seeing blue } taron x mason

Head pounding, the last memory he recalled was an ambush.

A miserable morning it had been, no surprise. Rudy was in high spirits about an upcoming event, and that only meant one thing: a terrible party or a slave shipment, neither of which Taron wanted to be a part of. To his dismay, his loving boyfriend and boss had the opposite in mind. He wanted Taron to assist in apprehending slaves and bringing them to a place Taron remembered all too well, and shuddered at the thought. Picking at his breakfast, he had decided to foolishly express his honesty about the ordeal.

”I don’t want to.”

Rudy didn’t care, of course. He had a bull’s temper, never hesitating to grab him by the jaw and remind him who possessed the dominating authority in their relationship. That morning was no exception.

His mind went bleak; bitter and resentful as he treaded behind the pack of men who would claim the shipment of human slaves and inevitably crack jokes about each and every one of them. It felt like an immense punishment, being forced to watch what had been done to him three years ago. Ruining futures and shattering sanity – he had vowed never to snap at any of the slaves because no matter how strongly he despised his own life, they deserved those rare droplets of compassion.

Now he had to be the one to shackle them up.

He couldn’t look any of them in the eye, and perhaps that was why he was the last man to register the attack. Faintly aware of the echoes of shouting gangsters, he had released a pair of shackles and lazily glanced outside of the train’s compartment. A gunshot sent his heart reeling – their operation had been compromised. Unfamiliar faces leapt out of clever hiding posts, chasing down Rudy’s men as they scattered in every direction. His body and mind were out of sync. While his brain pleaded to join the graveyard, his body’s reflexes screamed run. A split-second decision took him entirely too long; before he could scamper out of sight, something heavy was on top of him. Then, darkness.

He was certain he had been knocked unconscious because he couldn’t recall anything between his pathetic escape-attempt and this current position. His vision was obscured, and his breath wafted back into his own face. That only meant someone had shoved something over his head. As he twitched and tested his limbs, he discovered that his hands and ankles were tied to a chair.

Lovely.

He began to count until he grew bored. A thought occurred to him then; he could be oddly cheerful about this capture, because it meant the slaves had likely been released. Take that, asshole. He imagined the expression on Rudy’s face when he heard the news – shock and hatred, how could anyone have discovered his plans? Fucking idiot, nobody was perfect. And if someone was leaking Rudy’s plans, there were high hopes for future clashes.

His triumphant mood was short-lived. Footsteps reminded him that he was in a hapless situation. At the mercy of enemy hands, he was likely to be interrogated and tortured. Dying would be the perfect mercy, but it was unlikely. Yet it was all he could hope for in such a shitty situation.

As the footsteps grew closer and he could hear the breathing of his future tormentor, his body sank back into the chair. It awaited its first sting of pain, shrinking in a morbid anticipation. This part always made him feel sick.

A hand wrapped around his throat and he tensed up. No, I hate this. It was an all too familiar sensation, breaths crawling up into a painfully bruised throat with no escape. His chest burned and a voice demanded that there would be blood. He vaguely recognized said voice, but couldn’t think beyond the seizing of his chest.

When he could suddenly see again, he realized his vision was tunneling. His hands were tied but he reached for the darkness, asking it to claim him. Don’t bring me back this time. Asphyxiation wasn’t the most pleasant way to die, but who could afford to be finicky about their own demise?

He registered an anomaly the moment the darkness gave way – the familiar voice had a familiar face. He gasped for air, expression twisting into a strange mixture of pained and surprised. Mason, the fucking pretty boy? What was he doing here?

Disbelief kept him silent until he regained his breath.

”What the fuck are you doing?”