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Hob has never denied that he is a man of simple pleasures. His markers of a good night out have long been drinking, fighting and fucking, although there has been rather less of the fighting in recent decades as he has striven to raise himself once again to the station of gentleman. A good meal has also become rather more an important feature since his period of destitution in the previous century. Still, there’s nothing like winning a fight to really get the blood pumping, and this century’s meeting with his handsome Gentleman has really provided thus far. He has felled two armed ruffians and felt the thrill of a beautiful woman pressing a knife to his throat. All in the defence of said handsome Gentleman, who seemed, as far as it is possible to tell with him, delighted by Hob’s efforts. The Gentleman’s own display of weird power had been thrilling, Hob’s awe and fear adding a certain frisson to the surging excitement in his veins. He can’t help himself with his Gentleman standing before him, as close to a smile as Hob has ever seen him, firelight lending a warm glow to his pallid skin. And so, Hob boldly exceeds the usual limits of their centennial meetings:
“I don’t suppose you’d care to find another pub tonight?”
Of course, the Gentleman declines initially, but his heated gaze, the way he seems to sway towards Hob, show that his heart is not in the rebuffal. Hob presses the matter with a cheeky grin and is delighted and astonished to be accepted.
”Aye then, perhaps I might stay with you a while yet. Lead on Hob Gadling.”
So it is that Hob finds himself in a private back-room of another tavern, ushering out a nervous serving girl who has brought them wine and glasses for their table. His whole body tingles with an anticipatory thrill, although what it is he is anticipating he hardly dares admit to himself. The Gentleman stands between him and the door so that Hob must lean around him to turn the key in the lock. Hob is careful that their bodies do not touch, uncertain still as to how much he will be allowed, but he is nevertheless in far closer proximity now than he has ever been to his strange companion.
He rakes his eyes slowly up the Gentleman’s lithe body and meets his gaze with a shaky grin. The Gentleman still has an air of delighted amusement about him that would be slightly offensive to Hob were it not for the way his eyes blaze with a kind of cold fire. He takes a small step forward and says in a sinful, honeyed voice:
”Well then Hob Gadling, since you seem so intent upon it, perhaps you had better tell me. How would you pleasure me this night?”
Hob exhales heavily as a rush of powerful desire grips his body. His breeches feel suddenly tight around his cock as a veritable host of wicked ideas crowd into his mind.
“Well,” he begins slowly, running his eyes over his Gentleman’s body again as he contemplates which of those many ideas to voice first. “If I thought you would allow it, I should take you to my private chambers and rid you of those fancy garments. I would lay you out upon my bed and run my tongue over every inch of your moonlight skin. See what manner of sounds I could wrest from that fine mouth of yours.”
Hob looks back to the Gentleman’s face to see what he makes of that. The fine mouth is twisted into an expression that on anyone else would be a grin.
”My moonlight skin?” he says in a voice rich with suppressed mirth. Hob shrugs and dares to press himself closer.
“Aye, you like a poet do you not?” That earns a huff of almost-laughter.
”You think yourself a poet?”
“I could be perhaps. Tonight, for you.”
”Indeed. And if I will not allow what you have described? What then Hob Gadling? Would you tup me here against this very door?”
Hob groans and presses against his Gentleman’s body until he is indeed resting with his lean back against the door. It takes every ounce of Hob’s self-control not to simply shove his tongue into the Gentleman’s mouth and start rutting against him. Such coarse behaviour would be humiliating and unbecoming with one so beautiful and powerful and uncommonly strange, he thinks.
Instead, Hob leans in so that his mouth is close to the Gentleman’s ear. It feels an intimate gesture, Hob’s breath moving over cool skin, the Gentleman’s black hair brushing against Hob’s face.
“I would do that readily enough if it is what you want” he whispers. “Or perhaps you would prefer me to go on my knees for you?” He thinks he feels a tremor in the Gentleman’s body at that and he shivers with delight. “You’d like that would you? Me kneeling before you, worshiping your pretty cock with my mouth. Would that please you?”
”It would.”
Something in the deep timbre of the Gentleman’s voice seems to strike a point within Hob's body and reverberate through him. It is as if he is a crystal wine glass made to ring with the touch of a delicate finger. It takes the strength clean out of his legs and he drops to his knees with a hungry moan he cannot bring himself to be embarrassed about.
