Qrowin Week 2021: 6/24-Mr. & Mrs.
Warning: the following contains adult themes, especially under the cut. You have been warned
“Why did you sign the ledger as ‘Mr. and Mrs. Blanc?”
Winter didn’t spare so much as a glace over her shoulder at Qrow as he shut the door to their room. Instead, she went about setting down her backpack (an enormous thing that reeked of Schnee money as much as her little sister’s had) and laying out what looked like bedclothes from some stodgy period romance film where everyone wore frills.
“Suppose it would have saved us money to pay for more than one room,” she said, almost absentmindedly.
“Suppose.”
Honestly, she’d been dodgy all day.
No scratch that; since their mission had started. Ever since Ozpin (or maybe he should start saying Oscar? Ozcar? Ospin?) had caught wind of Salem’s forces rallying in two possible locations, he’d been jazzing to investigate both, something they didn’t have time for.
So, his niece (in her infinite yet limited wisdom) suggested they split up and ask for assistance from their allies. Wouldn’t you know they’d pick that Weiss’s uppity sister?
And after about five minutes of bickering about who went with who, Oscar had suggested drawing straws (he knew it was Oscar because Ozpin probably would have used some kind of cryptic speech or phrase and paired them off at random).
“Not my fault the innkeeper’s prices were through the roof.”
“Yeah, but why the same surname? We could have been ‘just friends.”
Winter paused, a hairbrush in her hand.
“Maybe I knew they wouldn’t believe it,” she said, picking up the old-lady nightgown and heading for the bathroom.
Qrow cackled, high and rough, dropping into the only seat in the room, a wooden chair matched to a table that had seen better days.
“That’s your answer? That he’d believe we were married?”
“Why not?” Winter said through the bathroom door, “it’s not like there’s a huge age gap between us.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve got too much self-respect to be a trophy husband.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t be the trophy?”
The smile left Qrow’s face.
This was getting dangerous. In the time they’d known each other, ribbing had become a part of their relationship.
He’d insult her sense of duty, she’d condescend about his style of self-presentation, and that would be enough to let others know everything was normal between them.
But lately there’d been some… hiccups to their dynamic.
Qrow had recently gained a newfound appreciation for putting aside her loyalty to the military when it turned out her superior officer had gone off the rails. And it seemed she, in return, seemed to be phasing out the backhanded comments about his capabilities and habits.
Not that that wasn’t welcome, but still…
It brought up a lot of questions.
“Well, whatever. I call dibs on the bed.”
With the pregnant pause on the other side of the bathroom door, Qrow could almost imagine the indignation on her face.
“What!?”
Now there was the Winter he knew.
“I’ve walked all day, your highness.”
He said the last part with no shortage of Sarcasm.
“I’m not about to sleep on the floor.”
The door opened and Winter came out.
Her hair was down, cascading down her shoulders in freshly brushed waves. She looked younger, less professional. Qrow might even hesitantly call her appearance ‘serene.”
The old lady nightgown, as loathe as he was to admit it, suited her. It’s modest style, from lacy high neck to the trim her bare toes peeked out from, covered everything except her hands. At the same time, it was neither too tight, nor burying her under ornamentation or folds of cloth, with hints of her figure caught by the light and the shifting of fabric.
“No-one said you had to. Where you sleep is up to you. I won’t stop you.”
“Wait, what are you…”
As she made her way to the bed (a pitiful twin sized mattress with sheets the color of fatigues), her eye caught his and somehow, somehow, he knew what she meant.
“Oh god, Winter…”
Where was his flask? He needed something strong to stop the drumbeat in his heart.
“You’re not drunk,” she said, “you’re a… reasonably responsible adult.”
Winter climbed below the bedcovers and faced him.
“But for the record, I don’t intend to sleep anywhere but a bed, either. So we might as well make do.”
Make do? Make do! This was the rising action (not rising! Any word but that!) of every stupid romance story under the sun! How was this not a big deal to her?
Dammit, where was his flask!?
“What are you looking for?”
Qrow looked up from his endless quest through his pockets.
“A drink,” he said.
“You left it with Oscar,” she said simply, “you said it was to make sure you stayed sober.”
Qrow cursed under his breath. Winter scowled.
“If you’re not coming to bed, I’ll turn off the lights and you can sleep there.”
“Alright,” Qrow said, rising, “I’m coming.”
Shit, he’s keeping his mouth shut for the rest of the night.
Deciding not to dwell on innuendos and lifted the bottom of his shirt up.
He paused at the sound of Winter’s sputtering.
“W-what are you doing!?”
“I don’t sleep in a shirt,” he said, annoyed, “or pants. And since I don’t have pajamas, I guess we’re both out of luck.”
“I thought you had them in your backpack?”
“What backpack?”
Qrow pointed over to where his own meager belongings lay, stored almost entirely in a beat up, moth-eaten tote that’s off-white color had become dark grey.
“That’s all I got in the world.”
“Then why didn’t you—DON’T PULL YOUR PANTS DOWN!”
Qrow smirked as Winter threw her hands over her eyes. At least now things felt a little more normal. Besides, did she think he was going commando? He wasn’t so uncivilized to not have six pairs of boxer briefs with him at all times.
Before Winter could protest, Qrow had leapt into the bed and buried himself under the comforter.
“Look, I’ll sleep with my back to you and you keep the sheets. That’s a blanket between us.
“There aren’t any sheets,” Winter said, still not looking at her.
Qrow frowned and looked down.
She was right.
All they had was the comforter and the sheet on the bed. What kind of inn was this?
“I’ll keep my back to you,” he repeated, turning over, “night.”
The click of the light and the darkness that followed was the only sign Winter had heard him.
