The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (10 page)

They pulled the horses to a stop at the top of a gentle hill, and Death studied Pierre as the mortal gazed over the view. Pink coloured Pierre’s cheeks, giving him a healthy glow. Something Death was pretty sure Pierre hadn’t had in a long time. Pierre’s auburn curls tumbled around his head in an attractive windswept appearance. It was a very good look for the younger man.

“All of this is yours?” Pierre nodded towards the land in the distance.
“All of it up to the road. It’s about a hundred acres, which isn’t nearly as much as I had when I was mortal, but still its more than most people have.” Death settled back in the saddle, resting his hands on the pommel while letting the reins hang loose. His horse stretched its neck. “I lease some land to a local farmer since I don’t need it. Mostly, I spend my time riding while I’m out here.”
“I can see why. This is beautiful,” Pierre murmured.
“Come on. There’s a spot I want to show you.”
Death gathered his reins and turned his mount to the left before nudging the gelding into a trot. He heard the hoof beats of Pierre’s horse, so he wasn’t worried about Pierre following him. They dropped down into a walk as they entered a small stand of trees surrounding a pond.
He dismounted and draped the reins over a low bush. As Pierre did the same, Death removed the saddlebags. They strolled to the edge of the pond and sat on the grass. Pierre trailed his fingers in the water, giving Death a good view of the track and red scratch marks marring Pierre’s arm.
“How’s the need today?”
Pierre looked to see what Death stared at and wrinkled his nose. “Worse than yesterday. Feels like I have bugs crawling under my skin.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve managed to go this long without another hit, why not see if you can go longer?”
“I’m taking it an hour at a time. I’m not sure when the need will settle to a dull roar in the back of my mind, but I’m willing to try and see.” Pierre gestured to the bags. “What did you bring?”
Death unpacked some cheese, pear and apple slices, and a small bottle of wine. “I thought we could use an afternoon snack.”
“Great. I’m starving.” Pierre chuckled. “Christ, I can remember when I’d go days without eating. Heroin was the only thing I needed to stay alive.”
Nodding, Death handed Pierre a small plate of cheese and fruit. “Yeah, you can stand to gain another forty pounds or so, but don’t worry. With the magician I have as cook in this house, you won’t have any problem gaining the weight. Heck, I have to be careful how much I eat when I’m here.”
Their joined laughter filled the spring air, and Death forced away memories of making snow angels with Oliver, the one time he’d brought the man out to the country. He poured them a glass of wine each, took a sip and set the glass down before leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him.
“Tell me about yourself, Pierre. All I know is this moment of time in your life. Tell me what led up to it.”
He wasn’t sure if Pierre would be open to talking about himself, but Death figured it would be the best way to lance some of the emotional wounds Pierre carried around. Pierre fiddled with the plate, pushing the food around it.
“You could probably find all this stuff out on the net,” Pierre pointed out.
“I could find out the surface things, and while that stuff is important, I want to know all the underlying things going on in your world. When did you start using, and what made you decide drugs were better than just living through the pain?” Death took a bite of cheese, trying to act like it wasn’t important if Pierre told him anything or not.
Silence fell over them, and Death didn’t feel the need to break it. He’d spent days in silence, because he didn’t have friends to chat with or someone to talk to all the time. Before the internet or even telephones, he’d go weeks without talking to anyone. Silence didn’t bother him.
Finally Pierre broke it with a sigh. “You probably know Jameson is my stepfather.”
“Yes.” No elaboration. Keeping it simple wouldn’t give Pierre a reason to stop talking.
“Well, my father left my mom when I was six. One day he just didn’t come home from work, and Mom got a call from him, telling her he wanted a divorce. As long as she didn’t fight him, he’d give her a very generous alimony check every month. Lionel Fortescue was crazy rich, but he didn’t like being tied down with a wife and kid. He’d got married because his father wanted him settled.”
Pierre picked up a stick and threw it into the pond. They watched the little waves ripple out from where the stick landed until they lost steam and faded.
“He divorced your mother but never got around to changing his will? I saw his entire fortune went to you when he died,” Death admitted.
The laugh escaping from Pierre’s throat was cynical and harsh. “Grandpa Fortescue was a wily bastard. Somehow he figured out Lionel married Mom to make him happy, and that wasn’t what Grandpa had wanted. Ended up he wrote Lionel out of his will, except for a rather nice trust fund, and left the bulk of his empire to his only grandson.”
“So when Robertson married your mother, he was also marrying the Fortescue money,” Death muttered.
