A/N: This is a story I posted on my AO3 first as a 5+1 vignettes fic. I decided to put it all into a oneshot for this site.
what lies underneath (and below that, too)
-1-
He has never been so grateful to have been burning the midnight oil.
The cool touch of Kingfisher is in his hands in a heartbeat, the hook sliding into its holster without even a second glance. His terminals are shut off using the emergency shutdown, ensuring no one can steal confidential information, leaving nothing else to do but stride out of the Ace Ops' office the moment the ringing of the sirens begins.
Checking in on the systems with his Scroll, there is an equal mix of comfort and trepidation in Clover's heart as he realizes that this alarm is not due to an attack, but due to an internal fire. Had there been a malfunction? Which area was affected?
Either way, he needs to evacuate as soon as possible. With the eternal chill of Solitas, windows are never left open; more often than not, the glass is merely a way to let in light with no actual latch. Smoke and ash are easily trapped in case of emergency. Anyone left inside will suffocate if they do not leave quickly.
The moment he enters the main halls, footsteps and voices thunder through the halls as everyone in the wing exits the building as quickly and as orderly as possible; there are hundreds of bodies flooding through, the faculty directing the students away from the affected zones. Clover calls his teammates, asking each of them quickly what is going on, but everyone seems just as flustered as they are.
Finally, Clover is outside, running to find his teammates. His heart goes out to the rookies, for he sees them all huddled together in various states of undress, clearly having been in bed; their bodies have not yet adjusted to the temperatures, and thus they need all the sleep they can get. This alarm bell piercing through their skulls is likely not helping any.
Thankfully, they are all accounted for alongside his own teammates as the academy faculty takes over the situation, far more prepared to deal with calming down hundreds of anxious students and staff than the Ace Ops are. He steps back, allowing them to lead, for his tasks are complete.
It is only then that he notices the huddled shape in the shadows cast by the tall lampposts illuminating the grounds, tucked in the corner away from everyone else. Clover pauses, cocking his head, squinting into the darkness; he sees a vague shape underneath what can only be a comforter, the blanket wrapped around their head, blocking their face from his view.
Ruby turns to look at the blanketed figure. "Uncle Qrow," she moans, gooseflesh raising pitifully upon her bare arms as she hugs her sister to retain some semblance of warmth, "share the blanket!"
"No can do, kiddo," a familiar voice croaks from underneath the comforter, groggy beyond measure. "I've got some dignity to keep."
Clover blinks, eyes trailing downwards. There are two toned calves, bare, sticking out from underneath the blanket, loafers comically large upon the ground.
Sidling up to the figure, he murmurs, "Qrow, give the blanket to the girls. Why don't you just change into a crow? Wouldn't that be warmer?"
There is a pause, a moment of silence between the two, allowing the sound of the ongoing sirens to ring through the air, the professors calming down students as other faculty head back into the building, armed with ice-Dust and strong wills. Then, he hears a defeated, "Oh… well, shit," and a muffled harrumph from underneath what must be the elder's duvet until Qrow finally calls, "Ruby, get over here and close your eyes."
Ruby's face lights up as she breaks out of the huddle formed by the exhausted rookies, obedient as she closes her eyes and waits. Clover watches the exchange, absolutely baffled as to why she would need to do this- but as Qrow tosses the comforter on her head, leaving her spluttering with a sudden blanket to the face, he feels his cheeks flush in time with his instinctual laughter; Qrow glares at him, arms crossed upon his chest, pitifully shivering in naught but a pair of black cotton underwear.
"Nice legs," Clover comments almost automatically, raising a brow. His words are first just a joke, but as he actually pauses to take a look, he grows captivated. He knows he should be looking away- this is hardly appropriate, after all- but as he takes in muscled, defined pectorals, toned arms littered with scars and a small tattooed band around one bicep, and a lightly sculpted abdomen, he finds that he quite enjoys the sudden view he has been given. Heat rushes through him; he should be shivering, but when combined with his immunity to Atlas' chill and the surge of want within his gut, he almost feels too warm, standing outside in the freezing night air.
