Name: Absolute Zero
Pairing: Hans-centric, Hans/Kristoff
Author: mGlottalstop, elsewhere known as xxBoppingAllTheWayxx
Summary: Hans has to pay for nearly killing Anna, but not in the way he was expecting…
Disclaimer: 'Frozen' and all related characters, places, items, and plot devices are the property of Walt Disney Animation Studios. Walt Disney Animation Studios is the legal owner of any relevant trademarks relating to 'Frozen' and related intellectual properties.
Author's Note: Please, please, please leave a review, even if it's to say that you hated it - how else can I learn?
Hans, youngest Prince of the Southern Isles, scrambled backwards against the dank wall of the dungeon, feeling the rancidity of damp decay beneath his shackled hands as he hoisted himself upwards against the aged stonework. Vision obscured by a single band of tanned hide, he was aware of his company only by the muffled shuffling of soft shoe on cobbled stone. He felt the stranger step closer, the illusion of a personal space bubble popping with the unexpected approach, and a hand – gentle, gloved, caring – ran quickly along his exposed cheek.
It took a lot of willpower not to melt into the caress, the first human contact Hans had received in months, and despite himself he felt his traitorous head curl into the hand. His visitor stepped backwards, out of reach, and Hans felt his own legs force himself forward, straining the steel restraints as far as they could go, until he sagged in their unshakeable hold. The room was silent – perhaps the visitor had abandoned him during his aborted attempt to pounce upon that tender, tactile touch. But no, as Hans struggled to listen to world beyond the pounding of his over-heated heart, he was near-certain he could detect the sounds of breathing in a distant corner.
"Please, come back…" His voice, once refined and dynamic, had been reduced to whispers after screaming himself hoarse in the catacombs beneath Arendelle. Even to himself, he had to admit that he sounded broken. "…please?"
Movement. Footfalls. His skin prickled in anticipation as every hushed step was one step closer to another moment of physical interaction. The room was cold, so much so that he suspected that the Sorceress had frozen the land above him – he wouldn't put anything past the Ice Queen – and against his better judgement, he shivered. At once, the gloved hand returned against his face, holding his chin tightly and tilting his head up into a position where, were his eyes not covered, he'd be staring into the face of his attendee. A second shiver, a cruel combination of the frosty weather and the intimacy of the contact, sent his teeth chattering, until an unfamiliar warmth assaulted his mouth.
The other person's lips were gone before Hans could even process that he had been kissed, and the sheer surrealism of his situation drew a laugh from him before he could stifle it. He knew instantly that he'd made a mistake as the gloved hand slipped from his chin to close around his neck, lifting him effortlessly up and pushing him against the moist wall behind him. Breath escaped him, coiling in the chilled air like tendrils of his life force abandoning the body doomed to death and decay. Against the rocks, his restrained hands abraded and bruised in their futile attempt to prove themselves useful against the dominant assailant till lack of oxygen forced them into inaction.
The hand relented, released, and finally smacked him across the face, forcing his lungs free of the air he had gulped down at the first sign of mercy. Hans put up no resistance as the gloved hands – Hans thought he could smell tanned leather, but was that simply the blindfold again? – undid the buttons on his starchly-pressed blazer, exposing his pale frame to the world. A sickly child, friendless and introverted, he had always shied away from the outside games of his contemporary playmates, and the lightness of his skin even in adulthood, glowed pearlescent in the dark room as he bitterly regretted not wearing an undershirt before being incarcerated. Standing proud of his chest, his nipples had stiffened from the chill long before company had graced him, but in celebration of human contact now ached and throbbed with need. A sibilant supplication of sighing and hissing was summoned forth from the prone prince as one tit was twisted, then the other by the roughened leather of the gloves, and Hans swore he could feel the cruel smile as it spread across his abuser's face. At the sensation of both sensitive peaks being tweaked simultaneously, he lunged forward with renewed strength, rutting his rapidly-swelling codpiece against the strong leg of the man before him.
Firm hands grabbed him by the shoulders, shoving him once more against the edge of the jail cell, holding him in place despite the shuffling that the mysterious man seemed to do. His mind lost in thought, a strangled cry escaped his lips as a warm – no, scalding hot in the frosty air of the catacomb – tongue curled itself around one aching nipple, sucking like a newly born kitten against the tender teat. Sensation swept over him like a wave of euphoria as his vision behind the blindfold fireworked and whited out, all existence now centring on the blissful manipulations of that talented mouth against his over-heated flesh.
He knew his arousal was evident, could feel the pressure of his swollen manhood against the confines of his best trousers; could almost smell the alkaline tang of his preemptive fluid leaking from his loins through the white fabric of his undergarments and suit, leaving – in more ways than one – transparent proof of his enjoyment as plaything to an unseen tormentor. His breathy moans slid into a sharp whine of utter need as teeth bit down on his nipple, pain mixing with pleasure and making him struggle against the hands still holding him in place.
A dirty chuckle and a tighter grip on his shoulders was the only response from the man working his wicked magic, vibrations spiralling across the sensitive flesh still being teased and tormented between the teeth of his anonymous aggressor. Hans saw flashes of passionate light exploding behind his eyelids as the mouth relented, releasing the sore skin and begin a slow descent along the prince's flushed and fluttering frame, a trail of feathery kisses left over each bare inch. A groan, deep and needful, echoed around the dank enclosure, followed by a short gasp of comprehension as Hans realised he had be the source of such vocal desperation.
