Lying on the Moon

Marrow, as it turned out, was a sweeter person than Clover had given him credit for. Every weekend, the young man would drag Clover out of his apartment to different eateries, trying out different cuisines. At first, Clover was knocked completely off-guard- after all, Robyn had never been big on going out to eat, preferring the privacy of their home- but after a few trips, he found that there was something lovely about going on these innocent adventures with Marrow Amin. There were no expectations on these dinner dates; Marrow only wanted company and a listening ear, and Clover was more than able to provide that as his battered heart mended.

That didn't change the way Marrow looked at him, however. Those pale blue eyes often landed upon Clover, dropping until they were half-lidded, peering up at him through full. Clover always found his mouth going dry, palms turning clammy, as he felt the intensity of Marrow's stare; then, the younger would relax and beam, and it was like nothing had ever transpired. They both knew, however, and that knowledge was enough to cause his thoughts to linger upon the younger's lips all the way home every time.

Perhaps this desire which Marrow so willingly projected onto Clover without overstepping their boundaries was the reason for his clumsiness. When the newest list of letters arrived and Clover was given purpose once again, the man found himself struggling to put words to the page, his ability to step into the shoes of his clients failing him for the first time since he had entered this profession. It wasn't as if he had any new clients this time around, as all of the regulars popped up once again; to his surprise, his newest client, Branwen, also requested another letter to be sent to the same mysterious recipient. Even the sweet actions of the same girls as described by Branwen could not ease the worry that was beginning to plague Clover each day as he turned off his monitor. There was too much pent-up energy in his body, in his soul, for him to be able to focus.

"You've changed, Clover," Qrow commented one day as Clover plopped down onto the sofa, ready to unwind a little. "Is something the matter?"

Clover froze, looking up only to find the hologram's clear crimson eyes creased in worry. "Am… am I really? Since when?"

Qrow watched him for a moment, clearly processing something in the background. Then, he replied, "Since you began your outings with Marrow Amin. Are you alright?"

Immediately, Clover flushed. What was he supposed to say? That although he wasn't truly interested in it, the idea that Marrow- that anyone- could want him despite all of his mistakes had begun to knock his entire world off its axis? That he secretly longed for the intimacy he knew Marrow could provide, but at the same time was terrified of having another in his bed, of being vulnerable, of being seen by someone who could potentially leave him again?

How could he explain to an AI that he wanted, but that he was scared- scared that receiving anything at all would be enough to break him?

His thoughts flashed back to his earlier meeting with Marrow that evening, his entire body heating up as he remembered just how meticulous Marrow had been in helping Clover put on his coat, those long, dark fingers clinging on just a little too long for the touch to be considered friendly. God, how he wished those fingers would stay-

Cut it out, he chided himself. I am not going to lust after a friend.

His body was not listening to him, however, heat rushing through his veins far too quickly for him to cool down. After each meeting with Marrow, this wanton desire had been welling up in his body with more and more force- thus far, he had ignored it, or simply had taken care of it in the shower upon his return.

Now, however, he knew he needed a little more.

Groaning, he stood, shuffling to his bedroom. It had been months since he had truly felt desire, even longer since he had slept with Robyn; he still was not good at dealing with this resurgence in his gut. "Qrow, would you mind turning off your systems for a while? Or, at least the camera?" he asked sheepishly, setting himself down onto the bed. He picked up the bottle of water from his bedside, bringing it to his lips to take a sip. "I'd… um… like some privacy."

"Ah," Qrow hummed. "You're going to masturbate, I assume?"

He was unable to control himself, spitting out his water as a strangled yelp slipped past his lips. "Wha- Qrow, you don't just ask that!" he hissed. "Please don't-"

"I've seen enough films to approximately understand," Qrow chuckled, completely unfazed by this whole scenario. "It's a perfectly natural thing, based on my research."

Burying his head in his hands, Clover sighed. "Of course you've been taking notes," he grumbled, wiping up the mess of water with a tissue, wrinkling his nose. "Please don't just discuss masturbation randomly."

"I was watching films in the romance genre to help facilitate your relations," Qrow explained, his usual kind, gentle smile returning to his face. "It's been an enlightening experience."

"Great, good, fantastic," Clover said, looking at the projected man upon his wall exasperatedly. "Then you understand it's something that should be done in private."

"I've seen every part of your life, though- why is this different?"

I cannot believe I'm fighting my AI on whether he can watch me masturbate or not, Clover wanted to cry out. However, his need was pressing, his cheeks flushed, his desire mounting as they wasted time in this idle chatter-

It's not like he's here, his mind reasoned despite his common sense. It's not like he'll be in the way.

Clover would still get to retain the sanctity of this bed- of his skin.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, he mumbled, "I don't want to see the projection."

Qrow's eyes lit up, the spark of inquiry as clear as day on his face. "But I may leave the camera on?"

Dejectedly, Clover nodded. "No filming, no talking about it later. One time. Deal?"

The smile on Qrow's face was far too innocent for the topic being discussed, his sweet, handsome visage melting in a perfect simulation of gratitude. "Of course, Clover." And with that, the lights flickered off, the projection fading, leaving Clover alone in a dark room, his actions illuminated only by the light of the moon streaming in through the window.

For the first time in a long, long time, Clover found release that night. The next morning, he could see Qrow's desire to ask him questions about it burning upon the tip of his tongue, but the AI followed the commands set in place before their transaction; for that, Clover was grateful. There was no way in hell Clover could ever explain that his wanton need, his cries of pleasure, his escalation and climax and downfall, had begun by thinking of Marrow's kiss, Marrow's touch, Marrow's smile-

-and that it had ended with Clover's eyes on the camera next to the projector mounted on his wall, the irrevocable knowledge that someone was watching- that someone wanted to see him as he came undone- that he wasn't alone, and that he was still safe- being the final straw which had broken him, bringing him to a height he had never before experienced.

Qrow wouldn't have even had to turn off the projection, as it turned out. Despite the humiliation it brought, Qrow's handsome visage was painted eternally on the walls of Clover's home, on the backs of his eyelids; due to those crimson eyes- that breathtaking smile, that gruff voice, that eternal comfort- Clover finally was able to sleep, spent, that night.