Date: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 18:19:04 -0400 (EDT)
From: Joey Thomas <mglottalstop@goowy.com>
Subject: 'Frozen: Absolute Zero' - part 1 of 1 -  MM bd reluc

'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.

This is my first submission for the Nifty Archives, and I hope you have as
much fun reading it as I did writing it. I would love to hear from my
readership! Joey x

'FROZEN: ABSOLUTE ZERO'

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.

Man?

Oh, snow.

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.

"Oh, Hans..."

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.