Title: Rip Him To Shreds
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Greg Sanders, gen
Series: 1) Welcome To Hell
Fandom: CSI: Vegas
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: 2, You can't tell me that didn't hurt
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the beautiful Greg Sanders, just borrowing him for a while. Please do not sue.

***

Greg was no longer sure where he was; at one point, he thought that he might have died. The pain was so intense that he wasn't feeling it that acutely any more; he was somehow floating above it, feeling as though his body didn't belong to him.

He'd ceased to feel the pain of being penetrated over and over again; he could feel blood trickling down his thighs, and he could only assume that the tearing had numbed his body to the pain that he knew he would feel in every fiber of his being once his senses were more alert.

The pain was coming back now; how long had he felt as though he was immune to it? Greg didn't know; it felt as if the torture had gone on forever. He hadn't been able to scream; the gag in his mouth had kept any sound he could make down to muffled whimpers.

He'd tried to struggle at first, but that hadn't done any good, either. All that had accomplished was to cause him more pain, pain that seemed to attack him from all sides, from every corner. There was no way to avoid it; all he could do was hope that it would soon be over.

But it hadn't stopped; it had gone on and on, until he'd lost track of how many men had taken him. He didn't know if it was the same men over and over, or several different ones; by now, it had ceased to matter. All he wanted was for the pain to end.

He had given up on the team being able to find him; it was more than obvious that they were in some remote place, somewhere that he couldn't easily be found. And if the team hadn't come for him yet, it was probably best to assume that they weren't going to.

They wouldn't give up on finding him; Greg was sure of that. He didn't doubt that they were turning the city upside down in an attempt to track him down, but his captors had hidden themselves well. The team more than likely wouldn't think of going outside the city limits.

All that he could hope for was that someone might have been to this place before and recognize it from the pictures that had been taken and sent to the team as a way to taunt them. There was no other way that he could think for for anyone to figure out where he was.

The man who had been inside him for what seemed like an eternity finished with a grunt; Greg tried to hold back his groan as the heavy weight of a body pushed itself off of him. At least not having anyone thrusting inside him gave his body a bit of a reprieve.

It wouldn't last long, he knew. There would be another man, and then another, waiting to take this one's place. They'd hardly stopped since they'd stripped him naked and tied him down; it was as if they were trying to fuck him into oblivion.

If that was their intention, then they were succeeding beyond their wildest dreams, Greg thought, wincing as he flexed his muscles against the ropes that bound him. The bonds were still as tight as they had been; struggling hadn't loosened them at all.

With each succeeding attack, he felt less contained, less able to keep himself from falling apart. He knew that before much longer, he would be a sobbing wreck; the only thing that had kept him from that point already was thinking that the team might be coming for him at any moment.

Could it be possible that someone might have some clue as to where he was being held captive, and they just hadn't gotten here yet? The place seemed far out of the city; Greg remembered that he'd thought the house he was in was a dark cave at first.

Maybe it had just been hard for them to find it. Maybe the team was somewhere near even at this moment, looking for him but unsure as to where he was. All he could do was hold on to that thought, and hope that they were on the verge of finding him.

He didn't look up; he didn't want to see the men who'd abducted him and used his body sneering down at him, and have to wonder which one of them would be next. He didn't want to see their faces, hear their voices, or even think about what they had planned for him when they were done.

Greg was sure that once they were finished with him, he wouldn't live long. He might not have seen all of his abductors, but he'd seen some of them -- which meant that they couldn't afford to let him live. They would kill him, and dump his body somewhere out here in the back of beyond.

He didn't want to die. Not here, not like this. Not without having told some of the people in his life how much they meant to him -- and not without having told one particular person how much he was loved, and how much Greg regretted not saying those words sooner.

Gil. He shouldn't think of Gil -- not here, not now. His feelings for Gil weren't something that he wanted to get all mixed up with the almost unbearable pain he was in; he wanted to keep those feelings locked away in a part of himself that was untouched by any kind of pain or fear.

"What did you think of that, boy?" The man who had just heaved himself off of Greg stood up, then leaned down to press his lips against the young man's ear. "You can't tell me that didn't hurt. You might not be able to scream, but I'll bet you would be."

"Hell, he'd be begging us to stop," one of the other men laughed, his tone a supercilious jeer. "Or he might be begging for more. From the looks of him, he might like what he's getting. He just might not be used to having it so rough is all. Think we should be gentler with him?"

"Nah, he's a fucking CSI," one of the others spat, his voice contemptuous. "He deserves everything he's getting. If he likes it, then we'll just have to make sure we give it to him so hard that we change his attitude. So let's get back to having a good time."

Greg tried to follow the words, to make some sense of what his captors were saying, but everything was swirling around in his head. He did manage to pull some semblance of clarity from something that was said, though -- something about him being a CSI.

These people hadn't just happened to decide to kidnap anyone they thought was working with the police. For some reason, they had wanted a CSI. He had no idea why, or who any of these men were -- but he was sure that if the team dug deep enough, they would find a reason.

Would that happen in time to help him, to get him out of here and let him resume his life? He wasn't ready to die. He didn't want his life to end -- not yet, not here. Not before he had done so many of the things he had always wanted to do with his life.

He wanted to be in a relationship that lasted. He wanted to move up at his job, past the level of CSI that he was at now; he wanted to publish that book he'd written that he had never managed to get to a publisher yet. There was so much he still wanted to accomplish.

And most of all, he wanted to tell Gil Grissom how he felt about him. He wanted to tell Gil that he'd loved him from the first time their eyes had met; how he had fallen head over heels in love, and how no one else had ever managed to touch his heart.

That was all he needed; Greg told himself. He had to hold on long enough for Gil to find him, and for him to let those feelings out. It no longer mattered if Gil returned them or not, as long as the man he loved was aware of how much Greg had always loved him.

He could hear a zipper being pulled down; that could only mean one thing. Within another few minutes, he would be attacked from behind again, probably even more roughly than he already had been; the pain would start again, and sooner or later, he would sink into oblivion.

Greg had no idea how long it would take, but he had no doubt that there would be a point where his body would simply shut down and stop feeling anything. The pain synapses in his brain would no longer fire; he would be past caring how much what was being done to him could hurt.

Gil would find him. He knew it. Even if the rest of the team couldn't, Gil would. He had faith in the man he loved, even though Gil was no longer a permanent part of the CSI team. Once he knew what was going on, Gil would come for him. He had to believe that.

"If you thought the others hurt you, boy, then you ain't seen nothing yet," a low, husky voice growled into his ear. A hand twined through his hair, pulling his head back roughly; wet lips moved down his throat, not so much a kiss as a claim of ownership.

Greg closed his eyes, knowing that it was about to start again. Would this be the time that he would finally break, when his mind would start screaming and never stop, even though he couldn't scream out loud? There was no way for him to know before it actually happened.

His muscles tensed, waiting for the inevitable thrust, for the pain that he knew would engulf him. The waiting was worse than the actual pain, he told himself. He couldn't tell anyone that the actual penetration didn't hurt, but it was the waiting that ripped him to shreds.

When the pain came, it flooded over him, making him feel as though he was drowning under it. His body struggled to cry out, to express that pain in some way -- but the only way was retreating into a void of blackness that his dazed mind wondered if he would ever return from.

***