Tara shifted her weight impatiently. Death and the demon merchant Vulgrim were still discussing something or other. Though, she supposed she should be grateful to the horseman. He was, after all, the one who woke her from the frozen sleep her father had forced her into almost a century ago. Vulgrim glanced at the last remaining mouthbreather. It surprised him that the girl was travelling in the company of the most feared of the Horseman, but it did not surprise him when Death sought the merchant out, asking if he knew of any portals to the Tree of Life.

Or Tree of Death, as it was now.

"Come, Tara. We've a long way to go."

His gravelly voice made the area between her legs twinge. Sometimes she would become paranoid that he knew the effect simply speaking had on her, but she tried to ignore it. Death led her out of the edges of the crumbling town. Once, she knew her entire county like the back of her hand, but now she could barely recognize the landmarks. The war between Heaven and Hell took a toll on Eden.

Before she knew it, Tara was surrounded by a dead forest of close trees. Despair wouldn't be able to navigate through here. They would have to walk. Tara hated walking.

"How far are we going exactly?" Tara whined.

"Don't whine at me. It will take around two days on foot, perhaps only one if Despair can be summoned," Death was clearly annoyed.

"I'll whine at whoever I want to," Tara whined again.

She was either very brave or very stupid, perhaps even both.

In a second he was in front of her, towering over her as her back was pressed into a tree.

"Shut your mouth," his voice took on a huskier tone, "Or I'll give you something to put in it." He stepped away and continued towards their destination.

Any woman in her right mind would have pissed herself in terror long ago. But not Tara. His words made warmth pool between her thighs. A more depraved part of her psyche wished he would give her something to put in her mouth. She blushed. That is not something one should think about Death himself. Her eyes surveyed his assets as he marched along. Who knew the Grim Reaper would be in such great shape?

Death hopped off of a cliff. Tara rushed forward to see if he was alright, her short auburn hair bounced next to her chin. Death was standing about seven feet below her.

"Coming?" He asked.

"Are you insane? I'd break an ankle and then you'd have to carry me the rest of the way!"

"Or I could leave you here and be done with you and your mouth," she could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"You wouldn't do that, would you?" Her voice was more concerned than she wanted it to be.

"Jump. I'll catch you." He sighed and stuck out his arms.

Tara placed a hand on her chest as if to wrap her fingers around her heart to stop its incessant drumming. She leapt from the cliff. Her flight was short; she landed in Death's arms not even a second after jumping.

And she was still there a second later. And another. And another. Soon seconds became minutes, then moments.

"Put me down," her voice wasn't as strong as she wanted it to be.

"Not enjoying being so high up?" He laughed.

Tara was five and a half feet tall. Death was nearly seven.

"If you're implying that I'm short, I'm not. You're tall." She tried to twist out of his grasp, but to no avail. He merely watched her, amused.

Then he tensed. Tara stopped fighting back, the arms supporting her side and thighs dug painfully into her skin. Before she could complain, she was on her back. Death hovered over her. They were under a depression too wide and tall and shallow to be called a cave in the cliff. His hand was over her mouth, preventing her shrill voice from escaping her throat. She was considering whether it would be a death sentence if she licked his hand when she heard the pounding feet above them. She feared a group of demons had found them.

Her fears were proved unfounded when the footsteps moved on, out of earshot. It was fifteen minutes of Death hovering over her before Tara decided to do something stupid. She reached up and grabbed his mask, then pulled it off and clutched it to her chest. He didn't move. His head was still turned away from her, listening for the demons.

When he looked back down at her, he was completely silent. His eyes betrayed no emotion. He simply studied the woman clutching his mask to her chest. She would have felt better if he was angry at her or yelled at her. Death was at his most terrifying when he was quiet. It's odd how you notice little details when you're afraid for your life. Like the narrow, angular line of Death's jaw, or the small, faintly white scar on his cheek. It was then that Tara took notice of their compromising position. Death was between her thighs, forcing them apart. His hands were just above her shoulders, on either side of her neck. She set his mask an arm's length away.

"C-can you let me up, please?" Tara's voice was small and weak.

"Please, who?" An infuriating smirk tugged at his lips. His eyes glinted maliciously. It was better than the cold silence of a heartbeat ago.

"Please, Death," her voice was stronger, but still faint.

