Qrow considered it something of a sick joke that he awoke sometime later to the sound of laughter, albeit that of someone else.
He was unaware how much time had passed, with no window in sight to gauge if it was still night. The room was even darker than before, the only light coming from the still running monitors. Watson was nowhere to be seen, and his infernal rollers had retreated back under the floor.
He began to wonder if the laughter he'd heard had been a figment of his tortured dreams (of the few brief ones he'd had during his fitful slumber, all had involved tickling of some kind, further proof that his mind had sustained lasting damage), when someone spoke.
"The scarecrow awakens! I was worried Watts might have broken you."
Qrow's head whipped around his limited field of vision, trying to find the speaker.
"He kept you to himself for so long, and you laughed so much with him, I'm almost jealous."
The empty space helped the voice to bounce around, seemingly coming from multiple directions at once.
"But that's okay! I know just how to make you laugh like that, too. I was watching closely, after all. And now..."
Blinking in the vast darkness, Qrow felt his blood turn to ice when he clocked a pair of luminous yellow eyes hovering near his restrained feet.
"It's finally my turn to play with you, pretty bird." Tyrian giggled to himself, and Qrow wailed in terror at the feel of a long, eager tongue being dragged up his helpless sole. No, no, no, it was too much! He'd been left so incredibly raw and oversensitive from Watson's- Watts'?- relentless brushing, that even the madman's licks were unspeakably ticklish.
"No, no, ple-please!" Qrow cried, well past the point of preserving his dignity in the face of Tyrian's wicked slurps on his poor, tired feet. "Not there, please! I can't- can't take it!"
Tyrian paused in his laving of Qrow's sole, drawing back to peer at the Huntsman with an inscrutable expression.
"Well, if you simply can't abide me catching a taste of that foot..." Qrow had half a second to hope he'd be granted mercy, that for the first time that night his sensitive soles would be spared, before Tyrian very quickly set his sights on the neighboring foot. "I'll just have to make due with this one!"
Heedless of his prey's desperate cries (or perhaps encouraged by them) Tyrian set upon Qrow's other foot with a vengeance. His tongue was relentless, lashing at his wide soles one moment before wiggling in between his toes the next. It was so dexterous, different from the brush in the way it coiled and twisted, but no less ticklish for it. Qrow's wails and pleas were proof enough of how fiercely it tickled.
The introduction of teeth by way of delicate nibbles up and down his arches raised those sounds a few octaves.
And of course, though Tyrian might have promised to keep his torturous tongue from Qrow's right foot, that by no means meant it was safe from his fingers. While his tongue was occupied with the left one, he began spidering his digits relentlessly over its twin, his saliva from before more than enough to allow his fingers to glide across quivering skin.
Laughter from both men echoed around the room, though at different levels and for vastly different reasons. Tyrian, Qrow could only assume, was giggling quietly to himself because he took great joy in making his captive suffer. Qrow's laughter, on the other hand, was loud and frantic because it was being forced out of him by the lunatic tormenting his poor, tender soles.
"Plehehease, stop it!" begging had yet to do anything but amuse his captors so far, but with how firmly he was restrained, and how dearly sensitive his feet were, he had no choice but to try. "Enough! Enouhuhuhugh already!"
"Oh, I've had nowhere near enough, my dear." Tyrian finally removed his blasted tongue in order to speak, though he made sure to replace it with his other hand, the pair of them now working together to bring Qrow to tears with their ministrations on his feet. "These soles of yours are just far too delectable, how could I be satisfied with merely this little taste? Although..."
Drawing closer, Tyrian peered at the tear tracks making a reappearance on Qrow's face. He tried to recoil, but the headrest of the chair prevented him from getting very far.
"Those do look rather enticing..." Qrow felt the breath expelled with Tyrian's words, he was so close. He was even closer when he slowly lapped the tears from one side of his face, and moaned like he'd tasted the nectar of the gods.
Those mad, faintly luminous eyes settled on his, and Qrow suddenly found himself being kissed.