When he finally looks back up to Qrow's face, he finds himself flushing, averting his eyes in embarrassment as he sees Qrow glowering at him, face reddening to the tips of his ears for just a moment before Qrow stands there no longer; a rush of feathers and shadows flies past his cheek, leaving behind nothing but a slight breeze and an echoing caw ringing over the campus, the black corvid disappearing into the night sky. Clover smiles fondly, watching him vanish amongst the stars, for he has never thought of Qrow Branwen as anything but his partner on the battlefield.
The compliment had been accurate, though. He doubts he shall forget what he has seen this night.
-2-
They never have a lot of time before they need to meet the extraction ship; perhaps that is why Qrow does not hesitate to walk into one of the small side rooms they have commandeered for the Huntsmen during their guard shifts the moment his is complete. He has been suffering in the cold for far too long, and no amount of movement while fighting Grimm has been enough to save him- not with the way the snow is falling with a vengeance, drenching him from head to toe, Brothers he hates Solitas- so he only has one goal in mind: dry clothes.
To his surprise, he is not alone in this quest, it seems. He does not notice this at first, keeping his eyes locked downwards so that his dripping hair won't sting his eyes, bitterly muttering under his breath about the weather and the Grimm and the short straw he has pulled in getting assigned to a shift during a damned blizzard. It is not like it matters- there are enough rooms for people to have kept their belongings in an empty one, and he was the first to choose this one for himself, so he is assuming anyone else sharing would be comfortable with it.
He stops short, however, hand halfway to the box sitting in the corner he has commandeered as his own, as he sees a tan, rippling back staring back at him. The figure is bent over, face hidden as they rifle through a bag of their own. He pauses, cocking his head to the side, immediately fascinated by the way broad shoulders move in tandem with perfectly defined, incredibly built muscles, the figure taping downwards to a narrower waist, each bone and joint and tendon moving like clockwork underneath freckled, damp skin.
Qrow's eyes trail further and further down until they settle upon the figure's bottom, clad in some simple forest-green underwear, the legs extending below beholding the kind of strength and fortitude that almost intimidates Qrow. The size of those thighs-
"You need something, Qrow?"
The wry, embarrassed glance that Clover throws over his shoulder is enough to humiliate Qrow so profoundly that he is lost for words, simply gaping in horror as his Huntsman partner straightens up, that embarrassment glinting in emerald eyes growing more curious and amused by the second.
Finally, Qrow manages to clear his throat, scrabbling for some scrap of dignity. "I'm just getting my payback," he shrugs airily. "You saw me, I saw you. We're even."
Clover pauses, brain processing what has been said for a moment before a smile lights up his face and he laughs, embarrassment melting away just like that. And, to Qrow's eternal horror, Clover winks devilishly, tossing his towel over his shoulder and turning to face Qrow properly. "Well, that's fair. You're welcome!"
He glowers and turns away in a heartbeat, ignoring the heat in his face and the bitterness in his heart as he grabs his bag from the box in the corner. Goddamned blizzards and lucky charms and-
He shall get changed at home, and he shall definitely not think about what he has seen here today. Definitely not.
-3-
He can feel the moment those claws manage to rake through his leg, curling up and over his hip, and all he can do is grimace and clench his jaw tight, for he is not worried about the pain nor the blood nor the fact that his Aura is running dangerously low; he is worried about the look which he is sure to receive.
It's a lucky guess, it seems; the wound is deep, his Aura will not be enough to heal him, and the burning red eyes which gaze upon him through a mist of acrid smoke and Grimm dust as Harbinger slices through the final monster are terrified.
Clover smiles, holding out an arm to his teammate, desperately staying balanced. "A little help here, buddy?"
Instantly, Qrow's shoulder is under his arm, lifting up his injured side so Clover can hobble over to the nearest sidewalk. "Dammit, Clover," he mutters, pulling out his compressed first aid kit and opening it up whilst pressing the call button for emergency medical aid upon his Scroll. "We need to patch that up."
"It'll be fine- the paramedics will be here soon-"
"Clover." There is a desperation, a fear, in Qrow's voice that unsettles him, chilling him to the core. He does not know why Qrow's eyes shine with such trepidation.
He has a good guess, though.
However, the damage to his right leg extends up his hip- his uniform is completely ruined after being decimated by the Sabyr's claws. There is no way to properly expose the wound without completely abandoning his slacks, and the thought of doing that in the middle of the night on the street in Mantle before paramedics arrive is not exactly comfortable-
But Qrow looks halfway to tears, so Clover sighs and pulls out Kingfisher, slicing through his slacks, wincing as the elder lifts him up to pull the material away from his waist, leaving him in tattered boxers that cling to his built form by a thread.