Pierre shook his head. “No. Again, remember Grandpa was cunning. Mom was one of three trustees named in Grandpa’s will. They were in charge of my fortune until I turned twenty-five, which was earlier this year. Anyway, Jameson couldn’t get his hands on any of my money. It didn’t matter because Jameson is rich in his own right. He didn’t need my money. No, theirs was a love match.”
“Well, that’s a good thing at least. Your mom has someone who loves her. I don’t remember much about my parents. Nannies, governesses and tutors raised me until I reached majority. After that, I travelled the world until it was time to come home to launch my sister into society.”
“Why didn’t your mother do that?” Pierre frowned. “From what I remember of English history, the mother was more responsible for that sort of thing. I assume it was the same way for French society.”
“My parents were world travellers. Father had lots of family money, so he took Mother on his travels, and they were never home. I ran our estates since I was eighteen, even though I tried to travel as much as I could because I knew I’d be tied down as well, once Emilia turned eighteen.”
He smiled when he thought about his sister.

Pierre spied the smile crossing Death’s face, and a strange rush of loneliness swept through him. “You’re lucky. You had a sibling to help with the loneliness. It was just my mom and I. It wasn’t like we had a rough life or anything like that. The estate gave her money, so she didn’t have to work, though since I was already in school, she found a parttime job to keep from getting bored. It was how she met Jameson.”

Death hummed softly but didn’t speak. Pierre didn’t know if the Horseman was giving him a chance to continue, or if Death was lost in his own memories.
“I was ten when Jameson swept Mom off her feet and became her Prince Charming.” He winced at the bitterness in his tone. No wonder people thought he was an ungrateful wretch.
“And you were no longer two. There was a third person there to take even more of your mother’s attention away.” Death put into words what the ten-year-old version of Pierre had thought when his mom got married again.
“Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have been so upset because Jameson made her happy. He still does, but Mom always used to say it was us against the world, and I was her little man. All of a sudden there was another man to fight her battles for her.” He held up his hand to stop Death from saying anything. “I know I wasn’t old enough to actually do anything to help her, but I thought I was. I thought I was all she needed to make her happy.”
He sipped his wine, staring at the calm surface of the pond. The water was so clear; he could see small fish swimming around near the bottom. The quietness of the place seeped into him, and he realised it was the first time in a long time he’d had a picnic by a pond. In fact, it had been years since he’d spent any time not doing anything except drinking wine in the country without a crowd of hanger-ons, or tabloid cameramen trying to take his picture.
Something in his soul drank up the silence and eased the low-level itching under his skin. Pierre couldn’t remember ever feeling this easy in his own body. Was it because of the wine and the fresh country air with no sense of needing to be somewhere else? Was it because of Death lying next to him, quiet and non-judgmental, content to sit with him without needing anything else from him?
“They left me behind with the servants when they went on their honeymoon. There weren’t any family members who could be bothered to take a kid for two weeks. Again, a parent abandoned me. Silly really, because Mom still loved me, but her new husband was more important than I was.”
“Not a good track record, huh?” Death stroked his fingers over Pierre’s hand.
“No.” Pierre shrugged and turned his hand over to trap Death’s fingers in his.
Death didn’t try to free his hand. He tightened his grip, and Pierre slid closer to Death. Another tug, and he lay next to Death, resting his head on the Horseman’s chest. He closed his eyes, absorbing Death’s warmth and letting the sound of his breathing calm him.
“I shouldn’t have been surprised, you know. Lionel found it really easy to forget about me. I never heard or saw him once the divorce was final. It was like I no longer existed in the world.” Pierre exhaled slowly.
“Then your mother seemed to be doing the exact same thing, and you couldn’t figure out why you were so easy to forget. You know, if I’d had time to think when I was younger, I might have felt the same way you did. But I had to take care of my sister and the estate, so I didn’t have any time to wish things were different.”
Pierre frowned. “Is that a comment on how difficult everyone has it? I shouldn’t be pouting because at least I had money and didn’t have to worry about food, and shit like that?”
Death laughed, and Pierre’s head bounced up and down on Death’s chest.
“No. I’m not thinking that at all. I was a rich kid as well, and my parents weren’t around much either. But I had someone else to care about, and other things to occupy my time, so I didn’t get a chance to think about how worthless I must be because no one was around to love me.”
“I know you grew up in an entirely different era than I did, but did anyone else know you liked men?”
He looked up at Death and saw him lift one shoulder in a half shrug.
“Only my sister, and that’s because she was around when the man I loved died. She held me while I fell apart that night. No one else knew it for sure, because I could have been put to death for it. Back in my time, it was illegal for two men to be together in a sexual way. Oh, people knew we existed, and some pleasure houses had male whores to cater to those of us with ‘perverse’ tastes.”
Pierre pushed up on one hand and stared down at Death. “But if someone had found out and wanted to make trouble for you, they could have reported you.”
