Work Text:
Qrow knows desperation and what it means to fight the seemingly impossible off to the bitter, bitter end far better than most anyone else alive these days.
He knows what it’s like to cling to hope, even when it’s at its faintest, to grit his teeth at a world determined to bring him down, or to not have hope, but fight anyways just because it’s the right thing to do.
It’s painful, thankless, requires determination, and involves eternally balancing on the edge of sanity as hope dangles possibilities in front of him like a hunk of cheese at the center of a mousetrap.
Qrow’s seen it all before, lived it all before, and survived it all before.
He understands that the lessons that kind of existence teaches don’t abandon you, even after peace begins to blossom in your life in the same way it does with an elegant flower.
Giving up is never the answer, no matter how exhausted and out of your wits you are.
It’s especially not an option when your husband stares at you with that same infuriating smirk of his that he’s always had, reveling in your failure as he says the one word you wish more than anything for him not to say.
“Nope.”
The word is simple, yet merciless -- dumbfounding, and mocking through its sheer existence.
Never before has Qrow Branwen hated a word so much as he decides in this moment he hates this four-lettered abomination.
Qrow looks up from his spot on the floor and meets Clover’s eyes. He hopes to find falsehood in them, any kind of betrayal of his words in their sea green shine, a stray crinkle in the nearby skin, the tiniest bit of dilation to suggest a truth different than what he just stated.
There’s nothing of the sort to be found.
More than anything, he wants to throw a pillow at his head just for that.
Even still, he can’t quite loosen his grip on Clover’s foot just yet.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grunts instead.
“Does it look like I’m kidding you?” Clover retorts.
To be fair, with that damned smirk on his face, he almost does.
But even as he seethes on the truth, Qrow knows better than to doubt it, not after he’s met and confirmed the words and his husband’s face for himself.
“I’m going to find it,” Qrow promises. There’s the slightest temptation to smile, but he commends his sense of petulance for dominating it and perfectly maintaining his frown.
“I’m sure you will,” Clover humors, his smirk now a jovial smile, albeit, not the one Qrow was hoping to see as a result of his endeavors. He’d make it a reality one day. “Eventually. Just not today.”
Qrow shoots his husband a grouchy look.
How does he manage to argue with his unvoiced thoughts like that, and make it seem like he didn’t do that at all?
What kind of superhuman mind reader is he involved with?
“Hey,” Clover continues, taking Qrow away from those thoughts just as quickly as he pushed him into them. “While you’re down there, feel like giving me a foot rub?”
Qrow attempts to push Clover’s foot out of his hands -- a silent, yet firm answer to his inquiry -- but Clover applies just enough pressure to the limb to weigh it down so he can’t.
“Please?” Clover begs, now making a face littered with puppy dog eyes.
Really, how over-the-top can he get?
Well, Qrow reminds himself, it is Clover. Over-the-top is to him like peanut butter is to jelly.
“Not a chance.”
Once more, Qrow tries to get Clover’s foot away from him, but Clover ensures that it stays right where it is.
“I’ll give you a hint,” Clover offers, flexing his toes, “if you make it worth my while, that is.” There’s then a relaxation of tension in Clover’s foot. This is the last time he’ll ask -- and the last time this offer will be on the table for Gods’ knows how long.
The manipulative ass.
Why did he marry him again?
Something about love and understanding?
Beats him right about now.
Qrow glares at the foot. His pride half shouts at him to reject the offer out of hand -- literally. He’ll find out what he needs to know on his own. It might take him some time, but hey -- they’ve got a lifetime together for Qrow to work with.
However, Clover’s good at hiding things when he wants to, and he’s clearly really wanted to hide this. Qrow’s checked all the usual spots. That only leaves the abundance of unusual spots to explore.
He’s been good at hiding this for so long…
Maybe a little hint would be just what he needs to finally get his answer.
Qrow’s thumb begins kneading the ball of Clover’s big toe and without even looking at Clover’s face, he can feel the smile on his husband’s face for his triumph.
Gods, this is humiliating...
The foot’s sibling slides down to just beside Qrow’s right knee seconds after he starts rubbing it.
“One at a time,” Qrow groans.
Clover smiles and lays back in their armchair, his hands behind his head.
“No problem with that,” he says, “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
“So what’s my hint?”
Qrow’s hands haven’t been stretched this much in a while. He’d relax them against his pants, but he has a feeling he’d better wait to wash them first.
Clover’s feet aren’t what he’d call stinky necessarily, but he wouldn’t eat off them anytime soon.
Speaking of, Clover’s feet, now on the ground, flex, his toes jumping up and down like waves on the seashore just to show off how good they feel.
“You certainly did a good job,” Clover praises.
“And I don’t need to tell you that a good job deserves a good reward,” Qrow points out, smirking, ready to put together whatever it is Clover tells him and find what he’s spent weeks looking for.
“Okay,” Clover teases. He leans into Qrow’s ear and begins whispering. “Here’s your tip: It’s somewhere you like to touch a lot.”
