Thomas woke up to warmth, his body stirring before his mind caught up. He felt the soft pressure of Marla's hips grinding slowly against him, the heat of her skin against his own. He blinked, looking down to see her straddling him, her eyes half-lidded, moving with deliberate slowness.
"What're you up to?" he asked, his voice rough from sleep.
Marla grinned, her lips curling as she leaned forward, her breath hot against his neck. "You fell asleep still inside me. Woke up when your cock decided to get hard again," she teased, her hips giving another slow roll that made him groan.
Thomas chuckled, his hands finding her waist as he started to move in rhythm with her. "Well, good morning then." His body responded, a slow build as they moved together, the easy intimacy of years spent knowing each other's rhythms.
"We'll get more people to try the sandwich today," he muttered between breaths, his mind slipping into business even as his body moved with hers. "It's only a matter of time before people realize it's good."
Marla hummed, but her expression darkened slightly. "Sure, but you know the religious types will have something to say about it. Some of them might not like it—peanuts and dirt, it'll get them riled up."
He grinned at that, rolling his hips deeper into her, causing her to gasp. "I've got a plan for that too," he said with a wink. "Don't worry."
She couldn't respond, not when his thrusts grew faster, deeper, and before long, her moans filled the small room as he spilled into her, his hands gripping her hips tightly as they rode the last waves together. Marla trembled, letting out a soft sound as she collapsed on top of him, her breath hot against his neck.
"Go wake Lyra," Thomas said, catching his breath. "Let's all take a bath together."
Marla laughed softly, pushing herself off him. "You're insatiable, you know that?" she teased as she grabbed her clothes off the floor, slipping them on before making her way up the stairs to Lyra's room.
Thomas got up, stretching before heading to the bath. He busied himself heating the water, making sure everything was ready when the two women finally arrived. Lyra was half-asleep, her hair a tangled mess as Marla led her by the hand.
"She's not a morning person," Marla laughed, stripping both of them down before helping Lyra into the warm water. The second Lyra felt the heat of the water, her eyes snapped open, a soft gasp escaping her lips as Thomas pulled her close, pressing his mouth to hers.
"Mmm, that's one way to wake up," Lyra murmured against his lips, her body relaxing into his touch.
Marla joined in, wrapping her arms around Lyra from behind, her hands sliding down to guide Thomas's cock between Lyra's legs, teasing them both. Lyra whimpered softly, her head falling back against Marla's shoulder as Thomas began to move against her, his cock rubbing against her entrance but not entering just yet. Marla kissed Lyra's neck, her hands roaming over both of their bodies as the water sloshed around them.
Thomas leaned down, his mouth finding Lyra's chest, sucking gently on her nipples as he thrust slowly between her thighs. The heat of the water, the sensation of their skin slick and wet—it was intoxicating. It didn't take long before Lyra's breath hitched, her moans growing louder as they both worked to bring her over the edge. Her body tensed, her legs trembling as she came, her nails digging into Thomas's shoulders.
He wasted no time, pushing inside her, filling her completely as she gasped, her body still trembling from her climax. A few quick thrusts and he followed, grunting as he came again, spilling into her with a satisfied groan.
After they were spent, the three of them washed up, scrubbing each other with the lye soap Thomas had made. They laughed and teased each other, the intimacy of the moment making everything feel lighter, easier, as if the worries of the day ahead hadn't quite reached them yet.
---
The day moved on as they cleaned and prepped the tavern for the night. By the afternoon, a few patrons had come in, but not enough to make much of a difference. Three people had tried the peanut butter sandwich, but it still wasn't catching on the way Thomas had hoped.
But as the evening fell, the crowd began to grow. More people than the night before, drawn in by the sound of Lyra's voice, the soft strumming of the bards in the corner. Tonight, she was singing something different—a song Thomas had taught her from his old life.
It was slower, more haunting, and as the first few notes played, the room quieted. Lyra stepped onto the small stage, her voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation.
**"Now and then I think of when we were together
Eros surely hit the apple of mine eye,
I believed thou wert right for me,
But felt so lonely in thy company.
