You Can't Always Get What You Want Title: You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Authors: sevs_lil_secret and unbroken_halo
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Company belong to JK Rowling. No money has been earned while writing this bit of fiction.
Characters: Damon and Grant Wolffe.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Grant gets a notion in his head when he reads about the mass marriage in Boston.
Warnings: Language, Political views and debates, mentions of cross dressing, homosexual relationships and pickled fish.
AN: Set in Spring of 2004. Please remember as you read this, we are dealing with men that are in their 70’s and raised in an entirely different era than many of us have been. Privacy was and is still a very valued privilege to them and Damon will protect it fiercely. None of his opinions are meant to piss anyone off… he’s just… being himself. And we all know Grant is just a tad bit… dramatic, shall we say?
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
Grant finished reading the New York Times after his receptionist had pointed out a specific article to him. He’d been following the issue in the news, but now… now he was ready to bring it up to Damon. Knowing his older husband didn’t follow world news unless it came in his USMC retiree’s newsletter, and he was pretty sure this wasn’t there, Damon would be fairly clueless. Just the way he wanted him.
He slid the paper into his messenger bag along with his laptop and turned out the lamp on his desk. Standing, he picked up his jacket and hit his intercom.
“Cindy, I’m going home for the day. I don’t have the pager and I don’t care who does,” he chuckled as he finished tidying his desk and slipping the banana left from his lunch into pocket.
“I’ll see you in the morning Doctor Wolffe, have a nice evening and don’t forget that your dry cleaning is ready to be picked up,” came the female voice over the speaker.
“Thank you and you do the same,” he replied as he swung his bag over his shoulder and took his finger off the button. Leaving the office, he exited the building and walked across the street to collect their dry cleaning before getting into his car to go home to his husband.
Once home, he changed into sweats and one of Damon’s old tee shirts and started supper, making oven fried catfish, greens, fried potatoes, cornbread, and an apple crisp while he waited for Damon to come home.
Grant smiled as he heard the POS pull up to the house and shut off with the requisite cursing from Damon as it refusing to die quietly and was seated at the table waiting.
Damon meandered up to the porch and stopped just outside the kitchen door. He looked around and inhaled the smells of cornbread, cracked pepper and potatoes as well as the sharp cinnamon and sugar, his eyes closing as he savoured the rare and often forbidden scents. He arched an eyebrow and opened his eyes, the trap had been laid he was certain of it and was wary.
He looked around spotting Grant’s candy apple red Stang and went back down to it, checking it over for dents and scrapes. Not spotting anything more than a few specks of dust, he turned back to the house, eyeing his castle suspiciously.
There was no princess inside this fortress but a dragon with an agenda. He steeled himself and walked up on the porch. The dragon inside was fighting dirty and Damon would need his wits about him.
He opened the door and smiled brightly. “Grant? I’m home, Pet.” He closed the door behind him taking a deep breath before turning to his husband.
Grant smiled and as an afterthought, reached behind him and pulled the tie from his braid and shook his hair loose before he stood to go greet Damon. “Hey baby, did you miss me today?” he purred as he pressed his body up next to the other man’s.
Slightly stunned, Damon just stared at Grant. He cleared his throat, this dragon was pulling out all the stops… it was serious and his checkbook was going to wail. He wrapped his arms around his sinewy husband and smiled down at him. “I always miss you.” He said cautiously.
He took a deep breath and untangled himself from the snarls. “How was your day?” He pressed a kiss to Grant’s hair and shrugged off his denim jacket.
“I had you on my mind all afternoon,” Grant smiled, little teeth showing as he slipped his hands up under Damon’s shirt and running his fingers through the man’s chest hair. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”
Damon froze, today’s date running through his mind. Had he missed something? He ticked off the holidays mentally and decided he had escaped that trap but there was still a snare somewhere.
He pasted a smiled on his face and leaned into Grant’s fingers, his own reaching up to tangle in Grant’s long tresses. He had decided to go on the offensive, stroking the soft skin behind Grant’s ear and gently pinching his lobe.
Grant purred and closed his eyes as he tipped his face up to Damon. “I am not on call tonight and I made you supper. Catfish and fried potatoes,” he said with a small smile as he leaned into Damon’s hands.
“Really, that’s nice. Been a while since you’ve had the night off.” Damon lifted his other hand and wrapped it around the back of Grant’s neck, thumbs caressing his cheeks. “I am hungry and it does smell really good.”