"Where did you attitude go, hm? You act as though you're terrified of something," his eyes burned into hers.

"I'm not afraid of you," she didn't even convince herself.

"Oh? Then what are you afraid of?" He shifted his weight to one arm and let the other push up the edge of her shirt.

"Please let me up, Death,"

His head dipped down next to her ear.

"No."

Tara tried to squirm away.

"You're not even trying to get away."

He was right. She didn't want to get away.

"I've smelled desire on you for days now. Do you have any idea how hard it is not to pounce on you in the middle of the street, when you're almost radiating sex?"

She opened her mouth, but no sounds came out.

"I think I've figured out what you're afraid of. It's not me, it's being fucked by me, is it not?"

Tara still couldn't manage any words. Not when everything was going so perfectly.

"You know, they say the best way to overcome your fears is to face them."

He wasted no time in nearly ripping her shirt off of her. His mouth found the bare skin at her neck and kissed and bit. A whimper escaped Tara's mouth as he nipped at her jugular. She didn't notice his hand creeping towards her bra until he somehow twisted it and broke the center, then cut the straps so it was out of his way. She opened her mouth to protest that that was her only bra and probably the only one still in existence, but it turned into a wordless moan when his tongue swirled around her breast. One hand massaged her other, eliciting more pleasurable moans from her parted lips.

He was caught off-guard when she shoved him back and tugged at his belt, undoing it by a stroke of luck. His breath hitched when she pulled his pants over the sensitive tip of his already swollen and still growing member. Tara gasped. He was almost the size of her forearm. She tentatively bent over and ran her tongue down the shaft and back, flicking it over the head. Death groaned, a sound even more appetizing than his speaking voice. It spurred Tara on; she eagerly took as much of him as she could, which was only half. She bobbed her head, taking in more and more until her lips were wrapped around the base. Death's groans grew ragged. His breathing quickened.

Tara pulled back all the way, knowing that he was nearing his release. She was just starting to enjoy the ounce of control she had over him when she found herself on her back again, legs bent in the air. Her pants were gone. She vaguely remembered removing them while she was teasing Death. Now he hovered over her again, red eyes pierced her dull gray ones. A snapping sound alerted her to the demise of her panties, and she was about to complain about not having any underwear when she felt something prod at her entrance. He was teasing her just as she had him, if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

His grin was broken by a gasp. Tara lifted her hips up, forcing him to stop torturing her. He started to thrust into her core, slowly, maddeningly. That, he had control over.

"Harder," she gasped.

"What was that?" He feigned ignorance. He wanted to hear her scream.

"Harder!" Her voice cracked.

He gladly obliged, sitting back on his heels and pulling her knees over his shoulders. Every thrust made her see stars. Every thrust hit something that made her body tighten, tensing more and more until she was ready to snap.

And snap she did. Pleasure exploded through her body as her release overtook her. She cried out, screaming the name of her lover to the skies. Death smirked, only for a second before he came. Tara felt warmth fill her belly as his seed spilled into her. He lowered her legs to the ground and leaned over her, resting his forearms next to her head. Their breaths came in gasps, air leaving their lungs as quickly as it filled them. Tara shivered. She reached for her discarded shirt. Her fingertips barely brushed against it. A chuckle filled her ears as a larger hand reached past hers and pulled the shirt within her reach.

Tara noticed the dark sky. Was it really night already? Death noticed as well, pulling her farther into the almost-cave. She wrapped her shirt around her shoulders. Death wrapped his arms around her waist. He was warm. She cuddled into his chest,and was asleep within minutes.

AN: So this is my first lemon ever. I hope I did OK. I've been lurking around this corner of the internet for the while, and couldn't really find any stories like this involving the ever sexy Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I plan on doing several more like this, for each Horseman and then whoever else you all suggest. Please. Suggest. Let me know that I'm not the only depraved fangirl out there. Tell me the sex scene was okay at least.

The next one I'm thinking of involves War. I'm strongly tempted to do a WarxWatcher story. That being said, I normally do not like yaoi. Just doesn't float my boat. Then I saw a picture on deviantart of War showing the Watcher who's boss. Tell me if you'd rather see him paired with a human/angel/nephilim/fuzzy pink blanket or whatever you want. It helps if you tell me or give me hints about how you want them to act. I'm writing for you.

PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT. I PROMISE I'LL DO MY BEST.