Tyrian needed only one hand on his jaw to hold him still (not hurt him, or even squeeze too hard, merely keep him there), and while his kiss was... somehow not entirely repulsive, Qrow stubbornly refused to respond to the tongue seeking entrance to his mouth.
Of course, all his refusal earned him was Tyrian's other hand skittering deviously over one of his feet, forcing his mouth to open with a wild laugh, upon which the kiss deepened.
This could only be some kind of ploy, or else simply another act of debasement by his captors to humiliate him for their amusement.
So why did Qrow find himself almost enjoying it?
The thought alone was enough to make him jerk back, only just then realizing that Tyrian had moved to straddle his thighs at some point.
The man in question hadn't lost his leering grin, though his ocher eyes had visibly darkened, now verging on a deep indigo shade.
"I'm so glad you survived my poison, dearest." he breathed. "Or else I'd have never been able to do that."
"G-get the hell off me!" Qrow fumed, finding his voice at last. "Try that again and I'll bite your damn tongue off!"
"Dirty talk already?" Tyrian simpered in delight. "Qrow, you dog! Perhaps another time."
He made slow work of rising from Qrow's lap, bracing a hand high up on his thigh and leaving it there for far longer than was necessary.
"Your lips are divine, but at the moment, it's these lovelies that've caught my eye." as he spoke, he dragged his fingers in a terrible stroke up both of Qrow's soles, making him lurch like he'd been electrocuted. There was hardly a difference as far as he was concerned, between feeling volts of electricity coursing through him, and the sensation of fingers ravaging his impossibly reactive soles.
"Please," he croaked out after several minutes of this torture. "Something else... anythihihing else. I can't tahahake it."
"Hmmm..." Tyrian took his time pondering, before an idea sparked in his crazed eyes. "I know! How about a wager?" he took his hands away at last, instead tapping his fingertips together as he regarded Qrow eagerly. "A test of endurance, one might say. My wiles against your will. Guile versus grit! A timeless challenge!"
"What..." Qrow fought to master his breathing, winded after all his laughing and shouting. "What do you mean?"
Eyes gleaming, Tyrian thrust his hands out between them, fingers splayed wide. "For ten minutes, I'll treat your precious feet to a tickling the likes of which you've never even dreamed. More than Watts could have managed with his clunky machines." Qrow thought he could detect a note of jealousy there, and was reminded of Watts' remark on his partner's fondness for him.
"If you can weather my touch in silence, without even a single snicker, you'll be left alone until your fellows arrive to reclaim you. I swear it in the name of my goddess. But if I hear so much as a giggle escape those lips, then..."
Even as a bird, Qrow had never felt more like the subject of a predator's gaze than he did under those violet eyes.
"Your feet will be mine to play with, to taste and tickle and worship as they deserve."
Qrow swallowed, his heart now racing in fear rather than out of exertion. If what he'd received so far from Tyrian was him being unmotivated, he shuddered to think about what he could do when he was really trying to drive him mad. Ten minutes of that maniac doing everything in his power to tickle Qrow's tender soles beyond comprehension sounded like a nightmare.
But he was already at the mercy of these criminals, and Tyrian could've easily carried on tickling him instead of offering this wager. (A wager he had no real compulsion to honor should he lose, save for his fanatic devotion to his goddess). At least the scorpion Faunus hadn't tried to question him or demand information; that appeared to be Watts' job. Tyrian was here simply to make his prisoner suffer, and he'd offered him a chance to play (and perhaps even win) his twisted little game.
Qrow wanted to weep at the thought of facing any more tickling, with the additional challenge of remaining utterly silent throughout, but if it meant he'd be spared from further torment later on...
"Alright." he announced, willing his voice to stay steady. "You're on. But we need to have a scroll time us, and it has to stay in sight." Qrow highly doubted he'd be able to count the passing seconds in his head if he was busy trying to remain both silent and relatively sane, and he wasn't about to trust Tyrian to keep time for them.
"Oh, but of course, my friend!" the man allowed with an easy wave, before patting at his belt.