He fumbles with the Gentleman’s clothing, eagerness making him clumsy as he unfastens and pushes aside a truly unnecessary number of garments. At last he finds the final layer, fine linen against finer skin, and he reaches in to find his prize.
Another subtle tremor runs through the Gentleman’s body as Hob gently fingers his shaft and bollocks, drawing them out of his underclothes and arranging the fabric around them so he is prettily on display. His prick is only half hard and Hob glances upwards to assure himself that the Gentleman is content to continue.
He is looking down at Hob tight-lipped, but his eyes still blaze with the cold fire of his passion. Where his pupils should be are instead twin points of light which scintillate against fathomless darkness like stars in the firmament. Hob is quite lost to the depths of his gaze.
“Beautiful”breathes Hob. “You are a wonder to behold.” Perhaps he will make a poet yet.
The Gentleman responds by laying cool fingers against Hob's jaw. He touches the pad of his thumb against Hob's mouth and Hob parts his lips to allow the tip to slip between and press against his tongue. Hob feels for a moment as if he is receiving the Sacrament (this is my body) until the fourteenth century peasant at his core tamps down on such blasphemy. Instead he closes his eyes with a shudder and sucks gently on the Gentleman’s thumb, teasing the smooth, uncalloused skin with the tip of his tongue.
His Gentleman makes a soft sound at that; a gasp or a sigh. He presses down harder on Hob's jaw, forcing him to open his mouth. Understanding what he is being told, Hob looks up at his Gentleman with a confident smirk.
“Aren't you eager?” he drawls as the thumb is withdrawn. He lays his hands on the Gentleman’s thighs and turns his attention to the handsome cock in front of him.
“Do not fret, I am well practised at this these days. I will soon have you spilling down my throat and shouting my name to the heavens.”
”You presume... the Gentleman begins furiously, only to stop with a shuddering gasp as Hob licks up the length of his prick.
“I do" Hob pants out, mouth watering at that first taste of his Gentleman's sex, now pleasingly hard for him. “I presume much tonight." He kisses the cockhead with wet lips and looks up through his lashes. “It is up to you as to whether you allow it. What say you?”
The Gentleman pushes his fingers into Hob's hair and grasps a handful, tugging painfully at his scalp. He pushes Hob's head forward, intention clear as his prick nudges at Hob's mouth. Hob keeps his lips closed though and looks up at his Gentleman with raised eyebrows, awaiting his reply.
”Yes” he says in that rich, powerful voice. His tone conveys such command, such urgent desire, that it once again sets Hob's whole body reverberating with that strange frequency of pleasure. For a moment Hob is in danger of spending himself in his breeches like some untested youth, but instead he parts his lips and slides forward, taking the glorious heft of the Gentleman's cock into his mouth at last.
Hob may have come relatively recently to men and their pleasure, but recently for one such as him means the last forty years or so. More time than most have to learn their skills. Hob has never wanted to please a man more than in this moment. The question of whether his Gentleman is in fact really a Man seems irrelevant when the prick Hob is swallowing down seems so undeniably male. He applies himself with enthusiasm, sucking and sliding, swirling his tongue and digging his fingers into the Gentleman's quivering thighs.
The Gentleman remains silent, but his grip in Hob’s hair gets tighter and tighter. Hob moans at the way the tingling pain in his scalp weaves into his arousal so deliciously. He tries to take the Gentleman's cock deeper into his throat, swallowing frantically so as not to choke himself. He reaches between the Gentleman's legs to cup his bollocks and press his fingers up behind. The Gentleman's hips jerk sharply at that, so Hob presses again more firmly. He can feel that the Gentleman is close to taking his pleasure by the way the tension seems to gather in his body until he is taut and trembling for release. Still, silent as he is, all the warning Hob gets is a tug on his hair and two sharp thrusts of his Gentleman's hips before the Gentleman is spilling his release into Hob's mouth. Hob swallows it down as best he can, relishing the acrid burn in his throat and the rich, earthy taste on his tongue. He carries on sucking and licking at his Gentleman's prick through it all until the Gentleman uses his grip in Hob's hair to pull him off and haul him to his feet.
