Title: Cold Storage
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders/Ryan Wolfe
Series: 1) Catch Me I'm Falling, 2) Sparks, 3) Holding Steady, 4) More Than Ready, 5) Talk About It, 6) Confessions, 7) Fate's Plan, 8) Exposed, 9) A Matter of Feeling, 10) Loving Every Minute of It, 11) Street of Dreams, 12) One of Our Own
Fandom: CSI: Vegas/CSI: Miami
Rating: R
Author's Note: Mentions of rape.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Greg Sanders or Adam Ross, just borrowing them for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Ryan blinked as consciousness returned to him, forcing himself to roll over onto his back. He had no idea where he was; the last thing he remembered was looking over at Greg before he'd entered the third room of that building they'd been followed their suspects through.

The first thing that registered in his fogged brain was that his wrists and ankles were bound, and that there was a gag in his mouth. The second was that Greg was nowhere to be seen, which he was thankful for. At least it seemed that his boyfriend was safe.

Greg and the rest of the team would find him. They knew Las Vegas inside out; they would be able to piece together whatever clues these men had left behind when they'd abducted him. He had to believe that Greg could rescue him; he had to hold onto that hope.

He couldn't have been sent here by fate, to meet Greg Sanders and to fall head over heels in love with him, only to have the happy life together that he was sure was ahead of them taken away. He wasn't going to simply lay down and die, giving up his future with Greg.

Whatever these men intended to do to him, he'd live through it. He'd go through any pain that he had to endure, as long as he could hold on to the thought that he would see Greg again, that the two of them would be reunited when all this was over.

He had to see Greg again. He hadn't said the three most important words in the world to him, the words that he'd been wanting to say ever since their first kiss. The words that had been in his eyes and in his heart every time he'd looked at Greg in the past few days.

He had to get the chance to take Greg in his arms again, to hold him and kiss him and tell him that he was loved. He had to make love to Greg, to take him slowly and gently, to show him that all men weren't like the first one he'd been with.

Until he'd had the chance to do all of that, he wasn't going to give up. No matter what happened, he would hold on with all his strength. And he would believe that Greg and the rest of the team would find him and get him out of here.

Ryan's muscles tightened as one of the three men in the room turned to look at him speculatively; he felt as though he was being scrutinized like a slave on a auction block. He could only hope that they would decide to leave him here -- though that didn't seem very likely.

If they did, they would more than likely plan to leave him dead, he told himself, surreptitiously trying to loosen his bonds. It was impossible; he'd been tied too tightly to hope to wriggle even one finger free. The only thing struggling would achieve would be rope burns.

"I think it's time to put pretty boy on ice," the man looking at him sneered, walking over to where Ryan was lying on the floor and hauling him to his feet. "We need to make a few adjustments first, though," he continued as one hand moved down the front of Ryan's bound body.

What did that mean? Ryan asked himself, his body tensing at the words. Surely they couldn't mean .... rape. These guys didn't seem like the type who would even consider being sexual with another man, even as some kind of form of punishment or torture for their victim.

His eyes widened as one of the other men approached him, brandishing a knife. What did they intend to do -- slit his throat right here, and watch him bleed out before they left? Or did they have something else in mind -- something that might be a lot more painful?

"Get his clothes off," the third man growled as he approached. The words brought a muffled groan to Ryan's lips; maybe they did intend to rape him, after all. But if they did, there wasn't a damn thing that he could do about it in his present condition.

He was spun around and bent over a nearby chair; the ropes biting into his wrists loosened, and he was jerked upright again. Without a word, the man with the knife ran the blade up the front of Ryan's shirt, splitting the seams; the shreds were pulled from his body, exposing his bare skin.

"Pretty," the man holding his arms behind his back commented as the one with the knife knelt to untie his ankles. Ryan swallowed hard, wondering just what was in store for him; he only hoped that he'd be able to survive it, and that the physical damage wouldn't be too extensive.