Qrow, however, does not even notice the fact that Clover is now utterly exposed in the street, so focused upon cleaning and wrapping the wound across his leg and waist to even realize that Clover's face is beet-red and that he is looking up at the stars, at the streetlights, at the heat lamps around- at anywhere but Qrow, honestly. He just keeps his eyes averted, ignoring the fact that Qrow is so close to him, fingers uncharacteristically gentle after the amount of force Clover knows he usually wields against the Grimm. "Is this okay?" he asks constantly, checking the pressure and the weight of the bandage, eyes flitting between the wound and Clover's face to ensure that he is not suffering too much.
In all honestly, Clover cannot even feel the pain- adrenaline and shock can do wonders on a body- but he nods and smiles through a furrowed brow anyways, desperate to keep the exchange professional, to keep Qrow's eyes on Clover's injury and not to every other exposed inch of muscled, scarred, hair-covered skin-
It is only when the sirens of the paramedics are ringing through the air, growing closer to their location at last, that Qrow finally sits back, finally looks. He blushes, and Clover sees.
To his surprise, Qrow slips off his vest and lays it on Clover's lap clumsily. "You're the leader of the Ace Ops," he mutters gruffly, as if realizing it for the first time. "Probably shouldn't be… like this on the street."
And Clover grins despite himself, for Qrow's eyes are locked onto his legs, travelling between thick, perfectly sculpted thighs and tones calves and a pointed, pale ankle partially exposed within his boot, and Clover finds that he somehow does not mind.
-4-
Ruby is nothing if not apologetic, fussing over him as he clumsily takes the numerous napkins Yang hands him to wipe himself off. However, there is no saving it, for the dark red berry smoothie has managed to soak into his clothes in an instant, more juice than anything. As Qrow wipes off more of the excess juice, he cannot help but snort; if anyone took a look at his tray, slowly piling up with more and more deep red-drenched napkins, they would think he suffers from a stab wound underneath the table in the middle of the mess hall.
However, there is no amount of napkins that can save his dignity, and the liquid has begun to seep through the layers to his skin. "Kiddo, don't worry about it. I'll just go shower and hit the hay early." He ruffles Ruby hair with the hand not stained by juice and stands up, sighing as he realizes just how ghastly the entire thing looks. He wears his gentle smile to soothe her guilt all the way out the door, the image of a nonplussed, calm Huntsman, ignoring the looks and the whispers following him.
As he leaves the mess hall, he cannot help but groan, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. Dammit, this is my last set of clothes- I need to do laundry- fucking hell-
"Qrow, what happened?" Clover's voice is panicked, the man rushing forward to check over Qrow's body, the red stains alerting him of foul play.
Qrow laughs dryly and shakes his head. "It's just juice, Clover, relax," he says, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder at the mess hall's closed double doors. "Ruby didn't exactly inherit my balance." He pauses. "Well, I guess she didn't technically inherit anything from me- nothing good, anyways-"
The relief on Clover's face is palpable, and the sight of it warms Qrow's heart up a little bit; ever since Clover's injury, he has sensed that the younger has been fonder of him than before. It is rewarding, knowing that his partner isn't just in it for the work, but for Qrow himself, too. "So," Clover asks, crossing his arms and raising a brow in amusement, "I guess you need to get changed out of that, huh?"
Letting out an annoyed groan, Qrow admits his predicament, scowling when Clover begins to laugh in earnest. "Shut up, pretty boy," he glowers, huffing, ready to walk away.
"Pretty boy?" Clover repeats, staring at Qrow in surprise.
The elder can only blink back. Wait, why did I-
Thankfully, Clover brushes it off and waves him along. "I'll lend you some clothes and my shower, and I'll toss your stuff in the washer. Please do the rest of your laundry after that, you old crow," the younger chuckles.
Qrow huffs, but he is in no place to turn down the help, so he shuffles after Clover, ignoring the heat in his cheeks and the sudden light in Clover's face.