“Then sit down and I’ll serve dinner baby,” Grant said as he pulled back and pulled Damon by the arm to the table. “Let me get your tea. I read something really interesting today in the New York Times.”
Grant set the hot dishes on the table and dished out a nice plateful of food for his man before he sat down and dished up his own. “Do you need anything, Damon?” he asked as he poured their tea.
Damon eyed the food, Grant had served himself from the same dishes but that didn’t mean a damned thing. “How about some malt vinegar for the fish?”
He waited until Grant’s back was turned and waved his wand over the plates. The spell revealed nothing and he sighed, relaxing slightly, his wand safely tucked away before Grant was any wiser.
“Interesting huh? Everything is interesting in New York but the damned football teams.”
Finally a little nervous, Grant picked at the food with his fork. “You know about the gay marriage thing, right?” he asked as he stuck a bit of fish in his mouth.
“Possibly.” This was dangerous territory. Damon paid little attention to the uproar about the rights and activists but Grant jumped on every bandwagon. “The gays are wanting equal rights to marry, fight and tie up the courts with divorce cases like the rest of humanity.”
He shook the vinegar over the entire plate then stabbed some greens with his fork. “I guess if they want to do that, I’ll not stop them.”
Grant shook his head and sighed for a moment. “Good. Well, it’s been legalized in a few states now,” he said cautiously, testing the waters. “Can you imagine the freedom in going somewhere and simply saying we are Mister and Mister Damon Wolffe?” He looked down at his plate for a moment and then back up to gauge Damon’s reactions.
Damon froze in mid bite and looked up at Grant. “What would you want to do that for?” He set his fork down and eyed his husband. “You want to embrace something women have fought against by giving up your autonomy? Have I got that correct?”
He smiled at his husband. “Didn’t think I knew that word, did ya?” He picked up his fork and cut into the fish, sprinkling it with more vinegar before shoving it in his mouth.
Grant raised an eyebrow and looked at the other man. “It’s so nice to see that the Word a Day calendar I gave you is working out for you,” he said dryly as he laid his fork down and took a swallow of his tea.
“Lose my autonomy, you ask?” he said as he sucked at his lower lip for a moment. “Tell me then what it is when I have to go put on a dress, makeup and tits when we go to places because we wouldn’t be accepted as a married couple any other way?”
Damon never missed a beat as he continued to eat. “Prelude to a night of good sex.”
“You are such a pig, some days I am amazed I married your hillbilly ass,” Grant groaned as he stuck a bit of cornbread in his mouth. “So you don’t think there’s anything wrong with that? Wouldn’t you like to meet one of your old buddies from the Corp on the street and say, ‘why yes this is my husband.’?”
Damon looked up at Grant. “Watch your tone, don’t insult the bacon.” He stabbed a few potatoes then shoved them in his mouth. “I would hope to Merlin them bastards were all dead and gone first. I think I’ve out lived everyone of them.”
“Why would you wish them all dead?” Grant asked, trying to keep his tone compliant to keep Damon happy. “Are you ashamed of being married to me?”
Damon set his fork down and looked at his husband. “Grant, let me ask you a question. Damn near fifty years ago I threw a holy fit about you having to wear women’s clothing but that didn’t stop it from happening and yet I learned to deal with it, didn’t I?”
He cleared his throat and continued. “I don’t wish them dead but I’d hoped they be happier off staying out of my goddamned business. I wouldn’t have stayed this long if I was ashamed of you now, would I?”
Damon took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair. “Here’s how I see it. I don’t begrudge anyone the right to make a commitment to anyone. However to want to blend in and try to act like a normal heterosexual couple when you aren’t, isn’t freedom. It’s a different way of conforming. It’s a way for the normals to categorize and try and make people fit into little boxes.”
He sat up. “Besides who says we haven’t had the right to make a commitment all along? Why do we need some high and mighty politician telling us we can now do this?”
Grant looked away from the table and bit at his thumbnail. “Damon… what I’ve done the past fifty years is try to blend in and be your little wife. Yeah, I know we had the wedding in the church, but you know… I’d like to have one where I don’t have to wear a dress,” he said softly as he watched the dusk shadows creeping along the trees outside the windows.
“I don’t want you to ever think that I regret what had to be done, because I don’t, I just…” Grant sighed and shook his head. “Just forget it, babe. I’ll fetch dessert when you are ready for it.”
