7 comments/ 6014 views/ 3 favorites Patchwork Knight By: Innuendos Author's Notes: 'Patchwork Knight' is set in the Sweet Dreams universe, but is otherwise a standalone story. *** "Patchwork Knight" *** Does everyone remember their first crush with such clarity? Forgetting his is impossible, and if he were honest with himself, he would acknowledge that she is the standard by which every other woman that he has admired or dated is judged, and has found them lacking. He knew that he was not the only one who fell in love with her in those glory days of high school. The ultimate girl next door, she was the soul of delight and laughter, pent up pleasure in a tightly wrapped package of pinks and blues, her chosen colors. People couldn't help but love being around her, couldn't help but be made better for being around her, because she always had a kind word for everyone and insistence the others have only kind words for each other, no matter how far outside of her social circle they'd been relegated. Even the jock-tosterone brigade was no match for the brunette's whirlwind graces, and because of that, the number one unspoken rule in school was that any room she happened to be in at the moment was neutral ground. She was the life of parties, and wherever she was... there was a party. Behave, and you could hang with the cool kids, even if only for a short time. "Dance!" she'd always insisted to anyone fool enough to try and sit out the school events at the gym. "Is it more embarrassing to get out there and have a little fun, or to sit there like a lump where everyone can see you?" Never relenting in her enthusiasm. Everybody danced for her. Scruffier and scrawnier in those days, he'd been a farm kid without the benefit of the farmer's tan and build, thin and light-skinned enough to be burned tough and leathery by working with his father in the field. No chance he'd have ever strayed into her orbit -- not only would he have gotten a private chat with the jock-tosterone brigade, it was simple fact that was she an upperclassman, he a freshman. She never knew he existed, but it wasn't the mean ignorance of arrogant and prideful youth, simply too many people and too little time. Kellville was a little school serving only a few townships, but not that small. Always admiring from afar, like so many of her other silently suffering victims of puppy-dog love. Amelia Collins was the flame, but there were no moths about her, only butterflies - and butterflies in every sense of the word. Greg Bartels had never let it get him down, though, the plentiful bounty of growing seasons past and school crushes fondly remembered made for great nostalgia, something to keep him warm on long lonely nights when he'd had no desire to drink himself stupid and weepy. There were no truly unhappy memories of Kellville High, only a somewhat drearier place left behind when she'd graduated with her high school sweetheart into whatever the world held in store for her. *** Yet here he lay, his bare skin against hers, a hand about her waist as she slept, retreading the long road he'd taken from there to here. Kellville was better than two hours drive, a small town edging its way into obscurity as time took a toll on it, nearly every child that graduated from the ancient halls of that decaying school escaping to other cities throughout the state to pursue whatever dreams they had. Far away, in both time and distance, a past locked behind a stint in the service, and later, a college education that the service had helped pay for. *** You'd think that as a father who believed so strongly in conservative values, Conrad Bartels should have been able to pass down his stringent ideas of what constituted proper personal discipline down to his only son, but Greg had never taken to it. Maybe just doing the shit rebellious kids do, insisting on hanging out with the wrong crowds, getting up to business that might have damaged his entire future if he hadn't had some guardian angel. One of those bright kids who suffers for lack of direction, Greg had come close to failing out of high school, just skating by with a diploma, and it was only after a campaign of insistence and demands, pleading and bargaining, that he'd been convinced to enlist. The united front his parents presented was a key to that -- Sherry Bartels had seen and agreed with her husband's reasoning that their son had needed a steadier disciplinary hand in his life. And what do you know? It'd worked, and by the grace of that same unseen angel, he'd gotten out by the skin of his teeth, his time up before the administration in charge had the notion to reinforce the troops in the middle-east with stop-loss. Greg believed in god and country, would have fought as trained and directed, but he'd already lost a buddy stationed there and had more than enough ugly memories. He didn't sign on again, opting to takes his benefits and channel them into an education. Chance had put him on a paralegal's career path, and with that newfound discipline, he'd buckled down and created a future for himself, earning his associate's in paralegal studies and capturing himself a great job in downtown Shenan Oaks. His future seemed solid, a steady income and no bad habits to blow it on, taking everything he'd been given or earned for himself over his life and making it into something his father could finally respect. That was what he'd wanted more than anything else, was why he'd finally agreed to enlist, and coupled with good old army discipline, was the motivating force throughout college. Then he'd met Andrea Dunlap, and life did a 360, spinning in place, never quite sure if he was back where he started. *** Memories like Andrea weren't what he wanted to call up, lying here next to his girlfriend. Amy wasn't plain. In fact, most people would call her pretty, but Andrea's stunning good-looks always seemed overshadow anyone around her. Willing the traitorous thoughts away, he examined Amy's sleeping form. Almost what people would refer to as full-figured, without the connotation of obesity, she had a body that was all great curves, with hips and a bottom that swung flirtatiously when she moved, lovely full breasts that were more than a handful. Lovely, really? What was he, some kind of ridiculous poet? he chastised himself as he examined her. Still... the word fit. She looked not just good, but great; she'd taken care of herself, though her self-image was far lower than the packaging warranted. Fucking Jake. Fucking Freddy. There was a place in Hell for them, and Greg believed that some version of it existed. *** Bafflement was the only word he could use to describe his relationship with Andrea. There'd been any number of other girls... Greg had two older sisters, and they'd made certain he understood what "romance" met, while his mother had made sure to impress the word "respect" on him as well. So yeah, he might catch them, but not hold them. Definition of nice guys finish last. Until Andrea. There was another expression that had always confused the hell out of him before he met her -- a