Chapter Text
It all started with an invitation to a ball.
June 8th 1789
Robert Gadling; - or Hob, was living a fairly adequate life, in a decently sized village just outside of London. He liked it; living outside the hustle and bustle of the city, with rolling green fields, miles of river and most of all; clean fresh air. That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy time in the city, but; true to his roots he was a countryman.
He'd always been that way; ever since 1389, you could say.
It was the start of the French Revolution, and society had been surprisingly quick to adapt and be inspired by its movements of core ideals on social equality and popular sovereignty. The city of London had become a bustling hub of gossip and heated exchanges profoundly challenging those traditional notions of authority and political power.
Hob had learned to pay attention to politics, especially after a rather nasty time when he divided his time fighting for both sides of York and Lancaster. He wanted to try and be on the right side, or more often than not; in support of the lesser of two evils. It usually worked out better for him that way.
Being a countryman, he was still rather well off - with the large amounts of money and various treasures he had pocketed away over the years. However, despite this, he only ever ventured into the city centre for certain things. His work in shipping, obtaining fine literature or food and; on this particular occasion. A very important meeting.
Something he could not, and certainly wouldn't miss for the world.
London is a hustle and bustle of movement, sounds, smells and sights. Citizens of various social standings can be found everywhere if you are actively looking that is. The more high class, clothed in their velvets, silks and pearls are usually seen gossiping or thriving within the areas of Chelsea, Kensington and Hyde Park. The penniless and less well-off, continue to wander the mazes of cobbled streets, begging for small change and are for the most part; invisible to everyone else.
Not Hob though, he always took notice; after all, he’s been in that position once before. About 80 years ago, it might have been longer than that; time is always fleeting and trickles like sand nowadays. What he can remember is that it was the darkest time of his life; his estate, knighthood and social standing were gone. his beloved and beautiful wife; dead . His intelligent, headstrong son; dead . Even he’d died a few times, however; when you're an immortal human, then starving to death, or being drowned just becomes a personal hell, a never-ending time loop of death and resuscitation.
So he was always cautious to offer even just a couple of shillings to those who clearly needed it.
Walking the streets along the river, his feet making ripples with each puddle he stepped in; Hob smiled to himself, his mind was a mile away, consumed by his current motivations and overall goal. This was a very important day, one that he had been counting down to ever since the last one ended. It had been 100 years to this day, give or take a couple of hours; an entire century had passed by - the world changing and adapting around it. To say Hob was excited, would be an exaggeration, he hadn’t been able to sleep the night previously. Instead, he lay awake in his empty bed, with his mind racing at a million miles an hour, a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, and a fire in his groin. The thoughts themselves, however, well he would never admit or describe them to another human being.
But he was going to see him again.
His Stranger.
A tall figure with eyes like stars and who dressed like the night; the man who had consumed his every sleeping moment since they’d first locked eyes. A pale, well-chiselled face surrounded by a shock of black hair and a voice more seductive than any woman. It was tormenting, having to wait so long to see him again, but Hob was a tenacious fellow. He had to be, being immortal and all that. Besides, he also had his fantasies and his rather vivid imagination to tide him over.
He was going to have to use all his strength to keep him from pouncing when he actually saw his beloved Stranger in the flesh.
Hob’s mind quickly came back to him as he was suddenly reminded of the parchment envelope in his breast pocket, his thumb trailing over the broken wax seal. It had arrived earlier in the post and he was surprised to see it was an invitation to a debutante ball, hosted by the incredibly wealthy Kellerton family, at their Manor Hall that very evening. Although he shouldn’t really be surprised; especially since he was considered a somewhat wealthy and rather eligible bachelor at this time, he received a lot of invitations to these things.
He never usually went and would pen a polite response. This time, however, he was actually considering attending.
Maybe he wouldn’t attend it alone.
Boldened by the meeting that lay ahead, Hob had now quickened his stride with a clear purpose, and a particular question in mind. He wasn’t going to be late for this.
A few hundred feet away, the cobbled streets gave way to a large gravel courtyard lined with street lamps, well-tended plants and a small marketplace. Making his way through the crowd, and throngs of people going about their daily business; Hob eventually stood in front of a large red brick building. Although not much had changed in the past 400 or so years, apart from its inhabitants this particular building has a very rare and enchanting character to it.
