touch (scintillas)

He wonders when it was last that he was held like this.

It is the first time that he has truly noticed Qrow's seniority over him, though. That is certain; he has never truly noticed just how much experience lies within Qrow's touch, but there is an air about the elder now, as they sit basking in the sun's rays shimmering through breezy white curtains. Clover's arm rests loosely around Qrow's waist as they lie back, panting and recovering from what they have done- his head laid tenderly upon Qrow's breast, feeling the elder's arm wrap around his neck so long fingers can brush his hair. Those fingers have practice which Clover realizes he has never had, for this kind of simple intimacy- no need for skin-to-skin, not pressing or scratching or begging, merely stroking sweat-streaked strands back and out of his face- is new, foreign; he knows that he himself has tried to be this gentle with Qrow, and that the elder has never really done the same to him. Not to his face, at least- not while awake. And yet, he looks utterly at peace, utterly contented, as if nothing in these practiced motions which are slowly but surely soothing Clover's very soul is new to Qrow.

For a moment, his heart seizes. To whom else had Qrow also done this?

The thought is fleeting, and he finds himself almost chuckling once it has passed. They are not children, and Qrow is older than he. Of course the man has had people in his life with whom he would lay quietly, enjoying the silence, watching specks of dust floating through the air, illuminated by rays of sunlight. Of course Clover is not the only one who has ever loved Qrow like this.

All that matters is that they're here now, and Clover is the one in Qrow's arms.

"You okay, boy scout?" Qrow murmurs, looking down at Clover fondly.

Clover can only grin back, turning to place a chaste kiss upon a muscled chest. "Of course. I can handle whatever heat you throw at me," he teases with a wink.

There is no embarrassment, no owlish surprise on Qrow's face- only a rueful chuckle spilling from sweet lips, fondness dripping from every pore. "I got it, little Atlesian brat," he groans.

The way that Qrow no longer reacts is both absolutely heartwarming and crushing for Clover. He quite enjoys seeing the flush on Qrow's cheeks, after all.

So, without a word, Clover reaches up to cup Qrow's cheek. The man leans into the touch automatically, face fitting into Clover's palm as if drawn by magnetism- a perfect fit. Lips meet, slow and sensual and adoring as he winds his other arm around the back of Qrow's head.

Then, he pulls the other man tight against him, grins against his lips, and rolls Qrow on top of him.

Now, Qrow blushes and stumbles, confused as he pulls away, finding himself straddling Clover. "Wha-what are-"

"You thought were we done for the day?" Clover says, pointing to the analog clock affixed atop the wall. "It's still so early. We've got plenty of time left today."

The flush on Qrow's cheeks is delightful- scarlet radiating across pale skin, almost as if the colour in his eyes is leeching downwards, watercolours spilling and spreading across the pure canvas of his skin.

Qrow is beautiful.

The elder glances down at Clover, further, then back up to Clover's eyes, smile growing sheepish, shy. "I- I haven't for-"

"Neither have I, and I think we both can agree that it turned out… fairly well," Clover teases.

The deadpan look on Qrow's face is worth the light joke, but Qrow sighs, placing his hands upon Clover's abdomen to hold himself up. "You… really want…?"

Clover is not lying as he whispers, "I just want you."

The elder leans down, pressing himself flush onto Clover's sturdy frame, the tips of their noses brushing. "…okay."

"And you're okay with me?"

"Brothers, Clover," Qrow chuckles, placing a kiss at the corner of Clover's mouth so tenderly Clover's heart stops beating for a moment, "as long as you'll have me."

They stay like that, for just a little while longer. Their bodies fit perfectly, after all.