xp_logs | Gabe & Namor | Bending the Knee

Namor and Gabriel discuss the once king's conversation with Kevin, and Namor offers a proposition on how to move forward with the plan of corporate espionage (among more intimate things).

There was a scent of cinnamon and clove in the air, but the decor of the boat house honestly matched its current resident's taste in clothing: minimal, spartan, considerably optional. Some of it had obviously been curated according to Namor's own tastes — lots of wood, stone, and natural textures, mixed with modern, gleam-edged metal.

The only real sign someone lived there was the sheer amount of history books lying in arcane order, if you didn't count the assorted weapons on the walls. Drawings of star charts and architectural studies were scattered on the walls.

"I followed your suggestion," Namor idly commented as he delivered a drink to his guest. "It went as predicted. War, money, power, shadows."

"You'll have to be more specific," Gabriel said dryly, taking the glass. "Thanks." He glanced around the boathouse, deciding he liked what Namor had done with the place, even if Gabriel — with his admittedly poor design eye — found it wanting a soft furnishing. His gaze landed on a star chart, and he tried to make it out. "You know me. Always just... saying things."

Namor sat, almost lounging. "Your commander. I think I amused him, at the very least."

"Oh, Kevin?" Gabriel smirked at the thought of that conversation, turning his attention back to Namor. "Well, 'war, money, power, shadows' sounds about right. I guess I could have warned you of that." He swirled his drink before taking a sip. "And did you find what you wanted? Or, like, should I be concerned? The two of you putting your heads together..."

"We did toast to war," the Atlantean conceded as he reviewed all of the angles of the conversation anew in his own glass. "He sees me as a hammer, which is not wrong. The suggestion was corporate sabotage. It is very satisfying to picture human greed turned against itself."

"You don't have to look far," Gabriel pointed out. He considered what Namor was actually saying. "You are a hammer," he appraised, somewhat approvingly. "But sometimes you need a hammer."

This got a raised eyebrow. "Oh? How forward, Thief. To think I had gotten you a different incentive, but if what you need is a hammer. Well." He idly motioned over to a burlap covered pile behind the door, about the size and width of a storage box, but his eyes stayed locked on Gabe's.

Gabriel cocked an eyebrow back, but he couldn't resist the impulse to follow Namor's gesture. "I need a lot of things," he said, refusing to bow to curiosity and move toward the half-wrapped heap. He looked back to Namor, not at all unnerved by the other man's stare but instead returning it. "My, my," he said, unable to help a small smile. "I fear I've offended you."

"Offense requires choice, Thief." The fact he'd deliberately spoken in capitals was a note here. Not a thief. The thief. His, maybe. Namor was a creature bent toward Deliberate Capitalization. "I personally worry you'll be the one offended if you take my original bribe. There are," he licked his lips, "so many interesting options available."

"A bribe and not a gift?" Gabriel took a sip of his drink, but he kept his tone light and playful. "Well, well. Here I thought I'd already proven my loyalty to the crown."

This got a cross look, but Namor's eyes were not locked on Gabe. "I," and he said this with the weight of a confession, "find English to be troublesome. Your icy telepath gave me her version of the language, but it is an automatic thing. I would prefer to be more precise."

Again, toward the door. "I want you to steal for me. My offer is heavy handed. A bribe, a gift, a concession. Money means little outside of true power. But," and his blue on black gaze snapped back to Gabe, "It is a trusted few who make an empire."

“That’s a bit more precise.” Gabriel’s eyes drifted back toward whatever it was Namor intended as payment or bribe or whatever it was, considering his words. "Maybe not as much of a hammer as I thought," he said finally, looking back at the other man again, matching his gaze but unable to keep the smirk off his face.

"Oh, that," Namor's usual, cocky tone was back, "that was a metaphor." He didn't break eye contact and somehow managed to remain completely serious, perhaps in challenge. "I would break the world open to remake it, but there are many types of hammers. The crown, afterall, serves."

