#quandy

“I don’t remember my first love,” Andromache said.

That’s how it starts. She said over a meal cooked on an open flame how she didn’t remember her family, or anyone who stayed around longer than a blip on the radar in her long life. She said she was alone. She said she was so starved of contact it ached, and she was so tired of having nothing to cling to before Quynh came along. She said she wanted something to make her feel cared for and wanted for the first time since she was a child, with no clue what that would entail or who could help her. Andromache tells of a pain that Quynh understands, even if for her, it does not cut quite so deep. It’s something, she can say at the very least, to compare with and understand. It gives her reference. 

And so, in a cold winter afternoon, wrapped in their leathers and furs, as Andromache rests her cheek against the crook of Quynh’s shoulder and breathes in the smoke of a fire, she offers something. It’s not as though she would get nothing out of it, but it’s something Andy will enjoy. If they’re lucky, maybe it will allow her to settle for a time, long enough for her heart not to race and the obsessive cleaning of her weapons to settle into something softer. This is theirs, from even before Quynh offers it.

“Let me help you,” she whispers. “You can have this, Andromache.”

She has to take off her tunic, although there’s a blanket she easily pulls over her shoulders to protect against the chill, her bare chest exposed to the wind. Andromache’s eyes are there right away, drawn to her body. They have been naked for each other before, countless times, as a play at intimacy and finding solace in a world that moves too fast for them, and this will not be the first time Andromache has used her mouth on this place.

“Come here.”

Andromache curls in close, allowing Quynh to wrap the blanket around her as well, and closes her lips around one pebbled nipple. It’s easy to worry between her teeth already, with the way the chill has made them peak, and Quynh sighs at the warmth of Andromache’s mouth in contrast to the freezing weather. 

“There you go, sweetheart.”

She pulls Andromache’s hair from its bun and combs through the strands with her fingers as the woman begins a steady rhythm. It’s the suckling rhythm she’s seen Andromache’s soft lips pull at the flesh of a ripe orange, juice running down her chin. There is nothing of that sort to be gained from this, despite Quynh dreaming in the back of her mind of a day that could happen. She doesn’t know if their bodies can, but the thought of milk running from the corner of Andy’s red mouth after this makes her stomach thrill in ways she can’t explain. 

The fire flickers in front of her eyes, sending dark clouds billowing up to be swept away in the moving air, very much like her Andromache in a fight. The woman is vicious and quick, uncontrollable in her righteous fury, most beautiful with scarlet splattered across the bridge of her nose.  But this is a close second, maybe a contender for first, as Andromache looks up at her with ocean eyes and dark lashes, darker than usual with tears. Quynh thumbs them away with ease. 

“You look stunning, Andromache, absolutely gorgeous. And you feel so good. Like you were made for this.”

In answer, Andromache bites a little. The sting of pain makes Quynh shiver and tighten her grip on her hair for a moment before remembering herself. This isn’t about her pleasure or wants- but she knows afterward, Andromache will turn the attentions of her lovely tongue elsewhere- rather settling down and providing a new kind of comfort to the woman who completes her soul. This is so much more than just Andromache’s mouth on her tit, it’s a moment of adoration from them both to love and care for each other. 

After a couple hours, when the night begins to creep forward, Andromache stretches her sore muscles and switches to the other side. Her attentions have left a deep purple bruise, one that heals in seconds with the touch now gone, although the saliva left behind only adds to the cold feeling in the sudden absence of warmth. Quynh rubs her thighs together for a little relief. In answer, Andromache’s hand that isn’t clinging to her breast slips beneath the waistband of her fur lined leggings. It is just as frigid as the air, but quickly warms as she buries her fingers between the slick folds.

She sighs and tilts her head back, reveling in the slow, deliberate touch of Andromache’s hand as she has so many times before. It’s different now than the times before. They’re truly, completely taking care of one another, the way they were always intended to. Andromache exhales against her skin and loses some of her focus as she undoubtedly gets needy too.

“Let me help you,” Quynh offers. Andromache’s own pants are much looser, and allow for Quynh to sink two fingers into her and lazily fuck her on them. The rest of the world is nothing compared to the places they touch, here and now. Each sensation is a gift. “I love you, so much. You only have to ask whenever you need something from me.”

Andromache nods slightly. Their hands are fully occupied with each other in the most primal ways they know. Andromache is very familiar with how Quynh enjoys being touched, but somehow surprises her every time by switching up the pattern of her fingertips against her clit right when Quynh is on the edge, to draw it out a little longer, make it just a little different. And in turn, Quynh has learned everything she knows about pleasing a woman from Andromache’s body, and can bring her over the edge in a matter of minutes. She knows exactly how to find the most sensitive spots inside of her.

The two of them relax into this looking after one another, touching each other, until Andy’s thighs begin to shake and she moans against Quynh’s breast, and in moments, she’s coming on her fingers. She cries a little, as she does every time they do this to one another, and then finishes Quynh off in turn before pulling away from her chest. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs.