The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (12 page)

“Are you sure?”
As excited as he was about the prospect of doing Pierre bare, he wouldn’t force the issue if Pierre weren’t absolutely positive about the whole thing.
“I’m the one who suggested it, dude. I haven’t been bareback ever, and I thought this might be a good time to try it since we know you won’t be giving me anything.”
He couldn’t argue with that logic, so he squirted lube into his hand and coated his cock with it. Pierre faced forward again, resting his forehead on his hands. It was the most seductive sight Death had seen in a long time. He wrapped his fingers around the base of the plug and twisted it a little.
Pierre trembled, and a soft moan came from him. Death grinned as he made the decision to tease Pierre a little before he fucked him. He grasped the base, pulling it out until just the tip was inside Pierre, and slammed it back in, driving a cry from Pierre.
“Stop teasing, you bastard,” Pierre demanded. “Fuck me already. Do you know how hard I’ve been all morning, waiting for you to come look for me?”
“I can’t believe you talked to your mother with this in your ass,” Death commented as he yanked it out.
“Holy shit!” Pierre shouted, lifting his head up and giving Death a narrow-eyed stare.
Death gripped his cock in one hand while resting the other on the curve of Pierre’s ass. With one fluid thrust, he breached Pierre’s lubed opening and sank in until his pubic hair scraped Pierre’s skin. He paused, waiting for a sign Pierre was ready for him to move. Pierre returned his forehead to his hands and squeezed Death’s shaft with his inner muscles.
He started moving in a smooth rhythm, in and out. Death tried to nail Pierre’s gland with each stroke, forcing whimpers and soft cries from Pierre as he fucked him. They rocked together with Pierre pushing back every time Death thrust forward. Death ran his hand over Pierre’s sweat-covered back while enjoying the sight of Pierre’s body moving in front of him. He loved the heat and feel of Pierre surrounding him without the extra barrier of the latex.
“Oh my God,” Pierre groaned and moved faster. “Touch me. Please.”
Death reached around and encircled Pierre’s erection with a tight grip.
“Yes. That’s it.”
Their movements slowly fractured, and Death could feel the tension building in his body. He could see Pierre’s climax rippling under his skin when it exploded through his muscles. Pierre dropped his head down and grunted, spilling hot cum all over Death’s hand and the floor beneath them.
Death pumped out all he could from Pierre before letting go and grabbing a hold of Pierre’s hips. He reamed Pierre’s ass, hard and fast, needing just a few more strokes to set his own climax off. Death buried his cock as deep as he could and froze while pleasure shot through him until stars sparkled before his eyes. His cum flooded Pierre’s passage.
“Christ, that’s amazing,” Pierre whispered.
Death’s strength gave out, and he collapsed on to Pierre, taking them both to the floor. Their whimpers mingled together when Death’s soft cock slid from Pierre’s ass. Pierre wiggled around until he settled into Death’s embrace, and they lay there, dozing as control over their muscles returned. Death drifted along, listening to Pierre’s steady breathing.
“I missed this,” he said.
“Missed what?” Pierre ran his fingers along Death’s abs, tracing the dips and curves of the muscles.
“Holding someone, and not just after sex. I would spend all night with Oliver, and we didn’t always have sex, or at least we didn’t have sex all the time. Sometimes, after we’d fucked, we would lie in each other’s arms and talk.”
“Ummm…don’t take this the wrong way, but what does a whore have to talk about? Did he get to leave the brothel during the day or something?”
Pierre’s assumption about whores didn’t bother Death. He’d thought the same thing until he’d met Oliver. While Oliver’s situation hadn’t been perfect, Oliver did his best to be more than just an ignorant whore.
“I’d bring him books, and between clients, he’d read. Then when I came to be with him, we would talk about what he’d read. Those times were some of the ones I came to treasure, even more than when I fucked him. I liked learning how he thought, and what he’d enjoy doing if he wasn’t stuck in the pleasure house all day.”
“You really did care for him, didn’t you?”
Death snorted. “I ruined a man because he killed Oliver. If I hadn’t loved Oliver, I would never have done any of it. I’m very protective of those who are dear to me.”
Pierre hummed softly, and Death realised they were getting closer to what Pierre had been thinking before they’d made love.
“Do you care about me like that?”

