Unforgiven

Mr. Waverley gently closed the top of his black laptop and placed it in the innards of a shiny leather briefcase. He straightened a few files that lay on his desk and placed them in one of the wooden drawers of his mahogany desk. With a sigh stretched upwards and took a moment to look around his office, more to waste time than anything else. The stylish lamp on his desk only partially illuminated the large room with its slight amber glow. He could feel the lush carpet ripple softly underneath his shiny black leather shoes as he shifted slightly. His office gave off the ambiance of the luxurious success of a career man, even down to the exotic plants near the door that swished softly underneath the air conditioning vent.

Mr. Waverley was a tall powerfully built man; the mere presence of him in the room made it seem more formidable. His black hair was neatly cropped and was going slightly gray at the temples. His fancy pinstriped suit fit well over his broad shoulders and accentuated the seriousness of his dark eyes. There were severale lie lines hovering around the corners of his eyes and on his forehead that betrayed his age. His mouth looked as if it had once been constantly smiling, but it was currently pressed into a stiff line. With a small sigh, he ran his hand through his hair and shut his briefcase. As usual leaving his office felt like leaving home; he avoided his real home the way some men do their offices. He dimly recollected that it had once been a happy place for him with a smiling wife and laughing child. Through the years all that had changed, success and ambition had changed him and so his home. He glanced at his gold Rolex, it was fifteen past midnight. His wife would surely be asleep now; he preferred to think she was sleeping and ignore the telltale signs of her addiction. He reached over and turned off the lamp on his desk as he headed for the door.

He stepped into the elevator at the end of the hallway, shifting uncomfortably through each small beep as he slowly progressed downwards. He grasped the handle of his briefcase tightly and quickly walked into the lobby, as the doors slid open. The large dark expanse seemed to swallow the sounds of his footsteps on the slick marble.

\"Good night, Mr. Waverley.\" The night security guard said cheerfully from his desk near the rotating doors. As usual he got no response. The only sound that greeted the lonely man was the swish and click of the door and the sight of Mr. Waverley\'s back retreating from his sight. He turned back to his late night Jerry Springer program with a sigh and put his feet up on the desk.

Mr. Waverley frowned slightly as the quiet night air was rent by the loud roaring of a motorcycle. Why on earth would such a noisy vehicle be in his quiet part of tity?ity? He looked around cautiously and not nothing. The dark streets were empty as usual. He shook his head slightly, wondering if he had begun to hear things. Even so, he sped up the fast pace of his walk. Once again the motorcycle roared, it was louder this time and seemed to fill the air around him. Waverley quickly turned to see a dark figure on an even darker motorcycle zooming down the street towards him. Perhaps it was just another late night executive. Middle age hit hard these days and men of his salary could afford such foolishness. He hoped anyway.

He felt frozen into place as the mysterious rider came towards him, a hand reaching into the pocket of his coat. Waverley\'s eyes widened and he tried to shout, but it was too late. He felt the searing pain of the impact and heard his body crumple to the ground with a soft thump. The fingers on his hand clenched tightly as he fought for the strength to fill his lungs with air. He had to live. His fingers went limp and he stopped struggling. He just couldn\'t. Another failure in his already failed life. His wife and his son would never forgive him. The depths of darkness seemed to swallow him as he left the world just as he had lived in it for the past few years. Unforgiven.

--

Andre snapped awake, a small gasp escaping from his lips. He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The pain and the darkness of his dream still haunted him. He felt cool skin brush against his as Desmond wrapped his arms around his body.

\"Whasamader?\" Desmond mumbled sleepily into the sensitive skin on the nape of his neck.

Andre felt a small shiver run down the small of his back at the touch of Desmond\'s lips on his skin. With a contented sigh he snuggled closer into the warmth of his lover\'s embrace, tucking his head under Desmond\'s chin.

\"Nothing. Just a dream.\"

He felt Desmond shift sliy soy so that their bodies melded more comfortably together. A few moments later, Andre felt the soft tingle of Desmond\'s lips as he was kissed gently all down the side of his neck and shoulder. He closed his eyes savoring the sensation that Desmond\'s lips elicited in his body. All thoughts of his dream were gone, lost in the pleasant feelings that soared through his body. He felt safe and protected. His breathing soon became soft and steady as he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

With a smile Desmond wrapped his body protectively around Andre\'s and closed his own eyes. This night had more than he ever could have hoped for. Just to hold Andre in his arms made him feel complete, as if all the bad things he had done in the past didn\'t matter. This was love it had to be. He had broken his oath never to fight again when he had rescued Andre from his enemies. In the streets it was hard to go back from the life that he had led, it was no wonder som some people were still mad. He didn\'t and couldn\'t care for his own safety, but if anyone tried to mess with Andre he wasn\'t sure if he\'d be able to control his anger. In that state he could be capable of anything, even murder. With a slight shudder, Desmond steered his thoughts away from such a dark thought. It was almost morning, Andre was in his arms and if he wanted to look good in the morning he needed sleep. With that Desmond let himself drift into sleep, his arms still hugging Andre tightly.

--

Chris sped down the back alleyways and the most deserted streets; from now on his motorcycle would be a liability. It connected him to the crime; it needed disposing of and quickly. But first things first, he needed to get rid of the blasted gun. Chris grinned impishly under his black helmet. And he knew just the person who\'d do it for him.

Many streets and miles away from the scene of his crime, Chris stopped. He parked his motorcycle behind a tattered white house. The equally dilapidated houses beside it came close to boxing the little house in. It\'s low slung back porch sported bullet holes in the scree and and there were no steps leading up to it. Chris glanced cautiously around at the other houses, running a hand through the soft brown strands of his hair, before he stepped onto the porch. He sidled up to the rickety door anockeocked softly. No one answered. He banged on the door with his fist, hoping the noise wouldn\'t wake the neighbors. There was still no answer. Chris frowned angrily this was not following along with his plan. He stiffened as the boards of the porch creaked slightly behind him. He stealthily began to inch his hand towards his pocket and towards the gun.

\"Don\'t even think about it.\" The voice rang out clearly.

Chris didn\'t flinch as a very large very sharp knife was placed against his throat.

\"Make one move and I\'ll cut your jugular.\"