The White Horse.
It may not seem much from the outside, and it seemed like little had changed ever since the foundations were laid, all those years ago but Hob knew better. There had actually been rather significant developments to the building itself as well as some notable and idiosyncratic intrusions onto the pages of history. Particularly Hob’s history. It was where they first met and was the place his life had changed for the rest of eternity.
He could remember that first meeting like it was yesterday. He was a mercenary, freshly back from whatever war he was fighting at the time. He and his friends were jovial, drinking and enjoying each other's company, and somehow the topic of conversation was death. Hob remembered proudly exclaiming that he wasn’t going to die. Because Death was a mug's game, and everyone else died because they simply chose to go along with it.
But not Hob; he was going to be different.
It was on this day that he then locked eyes with the most beautiful figure, a human - he’d ever seen. A stunning figure dressed in black, with skin as pale as the snow. He hadn’t realised at the time but Hob had fallen deeper than he ever would in his life. The Stranger's first words to him continued to ring in his ears for years afterwards.
“Did I hear you say you have no intention of ever dying?”
No, he certainly didn’t.
He remembered his friends laughing and chortling when the Stranger had followed up Hob’s determined response with what Hob had thought was rhetorical.
“Well then you must tell me what it is like. Let us meet. Here, again Robert Gadling. At this Tavern of The White Horse in 100 years time”
Hob did tell him. Every hundred years he had continued to meet up with the Stranger and inform him of his various escapades, a variety of tales and how the earth had changed. He did have a slight existential crisis the first time, as he slowly realised his friends became old around him, as he eventually laid them to rest. He thought he’d made a deal with a demon, or even the Devil himself. But Hob, being Hob, soon learnt to take it all in his stride.
That's what life was about after all.
Enjoying all the little things.
There was a reason Hob had booked out this room of the inn.
Not just because it was away from prying eyes, gossiping mouths and eavesdropping. But ultimately because it was a private room.
Their last meeting had been in the very centre of the place, he hadn’t been in his best shape and Hob had rather regrettably caused a bit of a scene when he arrived. So he had made his mind up to pay back the Stranger with the nicest room, food and drink in the place.
Hob could barely contain his excitement when his Stranger appeared from the shadows, clothed in black as always. Hob noticed that his hair was shorter than it was the last time, but it was higher. It had been pouffed up with volume, two pigeon curls at the sides with the rest of it tied up in the back. It suited him. Hob couldn’t help as his eyes hungrily took in his outfit, a high necked black shirt, his red jewel pinned to the collar. Over this was a black long jacket with coattails and a high collar.
Hob’s mind started to run away with him as he realised how well fitted, and tight his outfit of choice was. It clung to his Stranger's tall thin frame, accentuating his well defined features. If Hob had his way he would have taken him, dominated him, right there and then. He would have ripped off his fancy-ass clothing with his teeth, picked him up and thrust him against the wall. He would have inhaled his scent, nibbling at his neck and ear lobes, pleasuring and toying with him. Then he would have made his Stranger beg, moan and cry for more whilst he fucked him senseless.
But Hob thankfully had more self-control than that. He’d had hundreds of years to master that particular skill, along with various others.
“Hello again Hob.”
“Hello again Stranger.”
Hob certainly didn’t expect the meeting to go as it did however. With an unexpected intruder.
Fair to say, his Stranger wasn’t the least bit approving of his work in the Shipping Business, Hob didn’t really like it himself, but he said it had to be done. Hob was somewhat offended that he had actually offered up his thoughts on the matter, not just that but actual advice.
“I suggest you find yourself a different line of business Robert Gadling” - Hob’s stomach fell through the floor; the look his Stranger gave him, he looked somewhat disgusted.
“You’re giving me advice? After 400 hundred years? What happened to ‘live your life as you choose?” - He scoffed slightly.
“The choice is yours. But would you take that choice away from others?” - Was the retort.
Hob ultimately knew he would consider his advice, he didn’t doubt the words, but he usually doubted himself.. After all these meetings there’s one thing he knew for certain; his Stranger was usually right.
