Hanukkah 8: God Corporation
Dec. 22nd, 2006 07:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valmoraAnd now, because it's the last night of Hanukkah and probably about time: NICE JEWISH BOYS. IN AN AU.
“He’s afraid the board of directors is going to oust him in favor of you,” Jon says, shrugging, shoulders broad under his shirt, the motion shifting the light on his tie into silver-sheen. “Why shouldn’t he be afraid?”
“I thought retired CEO’s got all sorts of cushy benefits,” David says. “Besides, I don’t want the job.”
“They only get cushy benefits if they’re on the board’s good side. Dad’s not, not after – not after the failed takeover bid. The board wasn’t happy at all with him, and then you managed to pull us out of the mess –” Jon grins, the gesture warmer than blood under David’s skin.
“Shouldn’t you be ashamed of supporting me over your father?” David asks, a little suspiciously, and Jon laughs.
“I’m not afraid because he’s lost his luck. My body and my blood may belong to his house but all of me belongs to yours.” His tie, green as garden-weeds, is bright against the white of his shirt, the arrow-shaped logo near the left breast pocket of his shirt mesmerizing.
David can’t help but feel Jon’s meaning heavy in his stomach. “Heavy words,” he says. “Treason, if your father were a king.”
“The board doesn’t like him,” Jon says. “I’ll just get him to nominate you as his successor and it will all go peacefully.”
“If that’s what you want,” David says, good-humoured, and almost spills his coffee when Jon leans over the desk and kisses him.
“It’s not about what I want,” Jon says, afterwards, gaze strange and warm and his fingers shaking over the papers strewn across his desk. “I just want my father to accept you.”
“He’s afraid the board of directors is going to oust him in favor of you,” Jon says, shrugging, shoulders broad under his shirt, the motion shifting the light on his tie into silver-sheen. “Why shouldn’t he be afraid?”
“I thought retired CEO’s got all sorts of cushy benefits,” David says. “Besides, I don’t want the job.”
“They only get cushy benefits if they’re on the board’s good side. Dad’s not, not after – not after the failed takeover bid. The board wasn’t happy at all with him, and then you managed to pull us out of the mess –” Jon grins, the gesture warmer than blood under David’s skin.
“Shouldn’t you be ashamed of supporting me over your father?” David asks, a little suspiciously, and Jon laughs.
“I’m not afraid because he’s lost his luck. My body and my blood may belong to his house but all of me belongs to yours.” His tie, green as garden-weeds, is bright against the white of his shirt, the arrow-shaped logo near the left breast pocket of his shirt mesmerizing.
David can’t help but feel Jon’s meaning heavy in his stomach. “Heavy words,” he says. “Treason, if your father were a king.”
“The board doesn’t like him,” Jon says. “I’ll just get him to nominate you as his successor and it will all go peacefully.”
“If that’s what you want,” David says, good-humoured, and almost spills his coffee when Jon leans over the desk and kisses him.
“It’s not about what I want,” Jon says, afterwards, gaze strange and warm and his fingers shaking over the papers strewn across his desk. “I just want my father to accept you.”
