that, someone who can understand him. He'd have a little trouble with a relationship, seeing as he'd either have to believe he can just walk away at any moment, or get over his problems with commitments. He also appears to dislike it when other people point out his problems.

In any case, this was the result of a week of really wanting to write something intense without all of the "I love you! Let's get married!" crap in it, and I just got through playing Neverwinter Nights 2 all over again… Take note and giggle at the fact that this document is named "Bishop pronfic".

Finally, don't get any ideas about the smile at the end. It's mostly in reaction to what he thinks Shandra, Neeshka, and the unmentioned Sand (sleeping in a big, pretty tent somewhat nearby) must look like.

Yeah, Maybe

a Neverwinter Nights 2 Bishop fanfiction by Amy Larson

Bishop & Neverwinter Nights © to Obsidian, Atari, etc.

Sybel © el moi

He'd said something about a hidden trail, running away together, in that cagey, gruff voice of his. It was a joke, she knew. She'd asked if it was an offer or just another snide comment. He got cagier. "I don't know," he'd said. "If it was, what would you say?" Of course, she had to make her voice honey-sweet, bat her eyelashes at him, give a little smile. "Well, I'd say yes." Then he brought up Casavir, and her heart sank a little.

The paladin was alright. He was handsome, to be sure, with something a novel might call "chiseled features" and eyes like endless skies or seas or something along those lines. But he was a paladin. Not about to give up his chastity or guarded affections. He wanted to "protect" her, which was his silly way of saying "I love you". She didn't need his protection, anyway.

So, she'd told him that "the paladin's faith can keep him warm… or judging by his actions, keep him cold." He'd chuckled, and maybe it wasn't just that causing a chill to crawl up her spine.

He loved a woman with a sharp tongue, right? She found herself wanting to be the woman that he wanted her to be. But she couldn't. She was not the woman that made harsh comments about her friends behind their backs. She was not the woman that held people up for quick cash or rushed into sticky situations with weapons instead of words. She wasn't the kind of woman who flirted with danger, or the men who chased it.

And yet, here she was, trying and failing to get to sleep on her thin bedroll on the cooling ground. Here she was with a pounding heart, thinking of him. The camp fire had sputtered out half an hour ago. She thought of him coming up behind her, touching her shoulder. The cold wind was humming softly in the trees overhead. She thought of his lips on her skin and took in a sharp breath. The undergrowth made quiet shuffling noises forests generally make at night. She thought of his lopsided smile, his mocking eyes. She heard the soft breathing of her companions and forced her thoughts to a stuttering halt.

"But, why?" half of her conscience protested.

"'Cos he's evil, that's why," the other half said.

"Oh, who says?"

"The whole 'let's just kill the ambassador instead of going on trial' thing?"

"She was considering doing that, anyway."

"That doesn't make a difference!"

"Yeah, it does!"

"It's not like it's actually happening, anyway!"

"She wants it to!"

"Will the lot of you shut up?" Sybel muttered to herself. The fact that she was thinking about him doing really, really inappropriate things to her was enough. Having her conscience bickering at her and giving her a headache could only worsen things, and gods strike her down if her companions heard her. "Damnit…"

She rolled over cautiously, wincing at the "shh-shh" noise her sheet made, and shivered, tiny goosebumps rising on her skin. He was lying, she guessed, about ten feet away. She wondered if he was sleeping. If he was thinking about her.

He was like a dark cloud in her mind- his face, his strong jaw line. His kohl-rimmed amber eyes and short-cropped, eternally messy chestnut hair. The tough leathers he always wore, the way he smiled at Karnwyr and scratched behind his ears when he was pleased. His low, taunting voice, raspy and yet smooth, invitingly mischievous. His hate for the Luskans, his "skinning knife", his freedom. The little thrill she got just from his very presence…

"Hold your tongue, Bishop, or I'll cut it out!"

"Jealousy is thick in your little group, eh? Don't worry, fair leader, I haven't forgotten your pretty face…"

After becoming captain of Crossroad Keep, he grew distant. He spent all his time at the inn, usually drinking or eyeing the girls that came in. He thought she was a lapdog to Nasher. She thought she could fix it by taking him with her when they went out; searching through the old Ironfist stronghold, seeking the Illefarn statues… well, she didn't care about the power or the orders or the money that came with it all. She'd told him so, but he didn't seem convinced. Of course, he never really seemed convinced about anything she told him.

Even through every attempt to make him see her way… To tell him that compassion is not a weakness, his sardonic jokes and bitter anger only made her want to jump him more. Hadn't she heard somewhere that opposites attract? I mean, we're not complete opposites, but… "Damn, damn, damn…!" she muttered.