At least they make it to Clover's unit relatively unscathed- Qrow does trip twice, but that's neither here nor there, and he most certainly does not get caught by Clover each time, nor does he see mirth and something else he'd rather not name in emerald eyes- so Clover finds him comfortable loungewear and sends him into the bathroom.
Desperate to get rid of the smoothie-drenched clothes which cling uncomfortably to his skin, Qrow strips without hesitation. He is left in just his underwear when Clover sticks his head inside the door, holding an extra towel as he lifts his eyes, his words quickly dying on his tongue.
"What is it? Oh, a towel, thanks," Qrow says, too distracted by the fact that the skin across his taut stomach has begun to grow irritated thanks to whatever godforsaken fruits were in that drink. He grabs the towel from Clover, only to find that the other man isn't letting go.
Looking back up to his face, Qrow feels himself flush, blood rushing to heat up his chest, cheeks, ears, as he sees Clover gawping at him, a tiny smile on his face. His eyes rove Qrow's body fully, pausing for an uncomfortably long line on his chest, following hair trailing down further with mounting curiosity.
Okay, that's where we've gotta draw the line, Qrow thinks, flustered beyond belief.
Before Clover even realizes what is going on, Qrow grabs the towel, yanks it out of the younger's hand with enough force to startle him, and pushes him out of the bathroom lightly. Clover seems to wake up, red tinting his own face across the bridge of his nose. "Oh- um, yeah. Do you have things to toss in right now?" Clover mumbles uncharacteristically, more flustered than Qrow has ever seen him.
It's almost cute.
Wait, what-
Qrow groans. He's too tired for this shit. Quickly grabbing his neatly-folded clothes, he drops them onto the floor outside the bathroom and closes the door, ignoring the fact that his reflection shows that it is far more than just his stomach which has grown red as a result of Ruby's smoothie spill.
-5-
The moment his blade delves too far into Grimm flesh and enters the poison sack upon the gut of the Queen Centinel, he already knows he has erred. "Qrow, get back!" he screams.
To his shock and awe, Qrow does the exact opposite; his eyes land upon exactly what destruction Clover has wrought, and instead of running, he pierces Harbinger into the ground vertically and holds it steady, using the blade to protect himself and the incoming onslaught.
There is no way to escape, and Qrow has realized this. It is now about damage control.
So, Clover tenses his legs, grimaces, and tears Kingfisher out of the roaring creature before sprinting for Qrow, grabbing his hand and allowing the elder to toss him bodily back against Qrow's blade. Clover has far more exposed skin, after all. He is the bigger target.
The screams of the giant, festering Grimm echo painfully through the cavern as poisonous, acidic droplets spray into the air, splashing anything and anyone within its radius. The few lesser Grimm which remain shriek in pain as the red in their masks and eyes grows purple, tainted, festering with fast-acting poison. Clover feels his heart melt as Qrow grabs Clover's bared arms and tucks them against his chest before throwing himself on top of Clover, ensuring that the two of them stay behind Harbinger's blade; he wants to fight back, to protect Qrow, but he is too late and the acidic, poisonous droplets scatter, and pushing Qrow away would only put him further into harm's way.
Once the poison rain has settled and they have escaped the nest of the monster, he and Qrow have only one job; stay alive until extraction is completed. They find their way to the pickup location, out of breath and exhausted, adrenaline coursing through their veins.
And then, Clover feels it- pinpricks upon his lapel, creeping into his shirt. He looks up, catching a glimpse of Qrow, mouth falling agape as he sees the elder's vest is darkening, crumbling, melting off.
"Strip." The word is tense, and Clover says it as he begins to cut through his clothes. There is no time to check where else there is poison- there isn't any time at all- Brothers, he had known it was poisonous to other Grimm, but to see its effects upon their clothes- if it touches their skin-
Qrow sees his panic and immediately begins to lose his clothes as well, leaving the two of them tossing scraps of cloth to the side. Clover makes sure that he grabs his clover pin from his vest and his supplies, for it has not been touched by the poison.
The estimated time of arrival for their transport is in ten minutes- they will not freeze out here.