Damon looked at his husband and shook his head. “You just what, Grant? You can’t start a debate then leave off in the middle of it.” He picked up his tea and looked at the table, dragging his fork through the greens before twirling them up.
“I think you are supposed to be convincing me to get in the car and drive north to one of those mass weddings.” He said softly, not looking at his husband. “I’m not stupid nor am I blind, Grant.”
Grant wiped a hand over his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, swallowing before he spoke. “I should just learn to not read the paper,” he whispered. “Look, I’m sorry I brought it up, it was a spectacularly bad idea on my part. You’re right, what other people do is their business, not ours.”
He picked his fork up again and began to pick at the potatoes. “I never said you were stupid and I apologize if I gave that impression.”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad. I can’t be convinced to drive your happy ass up there if you don’t give me a reason.” Damon looked at Grant. “I have eyes, Pet and have been hearing what all’s going on. Now, tell me what is on your mind and we’ll see what’s going down.”
Grant looked at Damon curiously. “You’d go? You mean you would go and stand up there in front of television cameras and the public and marry me as me?” he asked softly. He knew how much Damon valued his privacy and how much he hated to be lumped in with the ‘activists’.
Damon grunted and sighed. “You meaning to tell me you done changed into somebody else in the past fifty years? I married you two times now already, Grant. You think I’m gonna wake up tomorrow and say ‘dammit I need a new spouse? Wonder if I can get one at the Wal-mart? Think they’ll take my other one back? I don’t want a refund just an exchange.’ ”
He looked across the table and smiled at the other man as he shook his head. “I think that’s answer enough for you.” He grunted softly and poked at his cornbread.
Grant smiled at his husband and sighed happily. “Planning to try out a blond this time?” he teased as he sipped at his tea.
Damon snorted. “Hell no, they are flighty as hell and hard to please. I think I want a redhead this time. All feisty and fiery.”
Grant snorted at that as he eyed his blond husband. “You couldn’t handle a red head old man, you have your hands full with me,” he smirked as he reached out under the table with one foot and ran it along Damon’s calf.
“Who said I wanted to handle one? Maybe I want to be handled by one.” Damon grumbled good-naturedly and reached down to capture Grant’s little foot. He squeezed it gently and settled in on his lap.
“You want to be handled huh?” Grant asked as he wriggled his toes against Damon’s zipper. “I suppose I could always wear a wig, look like Ritchie Cunningham and handle you all night long.”
Damon snorted. “Opie… my ass.” He cut his eyes at Grant. “How about Eric Stoltz?”
Grant raised an eyebrow and then thought of one of Damon’s favourite movies. “Well… I suppose I could always cut my hair short and…” Grant stood up, moved around the table, pushing Damon back so he could straddle his lap and looked down at him. “And use a line from one of your favourite bad guys.”
Grant licked his lips; put both hands on Damon’s shoulders as he rocked his hips. “I could cut your heart out with a spoon because it hurts worse,” he drawled out sexily as he winked at his husband.
Damon shook his head and placed his hands on Grant’s hips. He arched an eyebrow as he looked up at his husband. “You screwed up the accent.”
Grant just laughed as he leaned down and kissed Damon’s face. “I’d like to hear you do better. I know you’ve tried, I hear you in the shower,” he smirked.
Damon snorted. “You want to hear an accent, get Sev to serenade you to sleep then. This hillbilly only speaks American English and I don’t even do it that well.” He shook his head and ran his hands up Grant’s back then sighed. “Now get off me, my dinner’s getting cold.”
Grant simply turned around on his husband’s lap and reached across the small table for his own plate. “You are more comfortable that that chair,” he said as he shifted to one of the man’s knees to give Damon plenty of room to eat.
After a few moments filled with the sounds of them enjoying their meal, Grant laid his fork down and leaned in to kiss Damon’s cheek. “We don’t need to go up to Boston to get married,” he said softly. “Just the fact you were willing to take me and do that in front of all those people means enough to me. Everyone that matters to us knows who we are and if we go somewhere else, you can just set them straight.”
Damon sighed and wrapped his arms around Grant. “Well good. I didn’t have a damned thing to wear.”
“Well, I kind of figured that and I had the most lovely pale peach gown picked out for you,” Grant said as he picked his fork back up and played with his food while waiting to be pinched.
“I just might have to cut your heart out with a spoon for that.” Damon smacked Grant’s thigh and shook his head. “Better yet, get me two just so it’ll hurt worse.”