Suddenly she heard a whisper, right next to her ear – breath that felt hot on her neck and smelled faintly of ale. "You're keeping me up with all that talking to yourself, you know." Gods, it's him! "Quiet down. Some of us like their sleep."

Shandra, who was keeping watch nearby, glanced over at them. Sybel summoned up her bravery, sat up straight, and turned to face him with a little smile. Oh, Mystra save me, he's… Allowing herself only a quick glance down, she noticed subtly that he was only wearing plain breeches, tied at the knee, and a thin white tunic. She preferred being a little more prepared for surprises (with leathers, and several hidden weapons), but supposed he hadn't to worry about it as much, being in the back with his arrows. "You don't trust anyone enough to sleep, Bishop," she whispered back.

He straightened a little and fixed her with a sour look. Thankfully, she noted, he did not notice her… surreptitious glance. "Least of all with that farm wench watching us. She's been breathing so loudly, anyone could crash in and kill us all before she'd notice."

"It's not her fault you have superhuman hearing, ranger," Sybel muttered. "Besides, Shandra has done more than enough for us, unlike someone I know, who's only still here for his own benefit. Or whatever stupid reason 'It's started, let's finish it' is." Nearby, Neeshka moved a little in her sleep.

"Don't be so unkind," Bishop replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Sand wants to help save the world as much as you do." Pause. "Besides, you still owe me for my knife."

He was still crouching close. Really, really close. Still close enough that she could feels his breaths come, slow, warm, smelling pleasantly of liquor. All she had to do was lean forward a little, and… NO! NO! half her conscience screeched. She took a long breath and looked at him with what she hoped was a seething glare. "You are infuriating."

"Thank you," he said quietly, the edges of his mouth curving up. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Changed so quickly from women with dagger tongues and anger to those who'd prefer to help people, hmm? Non-violence does it for you, now?"

"Just you, little bird." His smile widened, became more predatory and wolfish.

Sybel's attempt at steady breaths faltered and she felt her face flame up. "Vicious dogs kill birds, Bishop." She paused to swallow the lump in her throat. "I'm not one, anyway." Real smooth, you moron… She tried to glare harder at him. Obviously it wasn't working. Did she want him to go away, anyway?

"Aren't you? Sing for Lord Nasher, sweetheart… Save his carefully structured little world. There's a chain," he lifted a finger and brushed it against her throat, "around your neck, either way."

Sybel closed her hand around his finger and held it away from her, hoping he didn't notice the trembling. "There will be chains around all of our necks, lest we're dead, if Black Garius succeeds," she hissed, making a point of dropping his finger. "Go away. Like you said, some people like their sleep."

Bishop's smile faded. He stood slowly up, his gaze never leaving her. The moon glowed faintly behind his head, somehow making him even more handsome-looking, which was, Sybel thought, rather hard to do. "Believe what you'd like," he said, anger lurking beneath his tone. "I can live with all of the death you're going to bring about. I doubt you can." He turned on his heel and started back towards his own bedroll.

Sybel's heart skipped a beat. She had to be mistaken. Bishop never regretted anything, and if he ever felt pain – well, emotional pain, anyway – he didn't show it. It couldn't have been pain that she heard.

"Wait," she said before she could stop herself. He stopped walking, but did not turn around.

"I'm not a good man," she heard him mutter. "I'm not a paladin. I don't do nice things just because…"

Sybel stood up, ignoring Shandra's curious glances. She walked, stepping lightly over Neeshka, to Bishop, and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. That little touch sent electricity up her fingers to her chest, where it flared out with prickling heat. "What's wrong…?"

In one quick second, he had shrugged off her hand, spun around, and grabbed her wrist. Sybel was caught unawares, and he managed to pull her several feet before she realized what was happening. When she did, she yanked her arm back and aimed a kick for his gut, but he caught it with his free hand and let go of her wrist. She landed roughly on the ground, dazed, and he leaned over her, pinning her arms down. "Do not make this harder than it has to be, Knight-Captain," he hissed.

Sybel sneered at him and then kneed him in the stomach. Bishop grunted, losing his grip on her arms, which gave her the little bit of leeway she needed to move. I don't know what he's trying to do, she thought as she unsheathed the dagger strapped to her thigh, but he's not going to get away with it. She shoved him over with her shoulder and rolled so that his back was to the ground, and she straddled his waist. Setting her dagger against his throat, her other hand on the ground beside his head, she leaned forward and glared at him. "What in the nine Hells do you think you were doing?" she whispered angrily. Oh yeah, she was on top of him, but at the moment that was the last thing she was thinking of.

"Good job alerting Shandra, m'lady," Bishop replied, clearly quite miffed that she'd overpowered him. "I was trying to get you away from her dear, prying ears."

"You could have just asked. Did you consider that?"

