touch (scintillas)
There is something utterly surreal about being stretched, pulled apart, eased into; the movements are slow, gentle hands supporting his bent knees while he throws his hands back over the pillow, focused on nothing but the strange sensation of suddenly being so full. All he can do is focus on breathing, on relaxing every muscle in his body, turning himself into putty for the elder to sculpt with his hands, his heat- grip on his calves, stroking down hair-spotted skin to grab onto his ankle, so tight that he knows if it were not for his Aura, the marks would last well past the next morning.
He almost wishes he were out of Aura, he realizes. He would like to have these marks stay on him, for just a little bit longer. He wants to be marked; he's always liked belonging to something, after all.
But then, a quiet sigh slips through parted lips above him as he feels hips finally, finally, pressing against his own skin, those lips turning to place open-mouthed kisses against his calves as they both shift and shudder and wait for this feeling to become more familiar, for their bodies to grow accustomed, for Clover to mold Qrow into his shape and vice versa so that they fit against and into each other perfectly forever. For a moment, Clover longs to tell him to move, to begin, to lose himself in his own pleasure so that Clover can watch, the front-row audience member to Qrow's undoing; he does not say that, though. Qrow requires patience and care, and so Clover waits, merely bringing his hands up to stroke tense muscles in broad shoulders, rubbing circles on a protruding collarbone, wiping sweat off a flushed cheek.
It is incredible, the way that Qrow melts and nuzzles into his hands even as he is taking Clover. Clover swallows thickly. Apparently, this quirk of Qrow's will never change, and he is more than grateful for that.
And then, Qrow begins to move, and Clover can no longer breathe.
It is slow, creeping, pulling flesh as Clover's body refuses to let Qrow go- wanting, begging for more without a word. There is a glaze which begins to take over Qrow's eyes, red growing hidden under drooping lashes as lust takes over and the rhythm begins. The first few pulls are careful, slow, measured- always hesitant, always Qrow- but as he shifts and Clover squeaks and the world turns to static for one blinding moment, Qrow buckles down, propping one ankle upon his shoulder whilst his body begins to move in tandem with Clover's, a tug-of-war that neither man wants to win, for they are both torn between movement and friction and heat, and the desire to knit together so closely they are interwoven forever.
The former desire wins out, and Clover finds himself reaching up, arms open. There is no more trepidation; Qrow falls into those arms instantly, guiding Clover's body to curl until his own juices drip and spill upwards to his chest. He does not mind, for Qrow is there, his lips parted, that pink tongue waiting; he cleans Clover's chest, then moves up to his mouth, and Clover melts, holding the other man close as hips buck and thrust into him, the movement striking him perfectly every single time. Qrow's hands land upon his chest, the additional sensation stealing away whatever breath has not already been snatched by Qrow's mouth, his lungs aching for air but unable to ask for it, so desperate to be connected to Qrow for as long as possible.
This continues, stopping and starting to breath, kisses landing upon his throat and eyelids and forehead and nose while he catches his breath every time he grows too dizzy, too overwhelmed, for Qrow is a terrifyingly capable Huntsman and his movements are far too precise; Clover sees stars and feels himself stretching, stretching, stretching, until the very thought of being empty fills him with fear.
Finally, Qrow shudders, whispering, "I'm close-"
Without a word, Clover kisses him, locking his ankles around strong, narrow hips, holding Qrow as deeply as he can while he clenches and shifts and bucks against Qrow's hand pushing Clover against his own chest lovingly. Qrow resists for just a moment before he realizes how firm Clover is in his hold, so he simply smiles, pressing himself flush as he comes undone within Clover's belly.
The view is breathtaking, eyes rolling and lips curling into a mix of a snarl and a wordless gasp; it only grows with how Qrow swells slightly, stiffens, his movements growing more and more ragged and desperate, throwing himself into Clover so sweetly that Clover cannot breathe, until he crumbles and gasps and falls apart. Clover gasps and cries against Qrow's mouth as he feels hot, wet heat hitting exactly where it needs to, robbing him of all thought until he is gone.
When breath finally enters his lungs again, mind snapping back into focus, eyes finally able to pick out shapes and colours and detail beyond just red, all he can feel is Qrow's hand and Qrow's lips and wetness across his stomach, chest, chin. He licks his lips. It takes a moment to understand the flavour, and he can only flush and laugh in stuttering chuckles as Qrow wipes his cheeks with his thumbs, his lips, his tongue.
Qrow moves to exit.
"Stay."
Qrow pauses.
"Just a little while."
"But-"
With trembling arms, he wraps his quivering touch around Qrow's shoulders, holding the other man close. "You belong here," he croaks into the man's ear.
The other man sighs, relenting, his arms winding around Clover's shoulders, holding the back of the man's head close. Clover allows himself to be cradled, panting and sighing and shivering in the elder's arms. Gentle pecks litter the side of his neck, his shoulder, behind his ear, as Qrow grows soft, pliant, eventually pulling away in favour of removing the pillow from under Clover's hips, allowing him to lie down properly.
Clover shivers, feeling Qrow's heat drip out of him. He is far too empty now, his body begging to be filled yet again. He doesn't mind, though- simply smiling, he leans his head back into the pillow, tension easing, for his Aura is already beginning its work to heal his aching bones.
At least his body will remember Qrow's shape. His Aura can never erase that- he will remember it in his flesh forever.