Treason of The Heart M/F (Tickling Erotica)

[april]

Draeven

A collaboration with element/Story concept by element


Atop the moonlit terrace of Elan'dril keep, high above the elven capital, the velvet skies shimmered with stars. Lanterns float in the air, illuminating the royal gathering below. Myrren, cloaked in crimson and umbra, stepped onto the terrace's edge.

The cool wind tugged at her midnight hair as she stood above the towering shrine overlook. Below, the festivities roared with music and celebration, but here in the dark…only silence. Only him.

Draeven.

He emerged from the shadows like a spirit conjured from memory veiled in moonlight. The high general's gilded hair swept across his cheekbones, his expression unreadable. His dark eyes met hers.

“You shouldn't be here,” Myrren whispered. “Not after what they know.”

“They know enough,” Draeven replied softly, stepping closer, boots silent on the stone. “But they don't know the full truth. Not yet.”

Myrren turned to face him fully. “That we've met in secret? That I kissed you on the battlefield instead of slitting your throat? That I spared you, because…god's help me, I…”

He crossed the final step and took her hand.

“Because you felt it too,” Draeven murmured. “Even now.”

She tried to pull away but his fingers tightened.

“Vaeliren, my second in command, betrayed me,” he said. “He saw you. Followed us. Exposed everything. Now your kin wants my head; and your clan has every reason to deliver it.”

“I tried to stay away,” she admitted, voice cracking. “But I couldn't.”

Draeven's expression softened with pain and awe. “Nor could I.”

They stood there, suspended between two worlds; honor and desire, duty and longing.

Then Myrren's voice turned sharp. “They took you once. They'll do it again. And if they do, this ends. Everything ends.”

Draeven brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then we don't give them a chance.”

Her breath caught. “You mean…”

“Run with me,” he said. “Tonight.”

Myrren blinked.

“I'll be branded a traitor,” she said.

“So will I.”

And then he kissed her; fierce and wild and full of fire.

Just as Myrren pulled away from Draeven's kiss, breathless and flushed with defiance and desire, a cold voice cut through the night like a blade.

“You're charged with treason. The both of you.”

They turned sharply.

Vaeliren stepped into the moonlight, flanked by four elven guards in ceremonial silver armor. His expression was one of grim satisfaction; eyes piercing, jaw clenched with pride. The house sigil gleamed on his chest plate like a brand of judgement.

Draeven's voice dropped low as he addressed his second in command. “Vaeliren.”

“I warned you,” Vaeliren said, not to Draeven, but to the wind. “You were losing focus. Letting your blade grow soft. And now I find you…tangled with a fae spy.”

The guards surged forward as Vaeliren approached slowly, savoring the moment.

“Elves and fae are not meant to be lovers,” he muttered bitterly, “you know this. You were supposed to lead our people, not fall for her kind, especially not the enemy.”

“I fell for her,” Draeven said through clenched teeth, “not her kind.”

Valerien's jaw flexed. “Then you'll both pay for that mistake.”

With a subtle gesture, the guards shackled them both in enchanted chains; designed to drain magic and dull strength.

Heavy iron doors slammed shut behind them when they reached the dungeons far beneath the keep.

Stone walls wrapped the cell like a tomb; damp, ancient, humming with faint magical wards. Myrren's breath caught as she was pulled roughly to the far wall and bound by manacles glowing with runes. Her wrists were raised high above her head, locked against the cold stone. She twisted once, testing the strength; useless.

Draeven, still in shackles, was thrown in beside her, but to her astonishment, Vaeliren stepped forward.

With a minute motion, Draeven's restraints fell to the floor with a loud clang.

He blinked, muscles tense, ready for some trick.

Vaeliren's voice was quiet. Calculated.

“One chance, brother,” he said, stepping into the torchlight. His voice was as impassive as ever. “Interrogate her. Extract the truth. Show loyalty to your people…one final act of honor, and we will return her to her clan, alive. Scarred, perhaps…but alive.”

Myrren looked up, wild defiance burning in her eyes.

Vaeliren's gaze flicked to her, sharp as a dagger. “Refuse…and she dies by council order at dawn. I'll carry it out myself.”

Draeven stood frozen.

His jaw clenched. His fists curled.

The silence between the two seasoned warriors stretched like a wire.

Then finally, “I get to choose the method of interrogation.”

Vaeliren paused near the door, glancing back over his shoulder. A glint of satisfaction passed through his eyes.

“I can accept those terms.” He stepped back into the shadows, leaving the iron door slightly ajar. “Just get it done. Find out where her clan is camped. Extract the truth, and save the little fae witch. Save your name. Redeem your honor.”

The door clanged shut.

The torchlight danced.

And they were alone.

Draeven exhaled, the weight of what he was about to do pressing down on him like armor he no longer wanted to wear.

He stepped toward her, slow, hesitant.

Her blue eyes narrowed, uncertain.

“You're really going through with it?” She whispered.

He stopped just in front of her, towering over her, his expression like stone and determination.

“Yes,” he said coolly. “But only because I know how to make you talk…without breaking you.”

She arched a brow. “You think I'll betray my people?”

Draeven's eyes darkened. “You will not be given the choice. You will give me what I need…to save your life.”

“No,” she breathed, trying to steel herself.

“Yes.” He said gravely. “Tell me where your clan is camped, or I'll have to persuade you.”

His fingers rose…slowly, until they were poised just beneath the hollows of her arms.

“Speak.”

Myrren twitched out of reflex but remained obstinate and silent.