The Gentleman turns them about so that now it is Hob who is back-to-the wall next to the door. The Gentleman presses his body flush up against Hob's and murmurs delightedly:
”How eagerly you drink me down. You are indeed skilled, you must have made quite the study these past few years.”
He leans in and pushes his tongue between Hob's lips, licking the taste of himself from within Hob's mouth. Hob yearns to say ”All for you, only you.” But he is so overcome with the force of the Gentleman's abandon and the strength with which the Gentleman holds him in place that he can manage only to moan into his Gentleman's mouth. He tries to move, but the body holding him is unyielding, he is powerless in comparison. All unbidden, his mind revises his opening fantasy so that, rather than his Gentleman laid out before him, it is instead Hob who is naked, on all fours, a strong hand gripping his hair, holding him down with implacable strength as his Gentleman buggers him senseless.
He groans loudly at that thought and the Gentleman pulls back with a smirk on his face.
“How loud you are Hob Gadling. Do you wish to summon an audience to witness how well you give yourself up to me?”
Hob could not give a fig at that moment who is or is not there to witness him doing anything, especially when he feels the Gentleman's clever fingers finally make their way inside his clothing and curl delightfully around his own aching cock. Hob sobs with the intensity of his need, trying to thrust into that grip, but of course he cannot move. The Gentleman's fingers feel cool against Hob's burning flesh as he leans in to say:
”Will you beg me now for the mercy of your release?”
Even as Hob moans in desperation, something about his Gentleman's words sounds a note of alarm in his mind. Somehow he manages to gather himself enough to gasp out “D...do you mean ah! pleasure or mmmm d...death?”
”Which would you prefer?”
“Not death, never that but oh! Anything else, anything please. Your hand, your mouth just...Yes!”
The Gentleman seems well pleased with Hob's words and his hand finally starts to move on Hob's cock, sliding with delicious friction. At the same time he leans in to claim Hob's mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing down all the filthy, desperate noises Hob is making as if he is starving for them. Hob can still feel that earlier harmonic of pleasure vibrating through him and the way that he and his Gentleman are moaning into each other's mouths, pleasure meeting pleasure, strengthens the sensation until he feels as if he will shake quite out of his skin. The Gentleman's fingers are doing sinful, wicked things to his cock and Hob wrenches his mouth free of the kiss, suddenly desperate to breathe.
“God! ” he pants. “My God.”
”I could be, perhaps. Tonight, for you.” The Gentleman breathes these teasing words directly into Hob's ear and the sound of his voice, the feel of it moving through him, tips Hob over the edge of his climax. He has the image of his cock spilling into his Gentleman's hand, coating the elegant fingers with his spend, and then he is lost to everything but his own body as his pleasure rips through him.
His head tips back, eyes closed, as the Gentleman expertly draws every last ounce, every drop, of sensation from Hob until he is left gasping and trying to hold himself upright on shaking legs.
He feels the Gentleman step away from him, but for a long moment he can only lean against the wall as he tries to recover his senses. When he does open his eyes he wishes he had done so much sooner as he beholds the sight of the Gentleman finishing licking his fingers clean. The Gentleman spies Hob watching and holds his gaze as he slowly draws a finger out of his mouth and, dear God in heaven, Hob is going to be tossing himself off to that sight for at least the next decade. Starting with tonight as soon as he can lock his bedchamber doors behind him.
”Did that meet with your satisfaction?” the Gentleman asks, although the expression of extreme smugness on his face tells Hob exactly how satisfied he must look at this moment. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained:
“I do not rightly know” he replies as he fastens his breeches over his tender cock. “Perhaps you could accompany me to my lodgings so we may investigate the matter further?”
But no, it is too much, too far. The Gentleman steps back, a slight frown appearing on his face. ”No. I think not" he replies in a tone that suggests Hob is being chastised for his greedy human appetites.
“It is as you wish, of course" Hob replies quickly. “I thank you for what you have given me this night.” He cannot help but grin, suffused in the lingering glow of his pleasure. “A hundred years then?” The Gentleman's relief at Hob's words is palpable.
”A hundred years" he agrees, and without further ado he smooth his hands over his somehow immaculate clothes, then unlocks the door and exits.
“Fuck” Hob exclaims with some feeling. He seats himself at the table and pours a glass of wine. A hundred years has never seemed so long.