“Yes, and I could have been killed. In some ways, the world has become a much more accepting place, and in other ways, it hasn’t changed at all.”
Their gazes met and held. Desire shot through Pierre, and he licked his lips, wanting nothing more than to lean down and kiss Death. He wasn’t sure how the Horseman would react. He had never rejected any of Pierre’s advances. Death just hadn’t taken them to their conclusion. Maybe Death didn’t want him that way, and it was easier to turn away than to say no outright.
Death reached up and slid his hand over Pierre’s nape, pulling him down. Their lips met, and Pierre couldn’t keep the groan back. Death shoved, and in a surge of strength Pierre found himself on his back with Death on top of him. He spread his legs, letting Death settle between them. Pierre arched, rubbing his groin against Death’s, and groaned. All he could think about was having Death buried as deep as possible inside him.
“God, you smell so good,” Death murmured as he nuzzled Pierre’s chin.
Pierre blinked, not sure what Death was talking about. He didn’t smell any different than he usually did. When Death shoved Pierre’s collar out of the way and bit down on the muscle connecting his shoulder to his neck, Pierre realised he didn’t care. If Death thought he smelt good, then great. All he wanted was them naked soon.
“Naked. Please,” he begged, tugging on Death’s shirt.
After rocking back on his heels, Death unbuttoned the top couple of buttons and pulled his shirt over his head. Pierre did the same, and their shirts were thrown aside. Pierre bit his lip, praying he wouldn’t come when Death lowered his lightly furred chest to Pierre’s, and his chest hair tickled Pierre’s sensitive nipples. Christ, it was the oddest thing how badly he wanted Death inside him. Almost like the overwhelming craving for heroin.
Death bit Pierre’s chin while he trailed kisses down to the middle of Pierre’s chest. Pierre ran his fingers through Death’s hair, tugging it loose from the string tying it back. He buried his hands in the silken length as Death licked a wet circle around one of his nipples, drawing a low cry from him.
His eyes drifted closed, and he welcomed the pleasure and lust sweeping through him with each touch of Death’s lips and tongue on his nipples. Neither side was ignored until Pierre writhed under Death, begging for something he couldn’t put into words. His nipples were red and aching by the time Death decided to move on.
“We need to get these off you,” Death announced while he ran the tip of his finger down the bulge in Pierre’s jeans.
“Oh God, yes.”
Pierre sat up and struggled with his boots for a few seconds before Death took pity on him.
“Here. Let me help you. Your hands are shaking too hard.” Death paused for a moment, studying him closely. “You’re not having tremors from withdrawal or anything like that?”
Pierre shook his head. “No. The symptoms this time weren’t nearly as bad as they were the last two times I tried to get clean. Maybe because I didn’t go cold turkey.”
“Hmmm…” Death hummed, still not looking convinced.
Pierre grabbed him by the ears and kissed him hard, demanding Death take him seriously. He didn’t want the Horseman to think he was fragile or broken to the point Death wouldn’t fuck him.
Death chuckled when they broke apart. “All right, Pierre. I get the idea. Let’s get naked and see where it all goes from there.”
“Good. I’m dying here.” Pierre gestured to his erection still trapped in his jeans.
“Oh poor thing,” Death murmured, patting the bulge lightly.
Pierre growled, and Death winked at him before removing Pierre’s boots off and tossing them to the side. Quicker than Pierre could think, he was naked, and Death wedged his shoulders between Pierre’s legs. Pierre wanted to do the same with Death. He wanted the Horseman as bare and exposed as he was, but he couldn’t get his hands and mind to work together. Then all thought escaped as Death wrapped his lips around Pierre’s cock and sucked him down.
“Holy shit!” Pierre shouted, digging his fingers into the ground they laid on.
Death peered up at him with what was probably a smirk, but the expression was ruined by the fact he had his face buried in the hair at the base of Pierre’s shaft. Death began to bob up and down, applying a crazy amount of suction like he wanted to suck everything out of Pierre. It was fast becoming the best blowjob Pierre had ever got.
He snarled when Death released him and moved away. “What the fuck?”
Death grabbed the saddlebags and dug through them. “Here. Open the lube and put some on my fingers.”
Pierre managed to catch the bottle of slick before it hit him in the face. He fumbled the lube while Death returned to his previous position and what he’d been doing. Pierre popped open the top, and Death held out his hand. He squirted lube onto Death’s fingers without spilling it all over the place. He was proud of himself for being able to multitask while his dick was in someone else’s mouth.
He dropped the bottle next to them, not caring what happened to it, because Death used his other hand to lift Pierre’s ass off the ground. Pierre whimpered as Death trailed his wet fingers over Pierre’s crease, coming to a stop at Pierre’s hole.