Qrow’s mouth falls open.
He cannot be serious.
That can’t be it.
It just can’t be.
However, as Qrow sees Clover pop away from him just as quickly as he came near him, it becomes quite clear that that’s all Clover’s giving him.
“No,” Qrow protests, in the bluntest matter-of-fact tone he can muster. “I reject this hint, and demand a better one.”
Clover smirks. “And why’s that?”
As if Clover doesn’t already know.
Qrow can tell right away exactly what his husband wants to hear: That he enjoys touching every part of him, so the hint is no clue.
Well, no. He’s not getting that kind of ego trip, not when he pulls a stunt like this.
“You know damn well why, Clover.” They’ve both noticed how the tone of Qrow’s voice has raised significantly since he last spoke.
Clover -- still smiling, still always smiling -- presses his lips together.
“I have n-no idea what you mean,” he says, obviously attempting and failing to create an innocent aire about him.
There are a lot of innocent things about Clover.
This isn’t one of them.
It’s so clear how much Cover just wants to give up the facade of a pretense he’s holding up and start roaring with laughter as he stands there looking like a shaken soda bottle waiting to be opened.
And if Qrow’s being honest with himself, it’s probably pretty clear that Qrow wants to hear that very same laughter. He just wanted it to be delivered to him in a very different context than it will be now.
Well, if Clover’s about to have some fun at his expense, then he may as well get a bit of retribution for it.
In one quick, fluid notion, Qrow grabs a throw pillow from the couch beside him and flings it right into Clover’s chest.
Immediately, Clover groans, his chest folding in half from the pillow as he tries to diminish the pain.
Clover’s grunt has Qrow laughing, and much to his petulance but a moment later, it seems to have had the same effect on Clover himself.
“I thought this was a tickle fight,” Clover wheezes through his laughter, still semi-keeled over from his feathery wound, “not a pillow fight.”
Qrow smirks. “All’s fair in love and tickling, especially when you give me that kind of clue after I just rubbed your feet.”
“Speaking of fair,” Clover retorts, “in all fairness, you were the one who trapped me and started tickling my feet, so convinced that you got the right spot this time. Sorry I’m not as easy to tickle as you, but really, this is all your doing.”
That cheeky bastard.
Qrow, half shouting, pushes his feet-smelling hands into Clover’s face.
“This is what I had to deal with for a half hour!”
Clover laughs, trying to push him away.
“Gross! Cut it out!”
Qrow, now laughing too, keeps at it.
“Give me a better hint!”
Qrow keeps pushing Clover backwards. It only occurs to Qrow that they might have gone a bit too far back when he feels the front of their armchair knock against his shins.
Clover, clearly trying to stabilize himself, loops his arm around Qrow’s waist. However, Qrow’s mid-fall by the point that he does, and onto the armchair they go...and as their momentum hits the armchair with the force of a bullet train, their trip takes an extra, far more bumpy stop.
Limbs find themselves tangled and incoherent sounds fly into the open air as the two of them, plus their chair, hit the floor. The landing thuds throughout their home and spreads dust from the chair’s bottom flying across the space behind them. Qrow’s hand moves to massage his chin, and Clover arches his back to relieve it of the armchair’s tension.
They look at each other. Qrow feels the chaos they caused in so little time spark all around them. He can tell Clover feels the same.
Then...they laugh. They laugh, and laugh, and laugh some more.
Qrow feels Clover’s hands on his back and the stench of Clover’s feet on Qrow’s hands transfer to Clover’s shirt as they hug, practically giggling all the while as they embrace.
Minutes pass in this state before they help each other up and get to work setting their living room back to normal. Qrow straightens out the carpet and slaughters some dust bunnies with the help of a nearby tissue box and wastebasket while Clover resets the throw pillows and the armchair.
When it’s finally done, they turn to each other again.
“I’m going to find it,” Qrow says, repeating his promise from earlier, but now grinning from ear to ear. Clover looks at him like he’s the world’s most enticing mystery novel. Once upon a time, that would’ve been enough to blush until his cheeks were more like tomatoes than human skin, but now, any discoloration like that comes from moments just like these -- laughter, annoyance, chaos, love, and everything in between.
“I know you will,” Clover says, shoulders rising and falling in the same way a balloon floats in a child’s hand. “But I’m gonna make it fun for myself until you do.”
Really, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Clover and Qrow approach each other, hands gently taking hold of arms once they’re close enough to do so.
“Well, go for it,” Qrow says, leaning his head forward until it makes contact with his husband’s shit, hanging just above his heart. “Want to know why?”
Clover rests his head on Qrow’s shoulder. Qrow can feel his smile touch Qrow’s on their cheeks.
“Enlighten me,” Clover says, a chuckle bubbling underneath him.
Qrow’s never been the greatest with words, but in this moment, he knows exactly what to say.
“Because when it comes to you, giving up’s never going to be an option.”