touch (scintillas)

If he had been told weeks ago that he would ever submit himself to anyone, Clover would have called it a farce. He hadn't quite expected this to be how it was going to go with Qrow- it's been so long since he's allowed himself to submit to anyone this way- and yet, he finds that he is alright with that.

His hands find purchase in Qrow's hair, his lips and nose buried between long, feathery strands that shimmer in the faint light streaming in through the curtains and blinds. It gives him something to hold onto, something with which he can ground himself, as below the neck, Qrow completely brings him undone. Clover has never felt so small, so vulnerable, as when Qrow's lips latch onto his chest, teeth tugging and insistent as fingers move to massage, knead, squeeze flesh; it is almost too much when long digits trace patterns, words of love and affirmation and desire, into his carved back, sliding downwards until they cup him truly, lifting him up and readjusting him so he is splayed, exposed to creeping touches that move further and further down. His breath catches, stops and starts and stops again as he hears a bottle open, feels cold liquid pressing down, down, down, moving with a hesitance and restraint that is almost terrifying in its care. Then, he feels it- cold gel, those familiar fingers exploring uncharted territory for the elder- and everything seems to move in slow motion as puckered, swollen lips pull away from tender flesh, stubble brushing his chest as a sharp chin leans against him, the words whispered like a breath drowned out by a gale.

A tiny part of Clover sighs, for he has hoped for so long to get to do this to the elder; and yet, as he sees the hope and want, so keen and vibrant in Qrow's eyes, he melts, rocking hips against digits which await him so patiently. There is no reason for him to not fulfill those desires later, after all. He smiles, watching the elder's lips rise automatically, two faces mirroring one another in their lust and affection as he nods, placing a kiss between brows that are finally not furrowed for the first time in what feels like years; he whispers his response and relaxes, and Qrow draws him in tighter.

There is nothing more gentle in the world, Clover realizes slowly, than Qrow Branwen; the elder watches him dolefully, eyes too big and sweet and pure to be real as Clover feels himself stretch, a probing, careful touch moving so slowly that it almost feels static- that is, at least, until he feels it curl, and the awareness is so dizzying in itself that his eyes flutter shut, his cheek pressing back into Qrow's soft hair as he feels lips returning to his chest. He scarcely breathe, scarcely think, allowing himself to submit wholly to the elder's ministrations as one finger becomes two, and he sinks further, taking Qrow in with breath bitten back behind his teeth. It is only when fingers pause, lips detaching once more, that he lets out the pressure building up in his lungs. "Breathe," Qrow whispers. "I've got you."

Those words are the gates to Clover's true submission.

Letting out a long, shuddering gasp, he grabs Qrow's cheeks, holding the man's face up to look him in the eyes; then, he sinks lower, brushing his nose against the elder whilst he eats Qrow up, those fingers he has grown to adore disappearing deep within him. Red eyes crease with such warmth that Clover cannot help but giggle at the situation, giggle at his own muscular body completely wrapped around the leaner man; but Qrow is quick to stop it, using his free arm to wrap around Clover's waist and pull him in so close that Clover can only whimper as he feels himself brushing up against Qrow's chest. His waist fits perfectly in Qrow's strong arm, and he can only shiver and sigh as every breath, every heartbeat, bounces his heat between his stomach and Qrow.

The elder smiles, all sweet, adoring gentleness. "Whatever you want," he hums, kissing the underside of Clover's clean-shaven jaw. "Move however you want."

Clover can only grin back, fighting back his headiness for long enough to breathe, "I should say the same to you."

And they both smile, their laughter growing and growing until they shake from their bellies to their shoulders, heads pressed against one another as they allow the moment to sink in- so pure, so untarnished. Then, Qrow begins to move his fingers back out, a third joining the fray as he murmurs against Clover's skin, "You feel…"

Clover shudders and gasps as he is filled even deeper than before, his own heat trembling- he can feel himself making a mess against the elder's stomach, although it is clear Qrow does not care. "Heavenly? Amazing?" he manages to joke, despite it all.

To that, Qrow simply leans his cheek against Clover's bicep, looking up at him ruefully. "…safe," the elder admits at last. "Warm." He does not give voice to the last word, but his lips move and Clover is awestruck.

Perfect.

And then, Qrow begins to move in earnest.

Clover's world begins to spin as he feels himself be filled up faster and faster, long, callused fingertips sliding, stretching, widening, splaying out within him, moving deeper than anyone has gone before; they brush and prod until he is trembling, the only sounds coming out of his mouth gasping prayers to the heavens for these motions to never stop, for the elder's fingers have managed to find exactly where to push for his entire body to crumble. He shudders and bucks, feeling himself thrust against Qrow's stomach, chest- the elder does not care, even being so bold to pull away for a moment from his aching, sensitive chest in favour of swallowing him whole for just a moment, eliciting the most keening cry Clover has ever released in his life. He cannot help it, though- cannot hold back his voice, his movements, his desire, as he is released, the elder's thin lips shining with Clover, then cleaned off with a pink tongue that he longs to feel against him once again. He whimpers as fingers grow merciless, pulling him apart, pulling him to naught but bones and flesh and nerves all begging for more, for Qrow.

He looks down, bleary eyes barely able to process light as the touch grows faster, curling and flexing within him so incessantly he cannot breathe; but as he looks down, it is not lust which takes his breath away, for Qrow has the most brilliant, tender smile he has ever seen in his life shining upon his face, illuminating the entire room to the ends of Remnant and back. And then, Clover shudders, for it is in this moment, as his own headiness reaches its peak and his eyes are blinded with arcs of lightning, heat coursing through his veins, that he is suddenly struck by the realization that no one has ever done this to him before. He has been entered before, yes; he has been fucked thoroughly in the past, and he does not regret those experiences. But no one has ever sat him on their lap and pulled him to pieces so methodically like this, with so much love and affection glimmering in crimson eyes-

His breath catches in his throat, and he swallows it down. The knot in his throat climbs back up, refusing to stay down, refusing to stay hidden- without warning, the cry that slips past his lips is not one of desire, but of garbled want and confusion and gratitude, coming out in a pitch that would have made him hide in shame were he not drunk off of Qrow's touch.

Fingers slip out of him when he is finally able to breathe once more, wiped on a towel and then brought to cradle the back of his head. There are no words as Qrow holds his collapsing body against him, tucking Clover under his chin as Clover continues to buck and shiver, his own skin growing into more and more of a sticky mess with just the mere, phantom sensation of Qrow's tongue still lingering within him, for he is too empty, no longer remembering what is was like to be without.

Strong arms scoop him up, and Clover finds himself lifted like a mere babe for the first time since he was a child; they lay him, still trembling in his own daze, upon the bed, a towel wiping away the mess whilst fingers brush his damp, sweat-streaked hair out of his eyes.

"You ready?" Qrow asks gently.

Clover can only swallow and smile. "Whenever- and however- you want."

Crimson darkens. Clover is prepared.