Of course, Hob being as slightly petty as he was, had to mention that in the production of King Lear he had seen recently, its original ending had been changed. To a happier one. Hob had always held a grudge against Shakespeare but, that wasn’t to say that he didn’t actually mind the plays, some were rather good. But he still resented that man for pulling his Stranger away during a meeting of theirs back in 1589, back when he had been knighted and went by Sir Robert Gadlen . Hob remembered feeling green with envy as he watched the two walk away and disappear out of sight.
He had wanted nothing more than to rise from his chair, grab his Stranger by the arm and pull him away, to a quiet corner or a room where he would have punished him for being distracted. Not punished in the usual sense, but he would have toyed with him once again, made him feel good. Hob would have done anything to make his Stranger feel whatever kind of way that prat Shakespeare had done, whatever kind of wiles that had drawn his attention away. Hob had restrained himself from doing so though he was, for all intent and purpose; very happily married. But he couldn’t shake that jealous feeling, that he wanted to mark the man as his.
Only his.
“That will not last. The great stories will always return to their original forms.” - He was brought back to reality with a thump.
As much as it pained him to ask, Hob’s curiosity got the better of him. He needed to know what it was that had happened.
“That lad, Will Shakespeare. He turned out to be a half-decent playwright after all.”
A pause.
“You made some kind of deal with him didn’t you?”
“Perhaps.”
“What kind of deal? His soul?” - Hob asked jokingly.
“Nothing so crude.”
Hob chuckled at that, the more they had interacted, the more the Stranger became a bit more human. The first time they had met, he’d seemed other worldly, stoic and unfeeling. Now Hob could see he had a sense of humour.
“400 years now I’ve been meeting you here, and there is still so much I don’t know. Who are you? Truly?”
“What's your name?” - Hob asked, desperation showing itself in his voice.
His companion had opened his mouth to answer, looking slightly unsure of himself. Before someone else made themselves known to them.
“I might ask both of you that same question gentlemen.”
A woman. Not only that; a troublemaker.
Clearly one of high class judging by the outfit, Hob thought to himself. She was covered in a gold velvet cloak, very finely stitched with detailing, whilst her dress was a mixture of reds, blacks and more gold. She spoke again as she pulled back her hood revealing her face.
“Please, please. Do not trouble yourselves to rise.”
Hob’s eyes glanced to his left as out of the shadows, small cutlass knives unsheathing, came two tall, burly blokes, with dark clothing and menacing faces. The woman gestured to them with an unbothered wave of her hand.
“These are Michael and Tobias. Smugglers by trade. Although they’re only too glad to augment their earnings by slitting throats.”
“If you move, they’ll slit yours.”
Hob wasn’t buying any of that bullshit. But curiosity was knocking at his door again and so he sat like his Stranger. In silence.
“They tell of a tale in these London parts, that the Devil and the Wandering Jew meet once, every century, in a tavern.”
That earned a look. Hob had caught the man's deep blue eyes staring at him in confusion, or was it disbelief. Hob had glanced back with a similar stare and a smirk. He honestly was having a hard time trying not to laugh at this woman's accusations. But she hadn’t appeared to have noticed as she continued talking and pulled something out from her bag.
“Two years past, sewn into the shirt of a dead man. I found this.”
She placed an old piece of parchment paper on the table cloth in front of them, creased and old. But it had a charcoal drawing on it, Hob couldn’t quite believe what he saw. A drawing of him and his Stranger, way back in 1689. Hob was slightly shocked at how different he looked, rough as anything. His Stranger had been sketched with a pout and rather long hair.
“Is that meant to be me? Oh I look terrible. You look worse.” - he glanced at the Stranger, who he couldn’t help but notice was staring, very intensely , at this woman. He had to calm the beast of jealousy that had started to rear its ugly head again.
“You return to this pub every hundred years, striking bargains with men, sharing gifts, immortality, which you will now share with me.”
Silence from them both.
“Well, have you nothing to say?” - She questioned. Finally, the Stranger spoke with a slight smirk in his voice..
“I am no Devil.”
“And I’m not Jewish.” - Hob added.
“Fie.” - The woman declared, looking pissed.
“What manner of creatures are you then?”
Okay enough questions, Hob thought. Now it’s my turn.
“Who wants to know?” - He had remarked boldly.
He wasn’t expecting the woman to give him an answer.
“I’m Lady Johanna Constantine. You will both follow me sirs. My coach is without. I can see there is so much you can tell me. So much I can learn” - Her eyes looked hungry, her words wry and demanding.