Cringing, Pierre started to push away from Death. He’d wondered what Death felt about him, but he hadn’t meant to ask the Horseman. Pierre wasn’t naïve enough to believe Death would keep him around. The Horseman had a job to do, and Pierre was sure he’d only get in the way.

Before Death could stop him, he scrambled into his clothes and headed towards the door. “I’m going to take a shower. We should probably be dressing for dinner anyway.”
“Pierre, wait,” Death called, but Pierre was out the door and down the hall.
He rushed upstairs and into his suite, locking the door behind him. Would a lock keep the Horseman from coming in if he wanted? Death didn’t strike Pierre as the type of person who would force his way into some place he wasn’t wanted.
Pierre stripped again, leaving his clothes scattered around the floor as he went into his bathroom and started the shower. He braced his hands on the counter, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
“Shit, Pierre. What the fuck were you thinking? Don’t ask the guy fucking you if he cares about you. You know what happens when you do that. They leave or laugh, and you feel like a complete idiot for making a bigger deal of fucking than they do.”
Lars had done that to him. Pierre should have known the bastard was just using him when he’d told Lars he loved him, and Lars chucked him under the chin like a little kid and called him cute.
Pierre wanted to hit his head against the wall, or shoot up with some heroin to dull his humiliation. Yet he wouldn’t do either. Both ways were damaging, and he had to learn how to deal with things without hiding. He snorted as he stepped under the hot water. What was he doing now, if not hiding?
He washed up, trying not to think of how intimate it felt to have Death take him without a condom. Hell, he’d never trusted any of the men he’d slept with to do that. Not even when he was higher than a kite. There was a check in the right column for him.
After turning off the water, he stepped out and dried off before heading back into his bedroom. Death stood next to his bed, dressed in a black Armani suit and wearing a very unhappy expression.
“Sorry.” Pierre ducked his head and fought the urge to scuff his feet on the carpet. The fact he was buck-naked didn’t help either.
“Nothing really to be sorry for. I’m upset you didn’t stick around to hear my answer, but I’m not mad at you. I’m angry at Lam, and the timing of my newest mission. I wish I could stay and talk to you, because we need to talk.” As he walked forward, Death took a hold of Pierre’s hands and brought them up to his lips. “Please, be here when I get back, and we’ll talk about everything.”
Before Pierre could promise or not, a horse neighed from outside. He turned to see Death’s grey stallion standing on the balcony, impatiently pawing at the stone. Pierre understood Death’s explanation of the horse not being real, or maybe being a spirit. Its eyes were blood red, and it was far bigger than most horses Pierre had seen. Even if he assumed it was a real horse, something in the way it held itself told Pierre the stallion wasn’t to be messed with.
“Damn it,” Death swore loudly. “I thought we’d be left alone until we got you better, but I guess I was wishing on something that would never be.”
Pierre kissed Death before pushing him out of the French doors. “You need to leave. I don’t want your horse coming after me because I’m keeping you from something.”
“Remember we have to talk when I get back, Pierre. I promise you’ll like what I have to say.”
Death swung astride the horse and kicked it with his heels. Neighing, the horse whirled and leapt off the balcony. In a flash of blinding light, they disappeared. Pierre stood there for a moment, staring at where Death had been. When he shivered, and he remembered it was still a little chilly in the evenings, Pierre shut the doors. He dressed and made his way downstairs to the dining room.
Johnson stood next to the table where one plate rested at the end. “Dinner is ready, sir.”
Pierre sighed. “Could I just have a tray brought up to my room? I don’t really feel like sitting down here by myself. Unless you’d like to join me?”
He could tell he’d surprised the man.