Qrow was a bit surprised when Tyrian produced a scroll of his own, an unexpectedly normal possession for a murderous psychopath, but he found himself largely relieved. (Qrow's own scroll was in his back pocket, and he was plainly certain Tyrian wouldn't retrieve it without getting more than familiar with his backside in the process).
Under Qrow's watchful gaze, Tyrian set the timer for precisely ten minutes before depositing his scroll nearby on the floor, the numbers projected in the air as a holographic display, the countdown one tap away from starting.
Tyrian cracked his knuckles, wiggling his fingers eagerly in a manner that made Qrow's feet scrunch out of reflex.
"I hope you're prepared, my dear Huntsman." he husked. "Because I have no intention of making this easy for you."
With that, he whipped his tail through the projected timer, and began.
From the very first touch, Qrow almost wished he could face another dose of poison instead.
The lunatic was merciless, holding nothing back in his efforts to drive Qrow just as mad as he was through the strokes and jabs of his fingers on his immeasurably sensitive soles. He dragged long paths over his arches, introducing his blunt nails at random to make Qrow's struggles briefly double in intensity. There were featherlight brushes against the balls of his feet, their delicacy somehow making them all the more devastating. The flick of a lone finger up the length of his sole, Tyrian soon learned, was enough for Qrow's whole body to lurch in response.
Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, was Qrow's mantra, repeated in his head with a desperate fervency as he fought against his body's innate urge to do just that. An urge that only mounted as his tormentor grew more determined to make him crack.
Don't laugh, don't laugh- This is nothing compared to what he'll do if you lose- don't laugh...
Tyrian's tongue quickly became involved once more, delivering endless searing laps up his soles and torturing the hard-to-reach areas between his toes with glee. That damn thing was unnaturally long, not to mention scarily accurate in the way it seemed to zero in on Qrow's most ticklish spots, like it could taste them.
The light scrape of teeth over the balls of his feet that followed a pass from Tyrian's tongue supported his theory, and made Qrow's own teeth sink into his lip to keep from howling.
Don't laugh, don't- Fuck! C'mon, why there?! Move on already!- don't laugh...
A bleary glance at the timer, and Qrow's heart nearly broke at the revelation that he had seven merciless minutes ahead of him before this was over. How could such little time have passed? How could he hope to hold out for so much longer? His head was swimming with mental cries of anguish, despairing every time Tyrian found a particularly awful spot, and he struggled to keep hold of his chant.
Don't laugh, don't laugh- Brothers help me, that fucking tickles!- Don't laugh, don't LAUgh...
His Semblance had caused him a lot of grief in his life, but this had to be its worst act by far. Because there was no way that this, the situation he'd fallen into the moment he tried to enter the warehouse, waking up restrained and with his feet bared, was anything other than the result of his dreadful luck. He'd been cursed with such terribly sensitive feet, and now, he found himself in the clutches of two men who'd exploit his weakness for all it was worth.
Was there any use in fighting it? Was he simply fated to be tickled into madness?
In the end, his fate was sealed by an unexpected move from Tyrian.
He was leaning close, his mouth firmly affixed to Qrow's right sole where it was administering all manner of teasing nips and kisses, while his left foot was strangely neglected. That is, until Tyrian brought the end of his braid forward to flirt over the neighboring sole in a feather-like stroke.
It was a different texture, a different sensation than Qrow had been prepared for after all this time only feeling the man's fingers and tongue, and a small, surprised laugh escaped him before he could recognize his folly.
It wasn't until Tyrian drew back, gazing at him speechlessly, and both men turned as one to assess the timer where two remaining minutes shone like a neon sign, that Qrow became aware of just how deeply he'd erred.
Tyrian turned back to look at him, and the gleam in his eyes made all of Qrow's previous helplessness and thoughts of surrender vanish, to be replaced instead by complete and utter dread as to just what was in store for his poor soles.
What had he done?
His heart was pounding so loud, he almost missed the man murmur softly, "Well, it seems as though you've lost our little wager, my friend. A valiant effort on your part, I must admit, but I'm afraid that laugh was about two minutes too soon."
