FYI, chapter 33 is new because I accidentally forgot to post it. Chapter 34 is what was originally posted as ch. 33.
touch (scintillas)
The glint in Qrow's eyes is terrifying. Clover loves it, although he does not visibly react, simply smiling as amicably as ever. He continues issuing orders and answering questions as if nothing is going on, as if Qrow isn't watching his every move, pretending like he is still focused solely upon their mission. It is almost over, so Clover is not concerned. He can decode whatever it is that Qrow wants later.
He looks forward to it.
So, once the reports are finished and the rookies are gone and they are alone in Clover's chambers once again (they had intended to go to Qrow's, but after seeing Ruby lurking outside his door with her usual video game in hand, they had run back to Clover's quarters, blushing and chuckling silently the entire way) Clover shuts the door behind them, allowing the tension to finally reach its breaking point between the two.
To Clover's surprise, Qrow does not launch himself at the younger the way his eyes have been belying this entire day. Instead, he merely takes a seat at the coffee table by the window, crossing one ankle over his knee and slinging one arm behind the back of his chair, watching Clover carefully.
Clover glances over at him as he hangs up Kingfisher upon its hook and slips off his boots, raising an eyebrow at the man's strange, nonchalant pose. "May I help you?" he murmurs wryly, winking at the elder.
Qrow gestures. "You owe me for last night, don't you?"
He snorts, rolling his eyes, tugging off his gloves and laying them upon his dresser. "I don't know, I'm sure you're the one who had way more fun, if I remember correctly." Clover knows he does; he has never seen someone come so completely undone simply by his words, and he shall never forget it.
Much to his chagrin, Qrow does not react the way he would've liked; rather than flushing that delicate pearly pink, the elder simply watches, all cool, calm competence and sly, knowing, expectant smiles.
Clover frowns, pauses, grins. His eyes alight.
And then, he reaches down, flicks the rabbit's foot hanging off his belt, and winds his fingers underneath the leather band.
Qrow watches.
An almost feral joy begins to well up in his chest, the man's grin growing lascivious, bold; one-handedly, he undoes the clasp, pulling off the belt and letting it drop onto the bed. He has ideas for that belt later- they can keep it out, for now.
Buttons on his vest are next; he glides his fingers underneath the hem along the edge, trailing up to the bottom clasp. He undoes the first one; Qrow doesn't respond. The second- Qrow raises a brow. The vest falls open, revealing the last layer between a defined abdomen and Qrow's hungry gaze.
Rolling his eyes, Clover steps forward, wrapping his arms loosely around Qrow's neck. "What next?" he breathes.
Qrow gestures vaguely at his ensemble. "Everything goes, right?"
For a moment, he wonders whether he should dance- whether he should move, fluid and seductive the way he imagines the elder will love, the way he himself has seen lovers dance for him in the past. The image makes him blush, for this is not what Clover is accustomed to, not at all; and yet, something holds him back, leaving him confident but straightforward in his motions, for he is not a spritely thing willowing in the wind… but Qrow wants him anyways.
He can do this his way. He knows the elder will enjoy it.
Clover lifts up the hem of his grey shirt, showing off the waistband of his slacks- allowing the vest to slip to the sides, barely hanging off his shoulders. It is with bated breath that he watches Qrow raise his hand, fingers so close to grabbing onto his slacks, so close to undoing the button, so close to tracing his skin-
Qrow merely points to the entire ensemble again. "Keep going."
Groaning, Clover grabs hold of the hem of his undershirt, lifting it up until he can grasp it with his teeth; biting down, his fingers play, at home amidst valleys and ridges and puckered skin, pert and needy with anticipation, with longing- with the view of smoldering crimson eyes watching him.
Once his fingers have danced across tan skin, they finally brush against his waist- button, zipper, clasp all fall undone with movements so meticulous and careful that he cannot breathe, cannot stir, cannot break this unbearable silence that has somehow manifested within this place as Qrow's eyes focus solely open him, waiting for his next move.
He gently nudges Qrow's leg, causing the man to sit up, uncrossing his legs; Clover takes the chance in a heartbeat, sliding himself between bony knees and thick thighs, leaning against the edge of the chair, so close to Qrow that he can smell the man's cologne without effort. Holding up his slacks, he finally allows them to drop, allows them to crumple, allows them to pool around his ankles and reveal bare flesh, his own aching need barely covered; already wanton, already begging for the heat of Qrow's breath to grow closer. With anyone else, the dampness visible, shining faintly in the light, would've embarrassed him. With Qrow, he feels perfect.
Qrow does not fulfill his silent pleas, though, simply waiting for Clover to continue; so, off goes the underwear, leaving him with a dampening hem in his mouth and an open vest, his tip already begging for more, his entire body shivering as he now stands utterly exposed in the most ridiculous way.
And yet, the elder does not react, leaving him with only one choice. Clover grins, hands on the elder's knees as he slides down to the floor, gasping slightly as he feels himself brush against the edge of the chair. The sound alights something within crimson eyes; then, he reaches over to his lapel, removing his clover brooch.
Qrow watches him curiously, not interrupting his motions, leaving Clover to unpin it before sliding it up to Qrow's own lapel. Then, on his knees, he attaches the clasp onto Qrow's vest, allows his own clothes to fall off his shoulders, and pulls his final shirt off in one smooth motion, leaving himself chilly and quivering and exposed on the floor in a puddle of clothing, his skin rosy and flush, desire begging for more.
Qrow reaches down, trailing callused fingertips up from dirty blonde and brown curls, tracing up veins and ridges with naught but a commanding, amused smile on his face; those fingers move further up, up, up, smearing liquid and want over flushed skin which points and begs and wants, until those fingers, already sticky and sweet, are upon Clover's lips.
Every bone in his body melts away as that silent command is born, and Qrow stands at last, just for a moment- reaching over just far enough to grab the belt, discarded and waiting upon Clover's bed. Clover does not fight it, nor does he fight when leather slips around his wrists.
Then, Qrow leaves him. He walks over to Clover's closet. "Stay there. Eyes shut."
Jade eyes close happily. He is content to wait. He does not know what is coming, but as he hears Qrow looking through his dress uniform, Clover smiles.