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Clover hadn't been able to clearly see Qrow's tattoos until the morning. He knew Qrow had them, but Clover had only caught fleeting glimpses. It wasn’t like he had the time to ask Qrow to roll up his sleeves. And then last night he had been focused on...other things.
First it had been quipping at each other. Just some verbal sparring on missions. Every mission. Then actual sparring, becoming more and more intimate with how the other moves and thinks. Then the longer-than-friendly looks. Then the late nights talking. That one, unwise kiss they shared, and promptly pretended to agree probably shouldn't have happened. The next two days they spent dancing awkwardly around each other; until they met in the hall, both on their way to tell the other it wasn't unwise and it should have happened.
They made it back to Clover's suite and the rest of the night moved rather quickly.
Clover had been more focused on the feeling and the touches and the release of what had been building between them, rather than the tattoos he had only snuck a glance at.
Now, with Qrow sleeping peacefully next to him in the bed, the first light shining through gauzy curtains, Clover could let himself focus on the details.
He rolled to lay on his side. Qrow was on his back, facing away from Clover with one hand on his chest and another tucked under the pillow. The comforter rested low on his stomach.
Qrow didn't have much muscle definition. Many huntsmen didn't, as strength was more about aura control. It wasn't a secret that Qrow drank too much for too many years, but he ate like a bird to the point he still was rather thin. The center of his torso has a line of dark hair, from his pecs trailing down to his stomach and lower beneath his underwear’s waistband. A lot of the rest was marked with scars, or, surprisingly to Clover, tattoos.
On the right, across his lower ribs, were a series of line art swords. There were seven in total, all pointing down, some with straighter blades than others. Some longer than the rest, or slightly askew in orientation, and the spacing wasn't even. The handles were all unique and detailed.
Above the swords, on his right pec, was a small tangle of thorny brambles. Three or so leaves stuck out from the bush. A mess, really. If it was supposed to make some kind of recognizable shape, Clover couldn't parse it out. Right beside it was a black bird standing on top of a semi-accurate skull, but with its jawbone broken off and stuck in the bramble bush.
Up his right collarbone and twisting around his shoulder were feathers. Little, simple black ones that looked like they were blowing in the wind. From his shoulder down his bicep was a forest - thin-trunked pine trees with black birds flying over them. They faded into the feathers on his chest.
On his heart was a wreath of flowers. It was a pop of color among the muted black designs. Deep green vines made a circle over his heart. Clover could make out bright sunflowers, blackish-purple drop bell flowers, marigolds, and a few white and red roses. All weaved through each other and the vines.
Clover smiled. Qrow wants to act like he’s not sentimental, when he literally keeps his family close to his heart. He’s not alone as he wants to be, and he knows it. A warm feeling rose from Clover’s chest to tug his lips upwards, before Clover scoffed at himself.
A few weeks and one great night and he’s got it so bad .
Qrow shifted, Clover looked up to see him propping his head up, watching Clover watch his chest. “Take your time, boy scout. Soak it in.”
A laugh escaped Clover, and he ducked his head to hide the oncoming blush. Nothing like getting caught literally ogling. “Sorry,”
Qrow just shrugged. “The ink or the scars?” He asked, making Clover blink at him. “What held your attention?”
“Oh, the ink.” Clover assured. He was definitely used to scars. Aura made it thankfully rare for a good Huntsman to sustain a serious injury, but they still happened. Qrow had a few on his chest, some even slashing through the feathers on his chest. “Not that I’m not interested in your, no doubt heroic, tales. I just figured you would claim you ‘don’t care enough’ to get any.”
He rolled his eyes at Clover’s teasing smirk. “I got most of them when I was teenager.” Qrow sighed and dropped his head back towards the pillow.
He told Clover about a rather stupid method with a pen and anything sharp that a tribesman showed him. It ended up in infection more often than not. But Qrow had been good with his aura, so whatever he wanted, he got. He had never bothered thinking what his older self would want because, really, he hadn’t expect to live that long anyway.
Clover caught himself staring at Qrow’s lips when he talked. He had pillowed his head in his arms and gazed like a dope. He might as well have picked up his heels and kicked his feet back and forth as he listened.
Clearing his throat, he straightened up some as Qrow said, “They probably need touched up, but,”
He sighed, and Clover nodded. “It’s been a busy time.”
“For a few years, yeah.” Qrow scoffed a laugh. He ran a hand down his face. Clover could see another angle of the forest on his arm.
“They still look good to me.” Clover said quietly. He thought he could spend quite a bit longer looking over Qrow’s tattoos. Maybe he even had some on his legs, Clover definitely wouldn’t mind appreciating any on his thighs.
They’ll have time in the future for that. Clover would make sure of that.
He realized with a start that Qrow had caught him staring again. “What?”
Qrow rolled his eyes. “I’m assuming you don’t have any? Military not let you?”
More like Clover didn’t have the time or the creativity to think of anything. Instead, Clover blew a breath through his lips. He put on a boastful tone, waving Qrow off with a hand. “Oh, I had plenty. All over my face, actually. Skulls and Grimm and shit, I just had to get them covered up when I made captain, though.” Clover dissolved into laughter when Qrow rolled his eyes at him again and whipped a pillow at him. “That’s why I’m so pale, I picked the wrong color to cover them with.”
“Shut up!” Qrow whined, rearing back to hit him with the pillow again.
Clover took the attack with a grin, seeing Qrow’s reluctant smile was definitely worth it.