"You... you surprised me." Qrow whined weakly, tears already pooling in his eyes. "I wasn't expecting you to... use your hair like that... It's not fair-"
"Ah, ah, ah." Tyrian admonished, wagging his finger in Qrow's face. "There were no restrictions on how I was permitted to tickle you, as you'll recall. Only that I had ten minutes to do so as I pleased. And now," at this, a cackle escaped the leering madman. "I can do the same all night long."
With visible glee, he turned and pranced over to the Hard-Light Dust projector to begin crafting something. Qrow's mind had no shortage of terrifying possibilities to taunt him with while he waited, his feet at the mercy of whatever tool this psycho could imagine.
Another round of the brush, perhaps? Tyrian had to know that one made him lose his mind, if he'd been watching like he said. Or maybe he'd go for another form of torment, and summon a paddle or crop to spank his tender soles? Qrow recalled one particularly kinky escapade in which a tiny, pointed pinwheel had been rolled across his bound form (while he'd mewled and shuddered in delight), and paled at the thought of that device on his feet.
When Tyrian turned around, though, Qrow wasn't greeted with the sight of a brush, or a crop, or a pinwheel.
Instead, the fingers of Tyrian's one hand were now tipped with hooked claws, while the other was clutching what looked like an electric toothbrush.
"No need to fear, these are as dull as one of Watts' books." he assured him breezily, tapping the claws together with a clink. "I wouldn't dream of letting any harm befall your precious feet. I take good care of my playthings."
"I'm not your damn toy." Qrow growled, cursing the faint flush that had risen in his cheeks. Why couldn't these people refer to him in normal prisoner terms, instead of 'dear' and 'plaything'? "When the others get here, I'm gonna shove those things down your throat."
"Ah, yes, those colleagues of yours." Tyrian sounded remarkably unconcerned with the prospect of facing off against Atlas' top Huntsman team. With a careless handwave, he ordered the stocks to apply another coating of that infernal oil, making Qrow's heart sink. "They're certainly taking their time in getting here, aren't they?" he prowled closer, tail swishing behind him as he approached his helpless prey.
"More's the pity for them." he breathed, gazing at Qrow like he was a work of art (and only making his flush burn hotter). "Any of them would be privileged to behold the worship of such stunning feet."
Tyrian had a strange definition of the term 'worship', apparently thinking it meant 'to tickle the living daylights out of', as that's what he set out to do with little fanfare.
Those claws were the stuff of nightmares, Qrow quickly learned. They were indeed far too blunt to risk cutting into his skin, and yet, their pointed tips narrowed down the sensation to such a fine edge that every touch seemed magnified several times over. The lingering, circuitous paths Tyrian traced over his soles felt like they were being carved into his very soul, leaving him to wail and thrash in his bonds to no avail.
And the toothbrush. Qrow could never bring himself to use one again, the distinct buzzing sound would only serve as a reminder of how it felt to have one digging into his soles. It was like a miniature version of those dreadful rollers, a spinning wheel of ticklish agony that bore down on his soles like a brand, the way it scrubbed across his arches making him scream, while the way it dug between his toes made him sob.
"I saw Watts kiss you." Tyrian revealed, speaking for the first time since he set to work with his tools. His voice was more absent of emotion than it'd been at any point prior, and Qrow was immediately on edge. "He held your face quite tenderly, too. Did you enjoy it, my pet?"
The uptick in the ferocity he showed his feet was a blatant hint as to how he should answer, and Qrow wasted no time barking out a frantic, "N-no! No, I didn't!" which wasn't true at all (in his delirium, he'd found the man's hand on his face to feel quite nice) but he was hardly above lying to try and pacify his tormentor.
He should've remembered how Watts had responded to being misled, because Tyrian seemed to sniff out his lie like a bloodhound, and quickly set about making him regret daring to attempt deceiving him.
"Naughty pet, I could see you practically swoon for him." Tyrian scolded, raising his voice to be heard over Qrow's desperate cries and forced laughter from the vicious treatment he was receiving on his soles. The claws were brutal in the way they raked across his sensitive flesh, the oil making their glide tickle all the more intensely. The toothbrush didn't let up on his sole for even an instant, seeming to spin even faster as it moved from one ticklish spot to the next. "But instead of coming clean, you had to lie to me."
