touch (scintillas)

The moment their shift is done for the day, Clover allows his mask of calm professionalism to slip away, for he has been waiting all day for this- all day for a reward for his efforts, for maintaining distance, for providing nothing but companionship and lighthearted optimism amidst the electricity which crackles undeniably through the air. They cannot blame the Dust lamps for it.

Clover reported the day before, so it is Qrow's turn, turning on the monitor and connecting the call to the logistics manager. Strangely enough, after their initial report, they are connected to James to check in additionally; the moment the call connects, James appears only to let out a weary sigh. "There was a mishap," he explains, all resigned exasperation. "We're sending some more soldiers and Knights out there for the night, so could you check in with them as well?"

"Why not just fly them over?"

"We also need to transport Dust for repairs, along with some specialized equipment. Teryxes have been spotted, , so the skies are off-limit till dawn."

Qrow and Clover both trade glances, their hearts falling apart in synchrony. James catches the look, misunderstanding it clearly as he adds, "I know that it isn't ideal- the truck won't be there for a few hours, at least- but we'll cut short your shift by a day. You can return with them tomorrow morning, how's that?"

For a moment, Clover wants to protest- their solitude is what he has been craving for so long- but as Qrow murmurs, "Brothers, yes, I want a hot shower," his mind quickly backpedals, allowing him to smile and say, "Sure," instead. James lets out a tiny smile of relief and nods, explaining what the situation is and how to check in with the coming Huntsmen.

Once everything is in order and the documents are prepared for those who shall be arriving in a few hours, Clover slumps over, resting his forehead against the terminal. "Well. That's certainly not ideal." Peeking over at Qrow, he flashes the elder a wry smile. "I guess your Semblance wins this round."

Those words send a flash of stricken hurt up Qrow's face which quickly morphs into guilt, but Clover is ready; he grabs the elder's hand, squeezing it gently before bringing it up to Clover's face, sliding it against the tabletop so he can rest his cheek within a callused, lean palm.

Qrow instantly softens. "We can…" He blushes, averting his gaze and clearing his throat, "continue after they're done. It's fine." Then, panicked, he adds in a hurry, "Of course, if you want to only, I'm-"

Clover turns his cheek to kiss the inside of Qrow's palm before laying back down, resting within the large hand. "Sounds like a plan," he hums, winking.

Qrow swivels in his seat so that he is facing Clover properly, scooting to the edge of his chair to be nearer. Clover closes his eyes and smiles, feeling his heart melt as Qrow brings his other hand to Clover's hair, fingers running through the short-cropped sides so carefully it feels like he is being treasured beyond all measure. To think, Qrow would be taking the initiative to explore Clover whilst he is still awake, without cover of the night-

He is grateful for this guard shift. Perhaps he is the one who needed this touch most of all.

The hand not being used as a pillow explores Clover's neck, his collarbones, his shoulders, tracing muscles in his built arms, the point of his elbow, the crease of fabric between his shoulder blades. It is tender, curious- new and dewy-eyed, fresh as if he has not held Clover all night and day otherwise. It is sweet. Clover could stay here until the truck arrives- he almost hopes they can.

Then, he feels Qrow's thumb stroke his lower lip. It feels like a trigger for him, a switch that is flipped; his lips part before he is even aware of it, open, waiting. That thumb hesitates, then begins to probe, slowly slipping in.

Lazily, Clover opens up his eyes, looking up half-lidded at Qrow, finding red staring back at him in wonderment and surprise and awe. Then, he moves his tongue, his lips wrapping around the base, and he sucks.

The choked noise which escapes Qrow's throat is incredible, the man's breath catching as if he has been suffocated for years only to finally breath again. Clover pulls back with a pop, smiling lasciviously despite his growing urge to simply gather the other in his arms. "You're not allowed to sound like that, you know. Not today."

The blush only deepens upon pale skin, almond-shaped eyes growing impossibly, heart-shatteringly wide. "Wha-why?"

"Because." He opens his mouth again. "It's my turn to sound like that, isn't it?"

And Qrow crumbles.