"I don't ask."

"Clearly."

Bishop shifted a little under her. "Although I rather like the new situation, discounting the knife." He flashed her that stupid grin of his.

"Sick bastard," Sybel muttered. Damn him thrice over for… Oh, Gods… The all-too familiar warmth spread under her skin. She scrambled to get off of him with as much dignity as she could, slipping her dagger back into its sheath.

"Too bad," he said, sitting back up, giving her a nonchalant shrug. Why can he do it better than me? She thought angrily. That's just not fair. She frowned, looking at the ground, and again, before she realized what was happening, he had grabbed her wrist and yanked her onto her feet. This time, he took her dagger himself – his fingers brushing her thigh, she noticed only too well – and tossed it away, taking up her other wrist. "Got any more hidden weapons, ladyship?"

"As though I would tell you?" she spat. She tried to wriggle free of his grasp, but he knew better this time. His grip tightened as he turned and headed away from the clearing, into the forest. Sybel couldn't think of a single reason to trust him, but curiosity had already overridden her common sense. She fought a little more, even while stumbling behind him through the bramble, but did not call out to her companions.

After what seemed like forever tramping away from the others, Bishop stopped and turned around again. He shoved her backwards, against a tree, and pinned her to it. She squeaked quietly as the bark dug into her back… as he pressed against her. Her wrists he held over her head, and he growled quietly as he leaned in closer to her, the light stubble on his jaw tickling her cheek. His breath on her ear sent her head spinning, all coherent thought draining from her mind.

"Do you like it?" he asked. "Do you enjoy dancing around in my head with your naïve talk of saving Neverwinter and defeating Black Garius? He's come back from the dead once already. What do you think you can possibly do?"

Sybel writhed under him and grimaced. "I-in your head?" Gods, I sound like a parrot!

"Do you like torturing me like this?" he whispered. His lips brushed against her ear, and it was all Sybel could do to stop her heart from exploding.

"I… I don't try to," Sybel began, but he cut her off.

"Which are you, Sybel? The kind that consorts with a man like me… or the sweet little savior you pretend to be? You've played with my head for long enough."

"Stop, you're hurting me," she whimpered. She tried in vain again to move her arms and wriggle free from his grasp. In response he pressed his body – Gods, his warm, muscular body – against hers. Hot needles prickled her face, and the warmth under her skin flared up again, particularly in the lower regions.

"You want to know what's wrong?" Bishop said, his voice growing softer. "I don't like to worry about skins that aren't my own. But I care about you. And I really don't like that."

"Bishop," Sybel said, her voice far higher and more strained than she intended it. To prevent such further mishaps, she quieted to a throaty whisper. "Bishop…" Ignoring the screamed protests in her head… "Kiss me."

Bishop pulled his head back and sneered at her. "Lady Sybel shouldn't speak that way."

Sybel matched his sneer. "Just kiss me, you arrogant ass."

He leaned so his lips were millimeters from hers. "What new game are you playing, hmm?" he asked her, half-lidded eyes blinking slowly, searching her expression.

"Not everything is a game," Sybel answered. "And were it one, it's not a game I would play."

"And how am I to know that? Am I to take your word that a girl like you would take me over Sir Knight-In-Shining-Armor?"

"I don't need protection. Especially not his." Sybel tilted her head a little, holding his gaze. "I prefer my Knight's armor to be leather, anyway."

He paused, simply looking at her, silently. His countenance, were she not mistaken, was a little confused. He was taking too long, though, and she didn't want to wait anymore. His grip had lessened a little on her arms, so she wrenched them free and set her hands on his neck, yanking him forward so his lips met hers.

He was startled, she knew, by the way he stiffened, but he adapted quickly, pushing up harder against her and grinding her hips against the tree. Setting his hands on her waist, he moaned against her mouth, kissing her back roughly. And here all this time she'd thought he was indifferent, or merely toying with her like the rest of his whores, which she would not put beneath him. She cursed her own stupidity.

Hitching her legs up around him, using the tree as support, Sybel pressed hard, heavy kisses against his lips, which were dry and chapped but oh-so-warm and soft and enveloping… When he broke away, she whimpered for more, leaning back towards him, but he was already kissing a trail from her cheek to her neck, where he lingered and kissed and bit it, causing her to groan his name. His thumbs were massaging circles on her waist as he kissed the sensitive skin between her neck and chin.

And gods, if every touch and every second wasn't as though pleasure were a warm, inviting lake and she had dove into it and swam about, and it was growing hotter and fizzing with a million tiny, bursting bubbles of happiness and she was drowning, because now he was back to kissing her mouth, slowly and gently this time.