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorrehehehey!" Qrow sobbed, giving Tyrian his most pathetic look as tears streamed down his face. "Please, forgive me!" He'd do anything, anything at all, if only for this dreadful tickling to stop.
Tyrian wasn't nearly so kind as to refrain from giving him another several minutes of tickling while he mulled things over, no matter how much Qrow begged and attested to his willingness to do whatever he asked, before at last he drew closer with a pronouncement of, "If you truly are sorry, then I suppose we can kiss and make up."
Their lips met once more, and this time, Qrow didn't bother trying to deny the Faunus access to his mouth. He was too strung out, too exhausted in both mind and body, to put up any show of defiance.
This kiss was more passionate, like Tyrian could sense his crumbling resistance, his lips working over Qrow's own while his tongue toyed with the other's in a heady dance. Fingers found their way into his hair to card and tug gently, and Qrow was dismayed when he caught himself tugging weakly at his restraints, as if attempting to reach out and return the touches.
At some point, his eyes had slid closed without his permission, blinking open when the kiss abruptly ended to find Tyrian once more approaching the Dust projector.
"What..." it took him a moment to wrangle his senses back in order. "What are you doing?"
Tyrian glanced over his shoulder, offering him a coy smirk.
"Why, I'm getting the instruments for your punishment, dearest."
Qrow felt a cold cloak of dread drape itself over his shoulders.
"But- but you said," fear made his tongue grow clumsy. "you said we- we could kiss and... and make up. You said-"
"I did indeed say we could kiss and make up." Tyrian didn't bother to glance back at him as he spoke, unconcerned with how his captive was coming apart with fear mere feet away. "But there's still the matter of you needing to be disciplined. You can't be forgiven until I've made certain you paid for your mistake, after all. How else will I know you won't do it again?"
"I w-won't." Qrow was quickly growing desperate. There was no way he could handle any more tickling. He'd reached his limit hours ago. Any further, and his mind would surely crumble into pieces. "I- I promise- I swear!- I won't lie again. You d-don't have to p-punish me."
"I might have believed you, if I hadn't seen you attempt the same charade with Watts. You'll learn to be honest with us, Qrow Branwen. I'll make sure of it." Tyrian sounded overjoyed at the prospect of tickling this lesson into Qrow.
"Speaking of Watts, what was it he said? Liars should have their feet tickled for at least an hour? He was able to use this to great effect, if I recall correctly."
He turned back around, and Qrow let out something between a whimper and a sob, fighting with all his might against restraints that refused to so much as budge.
In his hand, Tyrian was holding Qrow's old foe, the thing that had haunted his wet dreams for years on end: the hairbrush.
"P-please, pleasepleaseplease, you can't-" words spilled from his throat as Tyrian drew closer, doing so slowly so as to prolong his unraveling. "You hafta understand, I can't handle that thing. Even when I was younger, it just- it just destroys me every time. Watts- he u-used it too m-much earlier."
Speaking was becoming a challenge for Qrow with how much he was trembling, his tears only growing more excessive by the second. And yet, all of his misery and indignation at his treatment over the course of this night seemed to choose now as the time to come pouring out. "He was so fuckin' mean to me. He knew my feet were sensitive- said he scanned 'em or somethin'- and he still used the brush! I kept tellin' him how it was too much, but he didn't care, even though he knew my feet couldn't take it! And when he brought out the r-rollers, I asked him so nicely not to use them, to not be so mean to my feet, but he did it anyway! And you! You say you like me, call me 'pretty bird' and k-kiss me, but you won't stop bullying my feet either! It's not my fault they're like this! My stupid fuckin' Semblance made them so sensitive, just to screw me over, and you both keep tickling them no matter what I say! And I... I..."
Qrow didn't know where he was going with that, his little speech the most he'd spoken since being captured and leaving him a bit winded.
As luck would have it, though, he didn't have to worry. He'd managed to stall his captor just long enough for help to arrive.