"Well, you can keep your money." Gabriel said. "But I suspect a part of you knew I wouldn't take it, Thief or no."

Namor leaned forward. "It was, once, the Spanish Crown's. Pirated treasure is the best sort of treasure, afterall. I had hoped it might at least amuse you."

"Okay," Gabriel laughed. "That's pretty damn good." He raised his glass and then stood. Unable to resist the curiosity anymore, he zoomed over to the pile and threw off the burlap.

"The ocean floor is full of the only power mankind seems to respect," Namor offered helpfully. He didn't follow Gabriel, but the speedster had his full attention. "We see no reason why Spain should be given back its colonial plunder. Let us use this money against the world or melt it down. Or both."

"Indeed." Gabriel turned from the pile of gold to look at Namor. "You had my interest piqued already. But then you so often do."

"Consider it the smallest taste of what I could offer."

"Oh?" Gabriel took another sip of his drink. "Well, that's certainly intriguing."

Namor rested one elbow on the arm of his chair, propping his head in one hand as he studied the other man. He could have been on a throne. "That is to fund our partnership. Use it, as you will, to uncover terrible, horrible secrets. Be my knife in the shadows. Let us forcibly change this world together."

"Were your metaphors always so violent? Hammers, knives..." Gabriel gave a mock shudder as he really considered what Namor was saying. That he called it a partnership struck him. "I find your offer — to whatever degree it is one — advantageous," he said. He only realized he'd unintentionally adopted Namor's formality after the words left his mouth.

"What now?" He said after a short silence. "Do I need to kiss the ring?"

"I am made of violence, Gabriel." Namor leaned forward, eyes narrowing, and lowered his voice. "There are only monsters in the depths, and their teeth sharpen the darker and deeper you go. But, enough with metaphors." He flicked a hand, banishing that thought. "Service is an exchange. I will only take what you freely offer, but be warned. I am so very hungry. I will ask for more."

He raised an eyebrow. "I hope you are feeling creative."

"Oh, you know me." Gabriel left the pile of treasure and moved back toward Namor. "Very creative, and famously giving."

"Famously?" Namor said. "Arrogance is my speciality, you know. Prove it."

"Now I suppose I'm confused," Gabriel studied him, sounding not the least bit perplexed. He stopped short of the other man's chair. "Am I freely offering? Or are you asking?"

Gabe got a sly smile. "The crown lives to serve. Do you need a royal command, or shall I be soft and attentive? Either way, I still have appetites."

"Well," Gabriel smiled back. There was no mistaking Namor's cues; they'd been back and forth enough at this point. And the tiniest part of him wondered if taking their friendship past this line would be an error.

But a larger part of him was — well, a larger part of him was doing all the thinking at this point, because he was only a man, and, well, he'd seen Namor without a shirt enough times that it was only natural for him to use his free hand to gently caress the king's face, place his fingers under Namor's chin and gently lift it so that Gabriel could kiss him, tenderly at first. And then his hand moved to Namor's neck, and he was pulling the other man a bit closer toward him.

"I suppose," he said after he pulled away, "I have appetites too."

"Well," and his grin sharpened like the aforementioned monsters, "Then we feast." It was his turn now, and his kiss was far more greedy than Gabe's first. He gripped the other man's own shirt, using just enough of his strength to assert control. His grip didn't loosen as he rose, using his height to his advantage. Yet for all of his strength, the Atlantean was careful.

"I gave you two options," Namor reminded Gabe. The spy's shirt was beginning to tug, just a little, but Namor was using his other hand to explore a bit lower than that. "Which will it be."

Gabriel tried not to gasp at Namor's touch, tried not to moan or make it clear just how eager he was for this, even though it was abundantly clear to both of them. "I'll take the commands," he said, moving his hand down Namor's back now that his companion was standing. He put the glass down on the nearest available surface and looked up at Namor's eyes, hoping he didn't look as dizzy or giddy as he suddenly felt. "At least," he added with a note of optimism, "at least this time."