Projo awoke not to the clang of a hammer, but to the gentle sound of birdsong and the soft light of morning filtering through the window. He was lying in a real bed, the mattress stuffed with soft straw and covered with a surprisingly comfortable quilt. The air smelled of clean linen and old, dry wood.
He ran a hand over his chest, every muscle moving easy and painless.
The angry red line on his chest was gone. There was no gash on his bicep. No ache, no soreness, no lingering trace of the battle that had nearly claimed his life several days ago.
He felt... whole.
Beside him, Mira lay stirring, one of his arms wrapped around her. The scent of her hair filled his nose, intoxicating, and he felt himself stir again with arousal.
Her eyes opened and met with his almost instantly. "Good morning," she murmured.
"Good morning," he answered back. It almost didn't feel real, everything that had transpired in the past couple days.
He looked from her eyes to her lips, a hungry feeling latching on. "Mira?" he asked quietly, voice shaking a little.
"Yes?" she breathed.
"Can I kiss you?"
She smiled wide, laughing once, then again. "Yes."
Projo leaned in and kissed her deep, her mouth opening and inviting. And suddenly, he felt her tongue as she moaned into him.
His mouth opened in response, and then their tongues were dancing. His arousal grew even stronger, and it brushed against the soft flesh of her thigh.
Mira smiled so hard she broke the kiss, but their mouths stayed together.
"Starving again already?" She asked in an excited tone. Her fingers wrapped around his length, stroking a couple times, and she pulled him on top of her, legs spreading.
"Are you sure?" Projo asked, arms braced on either side of her.
Mira reached one hand up, fingers running through his hair, the other guiding the tip of him into the waiting heat between her legs. "I'm sure."
Projo kissed her again, and pressed forward.
Mira gasped.
She clenched around him, and he gripped the bed as he began to move. He didn't know how he knew, he just did what felt like the natural next step—pulling back slowly, then pushing forward again.
It felt insane—so wonderfully warm and inviting.
Every time he pressed into her again, it was like he pushed the breath out of her. But she seemed to enjoy it, and they began to move together, faster now.
Her breathing came with soft moans, small noises of pleasure as the tension filled between them.
"Fuck," she breathed out, her eyes rolling back as her body arched.
He watched the soft swells of her bare chest move rhythmically as they enjoyed each other. Her breasts seemed more full, firm from arousal, the tips of her nipples standing stiff.
He obeyed his instinct, and dropped down, his mouth opening to taste one of them.
"Shit!" Mira yelled out, her hand coming up to brace against his chest.
He almost pulled away, but then her hand shifted, moving from his chest to wrap around his head, pulling him in tighter.
"Don't stop," she breathed quickly.
And so he didn't.
His mouth stayed latched, suckling lightly while his tongue worked against her skin. All the while, his hips moved, the full length of him pushing and pulling within her.
Her breathing grew shallow and she coiled again, wrapping tight around him as they fucked.
"I think—" Mira managed to get out. "I think I'm going to—again—"
Again? Projo thought. But I haven't even—
Her hand shot down, grabbing hungrily at his waist, fingers raking across his skin.
"Fuck!" She yelled out like it had been forced from her lungs.
She started taking long, heavy breaths, in—out—in—out—and her body began to shake.
"Fuck!" She yelled again.
He could feel her convulsing around him, her walls clenching again and again, coaxing him to finish.
"Projo—I want it!" She pleaded.
And he couldn't help but answer.
He spilled forth, exploding in her once more. He pulsed—again and again and again—feeling it more fully this time instead of being lost in the sensation. But every shot rocked out of him with ecstacy.
"Holy shit," he said loudly, continuing to cum.
Mira let out a low, guttural noise as they slowed together, their breaths shallow, skin beaded with sweat.
They laid there for a long moment, his head laying against her shoulder.
She finally spoke with a tone of wry amusement. "There's no way."
He raised up to look at her. "What is it?"
She laughed once. "I thought last night was because it was your first time or something, but…"
She looked down, and he followed her eyes to where he was still thick inside her.
"I feel full again. I'm scared for you to pull out, we'll soak my bed."
Projo laughed, trying to keep his body steady.
"How are you not dehydrated?" Mira laughed.
"I have no idea," he admitted with a chuckle.
Slowly, reluctantly, he began to pull away. The movement was a slow, slick withdrawal—and just as Mira had predicted, a heavy, warm gush of thick, pearlescent liquid streamed from between her legs. It soaked the sheets beneath her in a wide, spreading patch.
Mira let out a small, surprised "Oh," followed by another burst of laughter. "Definitely going to have to wash these sheets."
The sight should have been shocking, another piece of evidence that something was unnatural about him. But in the warm light of the morning, shared with her, it felt less like a curse.
They crawled from bed and cleaned themselves as best they could with the water from the washbasin.
Soon after, with the blood stain scrubbed from his tunic, Projo joined Mira in the main room. The smell of frying food was a welcome invitation.
She moved around the kitchen with an easy, practiced comfort, slicing ham and cracking fresh eggs into a sizzling iron skillet. The farmhouse, which had been a place of suffocating grief just the day before, now felt like a home again, filled with the sounds and smells of a simple, peaceful morning.
She served the food on two wooden plates, and they sat at the same table where the angry confrontation with Thomas had occurred. But today, the two empty chairs felt less like a screaming presence and more like a quiet, somber memory.
The food was simple, but it was the best meal Projo had ever eaten. As they ate, a comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that existed between people who had shared something profound and had no need for small talk.
Finally, as Projo was finishing his last bite of egg, Mira spoke, her tone light and practical, but her eyes held a deeper question.
"So, Smith," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "What's the plan? You can't stay here forever. As much as I might want you to."
He laughed warmly in response, thinking for a moment before answering. "I do need to be getting back. I told Bram I would be gone for the morning on personal errands, but that was… yesterday. I still owe him for the sword, and for a lot more."
He looked over his shoulder at the door. "I'm going to need to find something that can pay better than a blacksmith's apprentice." He looked back at her. "And maybe I can figure out what the hell this magic is."
Mira listened attentively, her fork resting on her plate.
"You're right," she nodded, her expression thoughtful and serious. "Working a forge won't pay off your debt, and it won't give you the answers you need."
She stood up and began clearing the plates, then moved to the washbasin, her back to him.
"Maybe go check that notice board at the tavern?" she said, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "I was looking it over the other night, seems like there's plenty of work for someone who can handle themselves. Bounties on beasts, guards for the trade caravans that pass through the crossroads, things like that."
She turned back from the basin, drying her hands on a cloth, and leaned against the counter. "And as for the magic... I don't think you're going to find the real answer in one of your folklore books."
She took a step closer, her voice dropping. "But you gotta figure it out, Projo. What triggers it, how strong it is..." The clinical words were made intensely intimate by the shared memory of the previous night and this morning.
She stopped just a few feet from him, the morning sun from the window catching in her hair. "Make sure you're careful, okay?" She gave him a playful nudge. "You got a magic healing cock, it seems, but it doesn't mean you're invincible. You damn near died from that dagger."
They laughed together for a moment, then he asked, "Will you be alright here? By yourself?"
Her expression softened, the analytical curiosity giving way to a simple warmth. "Yeah. Just come back."
It wasn't a question; it was a gentle command. "Soon. Bring what you learn. We can figure it out together if you'd like."
The offer hung in the air between them.
"I'll probably need some more practice," he shrugged casually, teasing her. "Try and figure out how it all works."
She smiled. "Maybe if you come back bleeding."
They shared one last deep, intimate kiss, then he stepped through the door into the morning sun.