He finally broke the kiss for air, breathing heavily, as was she. All gone was the voice in her head saying "No! He's a faithless, arrogant, awful man!" Only "Gods, I think I love him," as he kissed her again, and then pressed his cheek to hers. "This is a game, Sybel," he murmured breathily. "And you're making a dangerous gamble."

"One that I'm perfectly prepared to make," she replied quietly. "You said run away together, right? To some far away, hidden trail in the woods?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe once this is over, I'll take you up on your offer."

"Maybe?" Bishop looked at her again, allowing a little hope to show, which made Sybel smile and him frown.

"Yeah, maybe," she said.

Just the way he looked, the way he was looking at her, every little cell that made her up thought Gods, why won't he just rip my clothes off and ravage me! Come on! But this was a strange moment- Bishop was showing a softer side, like Sybel claimed to have seen to Malin, the ranger girl he'd traveled with before. All she said was "Oh, no, you must be in love with him – would have to be to claim something like that." And maybe she was, even then. After all this time pining away for him, what was she doing waiting? What was he?

Apparently the thought was mutual. "No more words," Bishop said, giving her a sultry look and leaning in for more dizzying liplocks. "No more words…"

Sybel's hands skidded down his neck and back, then up his tunic. Feeling his bare skin now, the stiff, corded muscle, raised scars and burn marks, sent her head reeling again, and she found herself forgetting where her limbs were and what her name was and everything else. Only the movements: she, pulling his shirt off, clambering to kiss him again after the brief break when it went over his head. He, fumbling with the now seemingly annoying and useless leathers she insisted on wearing, and the freedom of the cool night air on her skin once she was freed of them. She, falling back upon the soft carpet of leaves that was the forest floor, and watching him wriggle out of his breeches with a smile.

She touched his chest, taking time to trace the scars with her fingertips, and then to enjoy his little groan of anticipation. Desire burned beneath her skin and his as she felt him against her thigh. Her arms circled his waist as she pulled him closer to her, her back arching, her breasts pressing against him, as the seam between their bodies disappeared.

Him and his pleasant weight above her and on her, the cool night breezes that tried and failed to chill her skin, and glimpses of the stars between the shadows of tree branches… She gasped, trembled, he moaned, they moved in time with each other. Her thoughts were long lost as she finally let the base, animalistic lust take over.

Later…

It was already rather late in the night when Bishop had pulled her off into the forest. Now, peering through the gaps in the branches at the sky, Sybel gauged it to be about three hours to sunrise. They were lying together on the forest floor, Bishop's arm around her waist, so they might catch their breath before returning to camp, and perhaps lessen a little the blinking sign over their heads reading "we just had a roll in the woods!" because even without their bodies both being damp with sweat, her hair was probably a mess and it would take her a week to pick all of the leaves from her clothes.

Her head was rested on his chest, her eyes shut – Bishop did not and never had seemed like the man to hold the girl after sleeping with her, and he'd said himself, he definitely wasn't the kind to be around to pick up the pieces… And despite how happy she was just laying with him, now, thoughts like that kept poking their way back into her head.

"There's nothing keeping you with us, Bishop," Sybel said, glancing up at him. His eyes were closed, but he was not asleep; his expression was troubled.

"Except that debt, you know. Ten times the worth of my knife." He shifted a little and stroked her bare arm with his thumb. "Although I suppose this could count towards that."

She was silent for a long while, considering how stupid she was about to sound and drawing up her courage to. She wrenched her eyes shut and mentally crossed her fingers. "Don't leave us," she finally murmured. "Don't leave me. Please."

Bishop opened one eye and looked at her, trying to figure how much she cared, why she cared at all. No one else had. No one ever had any reason to stick their neck out for him. And yet, when all anyone else ever did was tell him to be quiet, or get angry at him, she would defend him, or match his words with quick wit and a smile. She listened when he gave advice. She… trusted him.

Why would she go and do something stupid like that?

Sybel gently kissed the stubble on his chin, hoping it might help along the decision.

"Alright," he replied after a while. "As long as payments like these keep coming."

"The pleasure will be all mine," she said happily.

When they finally did get back to camp, Shandra demanded to know what happened. She said she only delayed sending Neeshka to find her and Bishop, knowing she could handle him on her own (which Sybel had to chuckle at). She simply told Shandra the truth, and she was dumbstruck, but eventually Sybel managed to convince her that if he made a foul move she'd throw him in Crossroad Keep's jail in a heartbeat. She was lying through her teeth.

The walk from the ruins of Arvahn back to the keep was a long one. They took up the road again that morning. The sun was out and the winds calm, and birds tittered happily in the branches. Sybel fell into step with Bishop and slipped her arm around his waist, and for once he made no comment. He only set his hand on her hip and hugged her to his side, a small smile playing at his lips, content merely to walk with her in this brief period of peace.