The Deputy Governor Danforth had a reputation to uphold. He was the most important man in Massachusetts. He was wise, just and strong willed. So why was this roguish scrap of a man making his knees tremble? Danforth had never felt so belittled in his life. This scruffy, dirty, angry, handsome- No. No, not handsome. For Heaven's sake, why was this, this Proctor, making him feel like a… like a… woman?

It all began when John Proctor stormed into his court. Danforth was flabbergasted. How dare this man waltz into his court and try to take charge! The man was ranting on about his wife and how the idiot girls were lying about witchcraft and many other things. Danforth found it hard to concentrate on what he was actually saying; the older man was much more interested in the way Proctor's eyes lit up and how his muscles tensed and flexed as he waved around his arms exasperatedly. He wondered how those muscles felt-

Danforth was brought back to reality as that greedy pig Parris' voice began to climb to a screech. Slowly, Danforth walked towards John Proctor. He stopped mere inches away from the filthy man's face and stayed there for a good few moments. Only when Proctor's burning gaze slipped to the side did Danforth move away. With his authority back in place, Danforth sat in one of the hard wooden chairs that were dotted around a large table at the back of the room. He sighed as he sat, easing the weight from his maturing joints. He looked up at the others in the room.

Proctor had brought some friends with him. Two aging men that introduced themselves as Giles Corey and Francis Nurse stood to the side arguing that their wives were innocent of witches blah blah. A young girl stood, her elbow held firmly in Proctor's grasp. She looked terrified. Danforth smiled a little to himself as he stared at Proctor's grip. Tearing his eyes from Proctor, Danforth looked at Parris, a sweaty pink-faced man with no care but himself. How repulsive. Hathorne and Hale stood to the side; both men had power but still shied away from most drama. They were mice compared to Danforth. Danforth was more of a cat; a predator. Proctor was a wolf; hungry for more than what he already had. Danforth liked wolves. He admired their ruthlessness, their strength, and their beautiful faces.

Damn it, Danforth.

Proctor was a man. Danforth was a man. Nothing could happen between them. It was a sin. But Danforth was still drawn to Proctor's intense brown eyes and strong jaw.

One sin can't send me to Hell, can it?