His elegant fingers began to dance; just the very tips, gentle but maddening. Myrren inhaled sharply, eyes going wide with sudden panic. She tried to evade him, but there was no escape, his hands just followed her as if he had memorized every movement ahead of time. She bit down on her lip, but a giggle escaped, high-pitched and involuntary.

“Hmmm,” Draeven growled. “That's one.”

He leaned closer, his thighs pushing against hers until she was firmly locked against the wall with his weight. His fingers pressed in a breath firmer.

Myrren's body tensed before she jerked hard against him, the first true laugh tearing open.

His head dropped to her neck, whispering near her ear, the ghost of his breath sending goosebumps racing down her arms. “That's two.”

“By the god's!” She squealed. “Draeven!”

“Hmm?” He asked almost innocently as his hands angled in, curling and flexing, his lower body pinning her in place so that her panic bloomed into musical desperation against his cheek.

“You're an evil bastard!” She managed between peals of forced laughter that filled the small cell, high and bright.

“I'm desperate,” he confessed, dragging his jaw gently along her neck, the cruel rasp of his stubble sending ticklish sparks of agony down her spine. “They'll kill you, Myrren.”

His fingers, once teasing and slow, turned vicious and precise, digging and squeezing intensely.

Myrren screamed.

“Stop! You coward! Let them kill me!”

But Draeven didn't stop. He drilled. He honed in with such intensity that Myrren nearly dislodged his hold with her wild thrashing.

“Stop being so brave,” his dark eyes gleamed with warning, “allow me to save your life, you insolent, proud brat!”

Myrren's body twisted against him, laughter pouring freely, her limbs useless against the expertly crafted manacles.

“D-Draeven, please!” She begged, the last shreds of self control threatening to tear open against his masterful touch.

“Stahahahap! You have to stop!”

“Confess. Confess or withstand me.” There was no compassion behind his tone now, no remorse. Just a man driven by sheer focus and fierce love.

Abruptly and with unpredictable speed, Draeven's hands shoot down Myrren's slender frame; straight toward her defenseless ribs. She cried out helplessly before he even touched her.

But instead of another frenzied attack, he slowed; teased, taunted each ridge and groove with unwavering patience. He plucked each one between two deft fingers; rolling with painstaking care. It was the kind of torment that allowed one's mind to be actively conscious in the moment; cripplingly aware of every sensation. The tactic immediately shattered Myrren into pieces.

“No more! No more! I need it to stop…I'm losing, I'm losing my mind! Please, Draeven please, have mercy!” She arched against the restraints, laughter cracking into a sob of helplessness.

Draeven's touch didn't falter; not even for a second. His expression was one of indifference as her pleas for a reprieve landed squarely on deaf ears.

“Only you hold the power to stop this,” he reminded her calmly, the edge of a determined smirk curling at the corners of his mouth; mirthless, restrained, but undeniably real.

He had her writhing, body rolling frantically from side to side, her composure and control completely destroyed as her mind fought in vain to rationalize a strategy to reason with the elven general.

“If you do not wish to reveal the location,” Draeven continued, voice heavy and dark with promise, “then let us find out what other secret places you are hiding from me.”

He slid one hand stealthily down her stomach, the back of his knuckles gliding over taut, trembling muscle. It was slow, measured, each second stretching into an eternity of anticipation. Myrren held her breath, her body already responding to his actions before her mind could catch up.

As his fingers reached the hem of her tunic, Draeven paused, allowing the moment to linger. Myrren bit down on her lip but her head shook on a silent no.

Gently he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, grazing almost tenderly against the soft skin. He found her navel; a small, intimate haven, and began to circle it patiently, each steady pass spiraling closer to its center.

Myrren's body quickened, inhaling and exhaling in rapid, erratic gasps. “Please…” she begged.

His only answer was action as he slipped a single finger inside, swirling and dipping with reverent study, watching her face intently, his abyssal eyes drinking in her reactions; waiting unhurriedly for the final branch to break.

And break she did…

Her laughter spilled outright now, no longer tempered behind clenched teeth or stubborn resolve. But it wasn't just the tickling that broke her; it was the way he looked at her. Not with cruelty but with raw steadfastness…and affection.

Myrren's heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. She wanted to resist, to protect her kin at all costs, but the torment is overwhelming, a relentless assault on her senses. Minutes pass and time feels like it stops. Her brave front is crumbling as she teeters on the edge of surrender. Another minute passes and then another…and finally, it's over.

“I yield!” She cried at last, voice hoarse and shaking, her fingers clenching at the chains that bound her, body taut, but the fire in her eyes was dimming, flickering under the pressure of Draeven's unwavering focus. “Enough. You win, no more!”

Silence fell like a shroud.

Draeven's hands went still. For a moment, his expression betrayed nothing; neither triumph nor regret. But his eyes, fathomless and conflicted, lingered on her face as if searching for something lost.

He leaned in close, tone low and steady, “Where are they?”

Myrren's chest heaved. She met his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper as she gave up the location of her clan's encampment.

Draeven stepped back, every motion deliberate. He didn't speak another word to her. Turning to the guards station, just beyond the cell door, he called firmly, “Let her go. I have the information I need.”

The iron latch groaned as the door opened. A guard stepped in, unlocking the manacles with a sharp clink of metal. Myrren was freed, but not quiet.

She shoved the guard, storming toward the door, her body still trembling. Spinning toward Draeven, her voice was raw with rage and heartbreak.

“You cold, ruthless bastard…” her voice caught as emotion swelled in her throat. “I'll murder you for this!”

Draeven didn't flinch. But as the guard led her away; kicking, cursing, weeping, his eyes followed her until she disappeared.
And only then did his shoulders sag under the weight of what he'd done.