But that was love and 'tis an ache I still remember..."**
Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, something that pulled at the heartstrings of everyone listening. A few patrons exchanged glances, some with a faint frown, others with a knowing nod. It wasn't the usual tavern song, and it showed.
**"One becomes enamoured with a certain kind of sadness,
This resignation to the end, ever the end.
When we found we could not make amends,
Thou declared we would e'er be friends.
But I concede that I was fain to be parted..."**
A man near the fire shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking a long drink from his cup. Another patron, a woman sitting alone, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, the lyrics hitting close to home.
Lyra's voice grew stronger, more mournful as she reached the next part of the song.
**"Was there cause to cast me off?
Act as though it never happened and that we were nothing.
In sooth I do need thy love,
But thou makest me a stranger and that feels so rough.
Hadst thou need to stoop so low?
To send a wagon for thy minstrel and refuse my letters,
I need no longer write them, though.
Now thou art somebody whom I used to know..."**
The crowd was captivated, some leaning forward in their seats, others watching with rapt attention as Lyra's voice filled the tavern.
And then, Thomas stepped forward, joining her for a few lines. His deep voice blended with hers, the contrast adding a richness to the melody.
**"I lament the many times that thou impugn'd my honour,
But maintained it was ever something I had done.
No more shall I live that way,
Uncertain what thy words bewray.
Thou said that if I were to go,
I would not find thee pining for somebody whom thou used to know..."**
There was a tension in the room now, the weight of the lyrics settling in as Lyra took over again, her voice soft but filled with emotion.
**"Was there cause to cast me off?
Act as if it never happened and that we were nothing.
I do not even need thy love,
But thou makest me stranger and that feels so rough.
Hadst thou need to stoop so low
To send a wagon for thy minstrel and refuse my letters?
I need no longer write them, though.
For now thou art somebody whom I used to know..."**
The song drifted to a close, and there was a moment of silence in the room, the emotion lingering in the air, heavy like smoke. Some of the patrons seemed to be lost in thought, their eyes glassy, while others wore expressions of quiet reverence. One man near the back who had been nursing his drink the whole evening leaned forward on the table, clearly moved by the performance.
And then, slowly, the applause began. It wasn't the usual rowdy cheering the tavern saw, but something more heartfelt. Some stood, clapping with real appreciation, while a few nodded to themselves, as if the song had spoken to something deep inside them.
One man, younger than most of the crowd, had his eyes locked on Lyra. His mouth was slightly open, and he looked almost entranced. Thomas could see the admiration in the man's eyes, the way he watched Lyra as though she were the only thing in the room. Another older patron smiled softly, his fingers tapping the table along to the rhythm of the song that still echoed in his head.
Lyra stepped off the stage, her face flushed from the performance, and Thomas caught the glance she gave him—grateful, but humble. She wasn't used to this kind of attention yet, but it was clear the audience had connected with her.
---
Thomas stood behind the bar, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It wasn't a packed house, but it was progress. They had broken even tonight, and more people had tried the sandwich, even if a few of them left without paying. He could handle that. It was a small price to pay for word to spread.
But then, the Goldcloak showed up.
The same bastard who had caused trouble before. Thomas's jaw tightened as he watched the man saunter in, throwing his weight around, acting like he owned the place. He drank, ate, and when it came time to pay, he did the same thing he always did—tried to walk out without dropping a single coin.
Thomas would've let it go. But then the fucker had the nerve to grab Marla's ass as he walked by, and that was too much.
Marla laughed it off, like she always did. As long as they paid, she didn't mind the occasional touch. But this bastard didn't pay.
As the tavern emptied, Thomas stood by the door, his eyes dark with fury. Marla and Lyra could see it too. They exchanged worried glances before Marla called out, "Don't kill him!"
Lyra chimed in, "Yeah, try not to get yourself caught."
Thomas grinned, not bothering to turn around. He grabbed a rag, wiping his hands as he stepped out into the night.
"I'm just picking up some candles," he called over his shoulder.
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