“No.”
“No, I think not.”
Hob glanced concerned at the Stranger, wondering what kind of game he was playing. Ultimately he felt the beast of possessiveness calm and settle comfortably in his core. Instead of leaving him, his Stranger wanted to stay with him. His Stranger wasn’t tempted away by this woman's words.
Hob liked that. He was his, and no one else's.
Until he saw Michael and Tobias advancing on them, knives ready and in front of them.
Call it being bold, brave or just down-right showing off, Hob wasn’t going to let these two half-wits hurt his companion. Never matter what happened to him, but if they so much as touched him, then they could consider themselves dead where they stood. Holding his still half full china cup of tea in his hand Hob took his chance.
He flung the liquid into one of the men's faces, then with a swift raise of his arm he smashed the teacup in the other's, cutting him on his cheek and just below his eye. Grabbing his shoulders from behind he then had the brilliant idea to slam him face first into the table, where Hob then picked him back up and threw him to the floor. He saw very quickly that the other was advancing on his companion again, so with the brute strength of 400 years behind him, Hob gave him an uppercut to the jaw, knocking the man backwards where he joined his friend on the floor.
Hob went to advance on Lady Johanna, but she soon had a knife to his throat and he had to consider himself bested. She looked at him, rather alluringly, he thought and he smirked back as he stared down at her.
“Wait.”
The Stranger rose from his chair, silent as anything and he moved towards them. Hob saw Lady Johanna look at him, slightly scared. Before Hob knew it, she went as white as a ghost and the knife dropped from her hands with a clatter on the floor. She started hyperventilating as she dropped to her knees and her eyes glazed over, her pupils rolling into the back of her head. She was muttering, terrified.
“No...No, not you…”
Hob was just a tad concerned, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t going to be nicked from a knife, but still concerned. He was a gentleman after all. He knelt down and asked the Stranger, who was still standing.
“What did you do to her?”
“She has old ghosts that I’ve shown to her.”
Leaving the woman on the floor, muttering and breathing heavily, Hob rose to his feet, and he was surprised. His Stranger was indeed other-worldly it seemed, although Hob had known that for a while now. But it had just been proven to him. Almost noting the slight tension in the air, The Stranger looked sheepishly at the floor and remarked.
“You need not have come to my defence.”
Hob smirked - “Clearly.”
He raised a hand to his ear and fiddled with it, he could feel the blood rushing through his body. Surely his cheeks were a bright red at this point, he could feel his ears and nose burning. Is this what they called flirting? He didn’t have any hand fan with him, nor did he know the language well enough to have communicated with one. But if he had one, then he would have waved, or gestured with it in a way that let his companion know exactly what he was thinking.
“Still, I didn’t want to be drinking here alone in 100 years time.” - He was really trying his luck here, and it seemed to be paying off as the look he received was one he wanted to keep as a picture framed on his wall.
It was a look of admiration, his smile or smirk so small, but enough to show the dimples in his well defined cheeks. His eyes as dark as ever, with piercing white pin pricks for pupils that scorched his very soul. Hob had seen this kind of look before, he’d been on both the giving and receiving end of one of these looks, he wasn’t a man to turn down an offer like that. He was after all a master of many things, that, of course included sexual things. This was the kind of stare that usually ended up with him and whoever he was with feeling sore, but very satisfied, in the morning.
Hob’s mind started to run away with itself again, and this time he was letting it. He felt his heart beat faster as his imagination started to run wild. How he imagined grabbing his stranger's face in both hands and kissing him so deeply, so hungry that he practically melted, how he would then pick him up and demand that his Stranger wrap his legs around his waist as Hob would carry him to one of the Inn’s upstairs bedrooms.
His mouth started to dry up as he pictured, once again, pushing the man up against the wall, pinning him down with his hands, so he had no possible means of escape. He would, first and foremost, lose all the clothing, that wouldn’t be too difficult of a challenge. Then he’d kiss every possible part of his Stranger, from his exposed neck and shoulders, to his torso, and each pectoral muscle, licking his nipples. Hob had always imagined the man to be muscular, despite the thin frame.