Instead of dealing with the same trap Qrow had faced with the door, these newcomers made their entrance through a newly smashed hole in the wall.
"STAY!" Marrow's voice, cloaked in the irresistible authority of his Semblance, rang out across the warehouse and froze Tyrian where he stood. The madman's eyes- the only part of him currently capable of motion- barely had a moment to swivel wildly in their sockets before he was thrown to the floor courtesy of a lightning fast axe-kick from Harriet.
"We've got him. Hostile's down and I have eyes on Qrow." the woman reported into her comm unit once she'd confirmed Tyrian was down for the count. "No sign of the accomplice. Bring the Manta down for extraction, Marrow's going to bring him out shortly. I'll keep watch over our new friend until the prisoner transport arrives."
Qrow was more than a bit overwhelmed by how quickly his situation had shifted, and when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder, he couldn't help his flinch.
"Sorry, sorry," Marrow hissed, removing his hand before bringing both to hover uncertainly over Qrow's various restraints. "We'll... we'll have to get you out of these, that's the first step in any rescue operation. Well, aside from subduing any hostiles, but Harriet already did that, and I'm sure you know how these things go by now so I don't know why I'm telling you. Uh- can we touch you? Sorry, I should've asked first before-"
Somehow, hearing this rookie stumble all over his words in an attempt to put him at ease was the first thing to make Qrow untense all night.
Harriet seemed to notice, given there was hardly any bite to her words when she instructed, "Marrow, stop embarrassing yourself and let me deal with those restraints. You can make sure this guy's nicely wrapped up for his ride to the interrogation center; I already had to touch him once."
Shooting Qrow what was probably meant to be an encouraging grin, Marrow gave him the lightest pat on the shoulder possible before moving to begin binding Tyrian with multiple Gravity Bolas.
The kid had heart, that much was certain, but Qrow would admit to feeling more at ease when Harriet approached to take over this part.
The seasoned Huntress met his eyes, careful not to touch him or make any sudden moves until she received the nod she was waiting for. Once Qrow had acquiesced, though, she made short work of his bonds, ripping them from their bolts in the chair with that titanic mechanical strength of her's.
The stocks she tore in half without hesitation.
"Do you need to visit medical?" she posed the question lowly while helping him to sit forward, her voice bereft of any of the pity or dismay Qrow would've been loath to hear.
It was probably that lack of emotion that allowed him to answer honestly, "Not... not for anything drastic. I could use some fluids, and some- heh- time off my feet, but I mostly just want to catch up on my beauty sleep after tonight."
"We'll make it happen." she informed him, giving his arm a squeeze (thankfully without the use of her bionic exoskeleton) before turning to Marrow. The dog Faunus had been busying himself with knotting the laces of Tyrian's boots together (an act of pettiness that Qrow wasn't going to dissuade, seeing as he was going to be leaving here without his own shoes or socks), but quickly came over at the call of his name.
"I could carry you?" the kid offered once he'd noticed Qrow was barefoot, looking quite eager at the chance to assist this senior Huntsman however he could. "I'm stronger than I look, and the Manta's not that far."
"Thanks," Qrow didn't have the energy to tease the rookie like he normally might have, instead giving him a weak smile. "but I'll be fine with you just helping me across the way."
"Sure, of course, of course." Marrow maneuvered under Qrow's arm to tuck himself against his side, keeping a steadying hold around his waist as they began their trek through the hole in the wall and towards the descending Manta.
The freezing concrete felt less than pleasant under Qrow's bare feet, as expected, but any discomfort was quickly ignored when he caught Marrow's continued blathering.
"You could say I'm an old hat at this, actually. When I first started Huntsman work after Atlas Academy, I got plenty of experience with helping older civilians cross the street, so you're in good hands."
"Are you calling me old, Amin?"
He held his stern look as Marrow began spouting fervent apologies, insisting that that was not at all what he'd meant, before he broke with a series of chuckles over the kid's palpable dismay.
After the night he'd had, it felt good to finally laugh purely out of amusement, and nothing more.