He closed his eyes, expecting at any moment to feel his ankles being kicked apart, a cock -- or some instrument of torture -- shoving brutally into him. His muscles tightened, his body going taut, preparing for an assault that he was sure was coming.

Within moments, Ryan was stripped naked, then bent over the chair again as one of the men slowly stroked his cock. He gasped as something large and cold was pushed inside him from behind, realizing slowly that it was some kind of large, thick plug, made of steel from the feel of it.

Ryan's hips jerked forward as the object entered him; he whimpered behind his gag, shaking his head frantically from side to side. This felt far too much like what had so recently happened to him in Miami; he was almost waiting for the thrusting to begin, for pain to rip through his body.

But it didn't; it was merely there, filling him, uncomfortably large and hard. Much larger than the gun barrel that had violated him so brutally, but no less terrifying. His muscles contracted, relaxed, then tightened again; even if he wasn't being fucked, it was still a violation.

His hands were tied behind his back again, then he was pushed to the ground on his back and his ankles were bound together, more tightly than the last time. They stood looking down at Ryan, the cruelty in their gazes making him feel chilled to the bone.

All he wanted to do was cover himself, to keep them from looking at his nude body. It was obvious that their gazes were focused on his cock; Ryan was uncomfortably aware of the fact that in spite of his fear, he was half-hard from the intimate touch of a few moments before.

"Think he'll freeze that way?" the man who had stroked him asked, a raucous laugh following the words. "I guess we can always come back and find out, if the cops don't beat us to him." He knelt by Ryan's side, reaching out to curl his fingers around the young man's cock again.

"This is gonna give a whole new meaning to the phrase 'blue balls,' boy," he told Ryan, his hand moving up and down on the shaft of his cock. Ryan's breath caught in his throat; he didn't want to respond, but his body was betraying him against his will.

"Quit playing with him and let's get the hell out of here," one of the other man barked, his tone impatient. "Too bad we can't have some fun with him, but those cops are smart. They'll figure out where we went, and they'll be looking for him, you can bet on that."

With those words, he lifted Ryan and slung him over one shoulder, making his way to the back of the house they were in. One of the other men had gone ahead of him; Ryan could hear something in the room being opened, a rush of cold air coming out to meet them.

A .... freezer? Ryan's eyes widened in horror as the realization of what these men intended to do to him struck. They were going to put him in that freezer, close the door -- and leave him there. He'd have a very good chance of freezing to death before the CSI team found him.

No .... please! This can't be happening! His mind was shrieking, refusing to accept what was happening to him even as he was pushed down into the freezing cold, one man's cold fingers wrapping around his cock again.

Ryan wanted to protest, to struggle, to move away from the invasive touch. But his body already felt numb after only a few seconds of being engulfed in the punishing cold. And when the top of the freezer was closed on him, it would be even colder.

He shut his eyes tightly, praying that this was all a dream, and that he would wake up back in Greg's bed, with the beautiful young man he loved clasped in his embrace. He didn't want to believe that he was lying naked in a freezer, waiting for death to arrive.

The lid of the freezer closed, blocking out any light that might have been there when he opened his eyes again. All Ryan could see was black, inky darkness, surrounding him, engulfing him, sucking the life out of his slowly freezing body.

He couldn't move; he couldn't speak. The gag felt as though it was freezing his mouth; the ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles might have been frozen to his skin. He'd only been inside this thing for a few minutes; he didn't want to think of how long it would take for him to die.

Would Greg find him in time? And more importantly, if he died, would Greg know how much Ryan had loved him? He could feel the tears welling in his eyes at the thought that Greg might never know how he felt, that he would think they'd been nothing more than a brief fling.

He couldn't die like this -- naked, bound and gagged in a freezer, turning into a blue corpse for Greg and the rest of the CSI team to find. There had to be some way out, some way that he could struggle hard enough to free himself from this cold storage prison he was trapped in.

But there was no way -- at least, not one that he could find. All he could do was lie there, tears streaking down his face to form ice crystals on his skin, and pray that he could stay conscious and keep breathing long enough for Greg to come to his rescue.

***

Next story in series - Life Or Death.