"…please…?" With the knowledge that he'd already revealed just how much he was enjoying the mystery man's ministrations up his restrained form, Hans lost the last inhibitions he'd still held tightly onto since his incarceration; against his better judgement, he found himself pressing his groin hard against the chin of the stranger currently trying to undo the buckle with his teeth. Despite himself, he felt a smile cross his face as a grunt of frustration murmured around his midsection, and the teeth quickly replaced with the hands that had started all of this intoxicating madness.
The gloved hands struggled valiantly against the complexities of his fancy belt buckle and hadn't fared much better at attempting to force a hand under the tight waistband. Arousal turned to discomfort as the intruding presence against his abdomen bore down and once more, Hans found himself struggling in the company of the anonymous abusemonger. This attempt at escaping, however, only served to infuriate his captor more and Hans felt the breath break free from his lungs as he was unceremoniously smashed back against the stone wall.
Behind the blindfold, Hans was seeing stars and phantasmagoria in colours he couldn't have ever imagined while his mind worked overtime to report back with what was happening to his body. There was an unfamiliar weight along his hipbones, of that he was almost entirely sure (but wouldn't like to commit to certainty), but in that moment lost to discombobulation he realised a split second too late. The grip on his waistband tightened, and then pulled downwards with a ferocity that – were he not doing so already – would have left him seeing stars.
The icy chill of the room assaulted his senses, sending goosebumps up his legs from the spindly ankles up to where they fell into obscurity amongst the searing flesh of his thighs. A small yelp of pain was still echoing around the room, Hans noted with embarrassment, but his attention was soon redirected towards what was happening southwards as he again felt the gentle caress of lips against the blush of his skin. He lowered his head, praying to whichever god was listening that the blindfold would loosen enough to gaze upon the features of the man sending tendrils of pleasure throughout his bound body. The soft sigh of sad frustration at the hopelessness of his situation – both his role as plaything, and the restraints preventing him from taking advantage of the situation – seemed to spur on his torturer, and Hans noticed that the lips that had been slowly moving up along his calves was now travelling with purpose. He felt hot air being expelled between kisses, cherished the feel of that warm breeze as the mouth rose higher, and higher…
The sensation of a stranger manhandling the edge of his undergarments jolted him back to reality, far from the romanticised version his imagination was portraying. He felt a wave of raw sensation – trepidation, arousal, fear? – wash over him as he realised that the only thing standing between this total stranger and his own virtue was a flimsy piece of fine silk, already soaked through and stained with the tell-tale confirmation of his undeniable arousal. That soiled and soggy barrier was no match for the onslaught of caresses and attention suddenly being showered upon his crotch and, as the last cloth fell, Hans was helpless to resist the unmistakable sensation on lips wrapping around his trembling royal sceptre as in plunged into new territories.
The heat was scalding – overwhelming and intense to the point where Hans questioned the distinction of pain and earth-shaking pleasure – as the mouth began its rhythm of bobbing along the tender tower of manhood. The technique was unrefined, its execution sloppy, and yet such trivialities didn't enter the quivering remnants of Hans' mind, as every nerve ending in his body began to spark and his muscles tensed.
The mouth, and with it Hans' road to orgasm, quickened its pace, running a tongue over the blunt tip with every upstroke and basting him in the very juices being offered in supplication. Hans felt every fibre of his body turn its focus towards his crotch, as his pelvis began to piston of its own volition as it attempted to take control of his impending climax. In that moment, he felt like an observer to his own biological imperatives - he heard his own breath falter and come in stilted gasps, but could no longer feel the fronds of icy air that had filled his lungs since he'd first been left here to suffer; he heard the whine that had been signalling his endings since his first onanistic explorations at the first onset of puberty, but despite the familiarity felt oddly disconnected; white light seemed to blind him behind the blindfold, letting his mind and body achieve the kind of separation that mediation could only hope of ever providing, and yet with every passing millisecond, Hans could feel his orgasm getting ever closer, and closer, and closer, and—
The mouth pulled away, leaving Hans' hips pumping the air in a futile attempt to rebury itself in the cocoon of warmth and torturous titillation, and that dirty chuckle filled the air again, followed quickly by Han's whispered pleas for more, for further pleasure, for the completion that had been so cruelly denied him.
"…please… I… unh…. I need to…"
The room was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from Hans himself as he began to sob behind the blindfold. His arousal still stood proud, its starchy salute bidding farewell to the man who opened the cell door with a smile on his face. His hand paused over the doorhandle, however, and Hans could hear the metal squeaking against the glove despite his sobs ringing around him. Once again, that dirty chuckle that made his blood bubble with equal parts lust and ire greeted him in the cold, stale air.
The Prince, erect and enraged, raised his head up, staring at the source of the sound even though his eyes could see beyond the blinder; he knew that voice. Recognition hit him like a punch to the stomach, winding him and dropping him to his knees, but never once letting him look away from the direction of the door. He knew the blonde ice-seller was watching him, surveying him with what would most certainly be a smirk on those wicked lips and a cruel spark of power gleaming in those dark and devious eyes; and yet, despite himself and his insurmountable pride, he made no attempt to hold back his sobs as the door slammed shut behind his visitor. Through the wood, Hans could hear the slide of the deadbolt, and with it, the last hopes of his sexual salvation; but, under this, he could just hear a final few words.
"…if only there was someone out there who loved you."
And whilst Kristoff made his ascent back to the woman he loved, he couldn't hold back the smile as Hans' weeping faded into the dank and distant dungeon far beneath him.