“No, sir. I’ve eaten already. I’ll have one of the footmen bring a tray up for you.” “Thank you.”
Pierre wandered back upstairs and went to the sitting room attached to his bedroom. He curled up in the corner of the couch, staring out of the window. He really wanted to hear what Death had to say, but he wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. Pierre should pack and go home where his parents were waiting for him.
At some point he needed to resume his life. Well, not the life he’d been leading when Death found him. Maybe he could go to Jameson and ask for help. Jameson could help him learn how to run his grandfather’s empire. It would give Pierre something to do instead of spending money on drugs and parties. Of course, he’d have to convince Jameson he meant it.
Knocking on the door brought him back to the room instead of his thoughts.
“Come in,” he called.
Johnson opened the door, gesturing for a footman behind him to enter. The footman set the large tray on the table and left. Johnson placed a bottle of wine along with a glass next to it.
“Do you need anything else, Master Pierre?”
“Not tonight, Johnson. Will you have a car ready to take me back to Paris at eleven tomorrow morning? It’s time I started living my life like normal people do instead of hiding away in this fairy tale castle. Also, I’ll need a suitcase brought to my room.”
Johnson paused at the door. “Master Almasia would prefer you stay here until he returns, Master Pierre.”
“I know, but he isn’t in charge of me, Johnson. I must take control of my own life. I’ve let too many things rule me, like the heroin or other people. I need to know I can do this on my own.”
“I understand, sir, and I’ll make sure the car is available. The suitcase will arrive shortly.” Johnson bowed and left.
Pierre ate the delicious meal and poured a drink. He sipped the wine as he waited for a footman to bring him a suitcase. After it arrived and the tray left, Pierre finished the bottle while packing his clothes. He hated leaving while Death was gone, but he knew it was the only way. He cared about the Horseman so deeply already. If Death asked Pierre, he would stay there for as long as Death wanted.
Being a kept man wasn’t what Pierre wanted to be. His actions up to this point hadn’t shown it, but he wanted to make something of his life. He wanted to create or help build the world, instead of destroy it. Pierre hadn’t much thought about things before, but listening to Death talk about how Oliver wanted to learn made Pierre feel like he’d wasted time partying when he could have been discovering things about his world. Being a whore who would probably never leave the pleasure house he worked in didn’t stop Oliver from learning and growing in learning.
Pierre had a better life than Oliver, yet he’d wasted most of his early life having fun. He might have screwed things up at first, but he still had a lot of time to fix his problems and do something with what was left.
He set out clothes to wear the next day and climbed into bed. Curling around a pillow, he wished Death was there to hold him one last time. Something told Pierre that once he left Almasia Estate, he would never see Death again, or even be able to find him if he tried.
It was fate, or destiny, or a higher power that had brought them together. A special moment in time, and Pierre knew there wouldn’t be another time like that. Death wasn’t supposed to save the souls he collected. He was supposed to take them to the gate. Pierre doubted Death had disregarded that order before, and he definitely didn’t think Death would do it again.
What made Pierre different than all the other souls Death had collected over the centuries? Death had commented on his eyes, and he remembered the odd comments Death made about how he smelt. Could Pierre remind Death of someone? Was it possible Pierre might even remind Death of his dead lover?
As thoughts and questions whirled around his brain, Pierre drifted asleep.

Pierre rolled over and opened his eyes. Instead of seeing the ceiling he’d got used to over the last weeks, he saw a bright blue sky. He blinked, but the sky didn’t change. He sat up and realised he wasn’t in bed either. Somehow he was sitting in the middle of Death’s gardens.