Qrow ends up in just a sleeveless white shirt and black boxers, whilst Clover is bare aside from his own underwear, shivering as the ice numbs his feet. They both bounce on the spot, grimacing as fumes released from their melting clothes fill the air. However, Clover finds that he does not mind at all; as he trades looks with Qrow, he feels the smile growing upon his lips mirrored upon the elder's face, and soon, the duo are clutching onto one another almost frantically, doubled over in laughter as they try to stay moving, try to stay in the air, try to stay off the ice.
They will not freeze out here. They will, however, have to face their rescuers clad in naught but their underwear.
As they both calm down, hearty laughter fading away to wry chuckles, Clover murmurs, "This was my fault, so I'm sorry about that, but… hey, at least you still look good?"
Qrow does not hide the fact that he takes his time looking Clover over from head to toe, a fact which does not go unnoticed by the younger, much to his surprise, flushed embarrassment, and secret joy. "Obviously I still look good. Who the hell do you think I am?" Qrow teases.
Clover beams, for he cannot believe this is happening- that he isn't even upset that he would be stuck in the middle of the tundra barefoot, wearing a pair of sad boxers next to a smoking pile of poisoned, melting clothes and his partner-
His partner.
His heart seizes for a moment. Qrow always has looked good without much on. For just a breath, he wonders-
Before he can dwell on that for too long, they hear the buzzing of an Atlesian transport flying closer. And, oddly enough, Qrow finally stands still, a wicked grin on his face. "What is it?" Clover asks, all innocently unawares.
Qrow shrugs, winking at him. "Blame yourself for reminding me about this last time, boy scout."
Clover does not have time to react before Qrow is suddenly morphing, glowing red in the waning light, quickly replaced by a large corvid which immediately flies up, perching unceremoniously upon Clover's shoulder. For a moment, Clover is in awe- he rarely gets to see Qrow's crow form up close, after all- but as the cruiser lands a hundred feet away, horror and disbelief well up inside of him, for Qrow has abandoned him to be found by his subordinates in his underwear whilst Qrow's dignity remains intact.
It takes everything he has to not toss the bird out of the ship once the initial awkward explanation is made to the crew as to why he's alone, in his boxers, holding a bird, his brooch, his Scroll, his pack, and Kingfisher; but as Qrow snuggles into Clover's side, laying his beak upon Clover's bare stomach while they fly, Clover feels his anger dissipating.
"I'm going to get you back for this," Clover murmurs just loud enough for the bird to hear, keeping his smile fixed upon his face.
Quietly, the bird trills, a fire of challenge in his eyes. Clover grins, canines bared. It's on.
+1
There is no victor, nor is there any defeat to be found in their rivalry that only grows as time goes on.
As Qrow opens his eyes lazily, he squints against the light streaming in through the windowpane. He is not used to it entering his bedroom on this side, so why-
Oh. This ain't my place.
He is not concerned by that fact. Snuggling further into cozy pillows, he smiles, feeling his bones ache and his body cry out in exhaustion; they act as reminders, filling in the pieces in his memory that have disappeared thanks to sleep. He appreciates the wake-up call, relishing in the vividness of everything that has passed; putting a cause to each specific bruise and ache is a fun game he begins to play with himself silently.
He lets out a long, weary sigh. He is oddly contented. He has not felt this way in a long time.
The sound of the washroom door in the corner of the room catches his attention, and he turns to lay on the other cheek, watching through bleary eyes as Clover walks in, running fingers through tousled hair, broad shoulders and prominent chest exposed to the world as he staggers back to the bed dressed only in black trunks which hug his figure almost too well. His eyes are half-closed, thick reddish-brown lashes only parting once he is underneath the covers once more, holding out his arms. "Enjoyed the view?" he teases, voice low and husky and rumbling in his chest, emerald eyes almost forest green in the dim light.
Qrow chuckles from deep within his throat, moving closer and allowing the younger to slip his arms around Qrow's torso, pressing his stubble-covered cheek against Clover's collarbone. "It was decent," Qrow murmurs, grinning as he spots bruises that Clover's Aura has yet to heal littering tan skin. He lays his hand overtop a trim waist, fingers playing with the band of those black trunks. "Could be better."
The disgruntled huff from Clover makes Qrow laugh from his belly, giggling until there are tears in his eyes, until he cannot breathe- and then, he curls up in Clover's arms properly, twines their legs together, and allows himself to drift off, listening to the sound of Clover's heartbeat until sleep takes him and he can hear no more.
-fin-