His Stranger might have these other-worldly, supernatural powers. But for the past few hundred years, Hob desired to show him the power he had, he wanted to reduce him to an absolute mess of a man, moaning, sobbing and begging to just fuck him already. He wanted his Stranger to yearn him, to want him, to need him. He imagined long, pale fingers running through his hair, gripping it, then clawing them down his spine; he didn’t even care if his skin was torn or scratched.
He just wanted him; whimpering as his Stranger would pull him closer with each passing, agonising moment.
After he’d toyed with the poor man for long enough, running his fingers along the pale thighs, that would still be wrapped around him; Hob would then have gladly thrust himself inside and up, feeling the tight, wetness of the man clenched around his cock. He wanted his Stranger to tremble and shake as he sat on top, riding and grinding against him, breaths heavy, gasps and kisses in his ears, pushing him against the wall. Hundreds of years worth of longing that would pulsate through his veins and synapsis until finally, his Stranger would call his name and they both would be spent.
Instead of this scenario however, Hob was still by some miracle, standing in the room opposite the man, who was still staring at him with that fucking smug face again. In that very moment, Hob decided to push his luck even further and averting his gaze, decided to ask. A feeling of hope in his throat.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to find another pub this evening?”
"She may have told others about our meeting."
Hob felt his small lingering feeling of hope be replaced by a disappointing punch to his gut.
"It will not be safe for you."
"I'm perfectly safe. I can't die, remember? - he retorted, sarcastic and joking.
"Aye. But you can be hurt or captured. "
Was it just a trick of the light, or was that really a look of concern in his Stranger's eyes?
Either way that look knocked Hob for six and he was actually a little shocked at the words. He was worried for him, his Stranger was actually concerned for his well being, had he actually been that way all this time? He'd always given off a sense of aloof-ness and always seemed stoic to a fault.
"We must be cautious." - His Stranger added.
"Always." - Hob responded with resolve and a new found confidence.
"A hundred years, then?"
"A hundred years."
His Stranger began to turn his face away and started to make his way out of the private room. Hob stood there watching his Stranger leave; again. He started to become another brush stroke in a painting of other humans as he walked out of the pub. A fire burned in Hob's chest and that feeling of hope was suddenly clawing at his insides again. If he was going to do this, then he needed to do it.
*Now! You Idiot!*
Hob sped out of the room, pushing his way through the pub's inhabitants, his hand reaching out to try and grasp his Stranger's coat. Bursting through the threshold of the pub entrance into the front courtyard, blinking in sunlight; Hob's eyes scanned the area and saw the figure in black continuing to walk away, and before he could lose him in the crowd. Hob did the only thing he could. Shouted.
"Hey...uh…WAIT UP A SECOND!"
Hob very nearly crashed into the man, as he had turned round in an instant to face him and Hob had to slow himself down. Panting heavily to get his breath back, he cleared his throat and stood up straight, fixing his coat.
"Yes Hob?" - Said his Stranger, a quizzical look on his face.
Hob now realised that he didn't actually rehearse this part, so his mind was pulling at whatever loose threads it could to make a somewhat coherent sentence. He put his hands into his pocket and pulled out the envelope, ripping it slightly. He held it in his hands and fidgeted with it, before he took a deep breath and spoke.
"There's a…uh….debutante ball tonight. Well, that's to say…I've been invited to it, and I uh don't usually go to these things…"
He had never stuttered so much in his life. He had always prided himself on this rather incredibly smooth ability to talk and woo, well just about anyone -but here he was, now a blushing, fumbling puddle of goo.
"I…was uh wondering…ya know, if you wanted to come with? I…err have a plus 1 and I don't exactly have…any kind of partner…or otherwise to invite…and I thought it'd be fun to go…"
His Stranger was still staring at him, though the quizzical look had turned into a rather incredulous one now. Hob was trying his patience it seemed, but he took one final deep breath and spoke calmly.
"It's a long shot I know. But would you like to attend this ball with me tonight? We can surround ourselves with fancy people, eat free food...err continue on our conversation?"
Hob waited with bated breath, he'd done it now, he had to go overboard and he must have surely put his foot in it. Christ, with the silence it made these few seconds tick by like hours, days, months . His face was flushed, his heart was beating so fast Hob wouldn't have been surprised if it burst from his chest and landed on the cobblestones below them. There was nothing wrong with asking, though. At least he'd been confident enough to try…
Right?