“Obviously this is a dream,” he said.
“How did you guess?”
He twisted around and spotted a young, dark-haired man sitting a few feet away from

him.
“Who are you?”
The young man studied him for a moment with startling, familiar green-gold eyes. “I

think you might have a guess as to my identity.”
“You’re Oliver, and since you’re dead, I definitely know I’m dreaming. Why would I
dream about you, though?” Pierre pushed to his feet and strolled over to where Oliver sat on
the bench next to a beautiful bed of red roses.
“Not sure why you would either.” Oliver motioned to the bench. “I have to admit I’ve
never had this happen to me before. I’ve never appeared in anyone’s dreams, although I have
been talking to Gatian since he met you.”
Pierre joined Oliver and leant forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I bet he
doesn’t enjoy that. What do you say to him? Is Gatian his real name?”
“Yes, it is. I don’t know him as Death. I think I’m supposed to convince him he isn’t
responsible for my death.” Oliver plucked one of the roses and removed the thorns. “These
are my favourite flowers.”
“Must be why Death has them all over his gardens,” Pierre murmured. After a moment
of quiet, he asked, “How’s it working?”
“What? Convincing him?”
Pierre nodded.
Oliver shook his head. “It’s not going well, though I don’t think I’ve approached the
subject the right way. I have to admit I was surprised at how badly he reacted when I died. I
knew he cared for me, but I didn’t think he loved me like that.”
“We tend not to ever know how people really feel about us until it’s too late.” Pierre
grunted. “Unfortunately, how they feel isn’t the way we want them to feel. I found out the
truth when my lover married a woman and screwed me over. At least Gatian did love you.” “Yes, he did, but I think he’s falling in love with you.”
“Does that bother you?” Pierre looked over at Oliver, still stunned by how beautiful the
young man was.
Oliver frowned. “Why would it bother me? I’m dead.”
“Good point, but he was your lover, and he hasn’t forgotten you in all these centuries. I
can’t say the same for me. I tend to be very forgettable.” Pierre pursed his lips. Oliver punched him in the arm. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re alive, and be
glad for that when you came very close to dying. You still have a chance to live the life you
want, instead of the life you thought you deserved.”
“Ow!” Pierre rubbed the spot where Oliver had hit him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think about
that.”
“It doesn’t matter. What matters is you have the right to be happy, Pierre, and only you
can make yourself that way. Don’t rely on Gatian, or anyone else, to do it for you.” Oliver
twirled the flower between his fingers. “I was never going to be anything except a whore, but
I made the best of the situation. I read all the books Gatian brought me, and he talked to me
about his travels. You can change your place in the world. You can become a part of the
world where I was hidden away.”
Nodding, Pierre stood and wandered to where a small fountain spilled water into a
basin. He dangled his fingers into the cool water. “Did you love him?”
The silence grew around them until Pierre thought Oliver might have disappeared. He
glanced over his shoulder to where the man sat. Oliver was still there, still playing with the
rose, and he had tears running down his cheeks.
“Yes, I did. He asked me to leave with him. To go and travel the world as his lover and
companion, but I turned him down. I think he thought it was because I didn’t love him or I
liked my life as it was.”
“It wasn’t?”
Oliver shook his head. “No. I did care deeply for him. Was it love? I don’t know. I was a
whore. How would I know what love was? I didn’t go with him because I didn’t want him to
be shunned by his peers because he took up with a whore. I cared too much to let him ruin
his life like that.”
Pierre looked back into the water and said, “Did he know that?”
“I tried telling him, but I’m not sure he believed me.”
“Do you know what he did to revenge what happened to you?” Pierre kept playing in
the water. “He cared so much about you, he had to seek justice for you, even if the man who
killed you wasn’t punished openly.”
“I know. I saw what he did. I’ve been hanging around since I died. I wish I could have
done something to help save him when he was killed.” Oliver sighed. “I have to go. If you
get the chance, will you tell him I did care for him? I wish I could have gone travelling with
him, but I didn’t want to destroy his life.”
“If I see him again, I’ll tell him.”
Pierre turned to see Oliver set the rose down on the bench and slowly disappear. He
wandered back over, picked up the flower and smelt it. As the scent filled his nose, the world
around him went black.