touch (scintillas)
To say that he guides the other man would be a lie; hands intertwine, equally wanton and insistent, equally off-balance and heady and drugged after the euphoric high in steam-filled walls. They scrabble at towels and dry each other off, the motions sluggish and tender despite burning heat filling every inch of space between them; there is no reason to get dressed, so they merely draw the blinds and provide themselves some relief from the blinding daylight outside, creating some privacy in this room located high within Atlas Academy. They do not need to be rushed, do not need to be hurried. They have so much time.
Eventually, as he runs a thick towel over dark hair, crimson eyes look up at him, and all he can do is freeze in place in fear for those eyes are red-rimmed and glistening, nose slowly turning pink. He asks what is wrong silently, cupping a stubble-covered cheek, stroking under-eye bags which never seem to fade.
The tiny mouth opens, closes, opens again, searching for words which do not come. He waits. He shall always wait, shall never push- unless asked to, of course. Then, he will push until the other shatters, and then shall happily put those pieces back together again, repeating those actions as many times as required-
That shall not happen today, however. Finally, the elder takes in a deep breath; Qrow whispers, voice so close to cracking that it shatters Clover's heart, "I just- I don't know how- I haven't done this with anyone in so long." He flushes, hanging his head low. "I… I'm pathetic, I shouldn't-"
For a moment, Clover cannot breathe, body chilling to the core as he truly listens to Qrow stutter, talking himself in circles.
Without a word, he stands, tossing the towel over the back of the nearest chair. Then, he leads Qrow to sit down on the edge of the bed, straddles his waist, and leans in.
"In that case, thank you for choosing me," he murmurs with a smile, melding his chest flush against Qrow's, feeling pert flesh brush and shiver as he finally leans in to kiss this vulnerable, lonely creature.
He can feel the way Qrow smiles against his lips, can feel the way his body temperature rises, can feel that cool touch tracing Clover's built body as he hovers above the elder. He can feel the way Qrow's breath hitches as Clover finally sinks his hips lower, pressing his length against Qrow's, feeling their bodies hitch and buck in tandem. They are not looking for release; they simply want to feel, and as Qrow wraps his arms around Clover's waist and begins to play callused fingertips against the contours of his sculpted back, all Clover can do is let himself drown in the sensation, because for what feels like the first time in his life, he is not scared of crushing his partner; he knows Qrow will hold him up as he wraps his legs around the leaner man's hips and rocks forward until their heat is captured between defined abdomens and they are slick with lust once again. Their mouths never part, happy to explore, to enjoy this tender quiet before it begins again. Clover cannot wait to see what this next round shall bring.