“Yes, please. I want your fingers there, or your tongue, but mostly I want your cock there as soon as possible. Christ! I need something to fill me, Death. You’re killing me here.”
Death’s snort caused him to focus on what he’d just said. He rolled his eyes and waved a hand at his lover.
“Just ignore me. I tend to babble when I’m having a good time.” Pierre was proud of being able to form full sentences.
Death rubbed his fingers over Pierre’s puckered opening, and again all ability to think disappeared. Pierre spread his legs even more, angling his hips to give Death easier access to any part of him the Horseman wanted.
Pierre became lost in the sensations of Death’s mouth and fingers. One surrounding him in moist heat, and the other filling him. He didn’t know how many fingers Death had breached him with, but it wasn’t quite enough. Pierre rocked between Death’s mouth and fingers, babbling as his climax built along his spine. He was going to splinter into a million pieces when he came. He could only trust Death would be able to put him back together when it was over.
“Death, I’m gonna…” He tried to gasp out a warning.
A slight shake of his head was all Death did to tell him he didn’t care. His climax tore through him, and Pierre cried out, filling the country air with his joy. He thrust and rocked, flooding Death’s mouth with his cum. Death drank it down without hesitation. Pierre closed his eyes, allowing the sensation ripple over him. God, it was better than heroin.
After it felt like the last drop had been sucked out of him, he flopped to the ground, panting. Death stood, stripped off his own pants, and dug around the saddlebags again. Pierre couldn’t form a coherent thought about what the Horseman searched for. The crinkle of foil brought his gaze from the sky to where Death knelt between his thighs again.
“Are you ready?” Death reached for the lube, squirted some on his palm and coated his rubber-covered cock.
Pierre grunted and gained control of his body enough to catch his knees. He pulled them up and back, offering his ass up to Death without doubt or worry. Death wasn’t going to hurt him, and as weird as it sounded, he believed Death wasn’t just using him.
“Yes.”
Death positioned his cock at Pierre’s hole and slowly pressed in. Pierre let his head drop back onto the grass as he tried to relax. Death had done a good job stretching him, but Death’s cock was still bigger than the Horseman’s fingers. He bit his lip and breathed deep until Death was buried as far inside him as he could go. Death braced his hands on either side of Pierre’s head and leant down to press a kiss to Pierre’s mouth.
Their breath mingled, and Pierre gripped the back of Death’s head. Pierre stroked his tongue in and out of Death’s mouth, mimicking what Death was doing to him with his cock. Death hit Pierre’s gland, and Pierre broke their kiss, crying out as electricity shot through him.
“You’re so tight,” Death murmured. “You fit like a glove around me.”
They undulated together, thrusting and shoving. Pierre massaged Death’s cock with his inner muscles, driving the Horseman closer and closer to the edge. Death’s breathing sped up, and his smooth rhythm became jerky. Pierre’s cock seemed to think about getting hard again, but even with the steady nailing his gland was getting, his own climax had taken a lot out of him. He didn’t mind though as long as Death came.
Finally, Death groaned and flooded the condom. Pierre wrapped his arms around Death as the Horseman collapsed on top of him. He ran his fingers up and down Death’s sweat-covered back. Pierre whispered love words, not even knowing what he said. He just wanted to soothe Death.
As their heartbeats calmed and their strength returned, Death slid out and took care of the condom. After grabbing his T-shirt, Pierre pushed to his feet and went to the pond’s edge. He dipped the shirt in the water and washed off before handing the wet fabric to Death. The Horseman used it to clean up and tucked it away in a plastic bag with the rest of their trash.
Pierre and Death lay together after washing and dressing. Death had given Pierre his shirt to wear. After rolling the sleeves up, Pierre rested his chin on his fists propped on Death’s chest.
“How old were you when you became Death?”
Death met his eyes for a moment, and Pierre could practically see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, Death blinked and turned his face away.
“I was thirty-five when I died,” Death said.
“How did you die?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Death focused at Pierre, his dark gaze burning.
“Sure. It can’t be that bad. I mean, unless you were dismembered or something like that.” Pierre paused as a thought hit him. “You weren’t beheaded with a guillotine or something?”
Death tilted his head. “Why haven’t you called me crazy? Or run away screaming once you weren’t high anymore?”
Pierre chuckled. “It would have been smarter, huh? As my previous actions have shown, I don’t always do the wise thing.”
“True.”
“I figured you might be crazy, but you haven’t tried to hurt me or anything like that. So it might be better for me to stay with you than to wander around Paris searching for a dealer.” Pierre poked Death in the stomach with his finger. “Now quit stalling and tell me about how you died.”