mystery wrapped inside an enigma inside a puzzle, or some such. Made sense for her, because he couldn't make sense _of_ her. They'd met while he was doing work for his firm, and he'd been awestruck by not just her good looks, but her skills and competence, the way she'd worked together with him. Perhaps stupidly, since it could have caused him trouble, he'd dropped into his classic form, making a show of mock-nervousness and asking, "If you don't have other commitments tonight, perhaps you'd give me the opportunity to try and impress you as much as you've impressed me? Dinner, perhaps?" Blushing, she'd laughed and accepted the invitation, and from that point on, they were a couple. That was how it was supposed to work, anyway. He'd gone to the party for their date, and found that others were waiting in the lobby as well. More to the point, a tall girly-looking dude was there, and he'd had no idea why the prick was talking about his own date with Greg's girlfriend. Greg believed in standing up for things that matter, and he'd immediately called the punk out, ready to beat the crap out of him. Andrea showed up, in the process stopping him from embarrassing himself, and worse still, ran the two of them a spiel that convinced him he was being a possessive ass. Horrified at the realization that he was acting completely at odds with what the women of his family had taught him, he'd backed off, and made it his personal challenge to beat the arrogant girly-man in the competition for the hand of the lovely Andrea. No problem, right? Hollywood romances are made of that shit. Unfortunately, so were comedies. Nothing bleeds the romance out of that kind of challenge like losing the interest of the woman you want. Felt it, a storm-head on the horizon, looming and ready to strike. He didn't deal well with stuff like that, and had taken to drinking far too often. Some people are angry drunks, others simply hilarious when they'd had a few too many. Greg was a weepy drinker, knew it, and hated himself for it. Feeling it come on again at the end of a long and lonely holiday, he'd finally said enough was enough, ceded victory to the girly-man. Hadn't quite worked out that way for either of them, but he'd dropped the news on Andrea at her job. It had seemed funny when he'd talked about it on the phone, less amusing as he walked in the building's doors, and downright stupid as he approached her office. Instead of taking pleasure on it, Greg had simply told her how it was going to be. Andrea had stared at him, those beautiful green eyes glittering, and while there was some heat in her cheeks, she'd dismissed him with, "Whatever." That stung, but he'd already made his decision, and Greg wasn't a man to fuck around with regrets or second thoughts. It was a load off, and he'd rode the elevator to the bottom floor with a tremendous sense of lightness. He could get on with life now. Excellent. Not only that, but he was kinda hungry, and what did we have here? Vander & Porter didn't have an employee break-room; it had something better: a full-blown public cafeteria that looked better than some restaurants he'd been to. It was classy, and open to anyone who wanted to grab a bite with friends who happened to work here. He'd never eaten there with Andrea, as it always seemed a bit below her standards, but he wasn't going to settle for processed mcshit with smells like this wafting his way. Settling in, he ordered lunch, enjoying his newfound freedom. When the blonde walked into his range of vision, it was like seeing a ghost. Obviously not a true blonde, her hair had the look of amateurish work with a bottle, but he'd know that face anywhere. "Amy?" The blonde had turned to look at him, confusion on her face. Amy was short for... Amelia. "Amelia Collins from Kellville?" A kind of dopey grin came over her face, the pleasure of meeting a stranger who obviously recognized her from home evident. "I'm sorry, but I can't put a name to you..." He laughed. "No hard feelings, you were a senior when I was a freshman. I remember you, though..." . That had led them into a bit of chat about the old days, pleasant reminiscence over old parties, hometown events and friends. Greg couldn't begin to fathom why she seemed so sad about it, and because of that, he'd noticed something else about her. She seemed so... tired. None of the old sparkle in those pretty light green eyes of hers. Worn out. He would bet her future hadn't been what she'd hoped it would be, and not wanting to pry open wounds, he'd settled for chatter about the good old days. When Jake Edwards had showed up, everything made sense. Greg could tell just by the man's possessive demeanor that he was Amy's boyfriend, and had backed off politely. Each had their own lives, cool. Except that he could also tell, just by looking at that unprovoked and slightly pissed off expression on the man's face, this was going to be one of the biggest assholes he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. You have my sympathy, Amy, he reflected sourly. Maybe the guy could see the pity on Greg's face for his girlfriend, because he'd gotten confrontational with her right away, insisting on knowing just why the hell she was chatting up strangers in the cafeteria. Because she has no right to talk to other people, right? Greg reflected sourly. Amy had gotten a panicky look on her face, attempting to explain away the talk for what it was... simple nostalgia... but there was a note of hysteria in her voice. People had turned to look, stopping their own conversations to stare, and Greg flushed uncomfortably. He also noticed something strange about those looks. They'd seen this before, didn't like it. Her boyfriend simply stood there and seethed, until she'd trailed off, apologizing for her thoughtlessness. Apologizing for her thoughtlessness. The hell? Greg silently upgraded the nameless boyfriend from 'asshole' to 'grade-A piece of shit' in his head, a classification which lasted all of two seconds when a second upgrade was forced. Though he had barely registered the motion of the guy's hand, the cracking noise was like a gunshot in the cafeteria, and the red handprint on Amy's face unmistakable. *** Traces Jake Edwards has left on Amy's body are equally unmistakable, as are those left behind by Freddy Calhoun before him. They were small scars, always easily hidden by clothing, existing as permanent reminders of the worst aspects of obsessive possessiveness. You couldn't call that love, by Greg's book. People could be treasured, but they weren't treasure, they weren't things. He's come to accept them as part of her, though his heart still twinges painfully as he watches over her at night, imagining the story each old wound tells. Almost like writing on a wall, each seems to speak: a burnt dinner might be that pale arc upon her upper breast, or a moment too late with a cold beer begat the white line upon her hip. This is what her scars do to him, as he stares, contemplating her nude body, and he can only imagine the nightmares they bring her. Amy cries out in her sleep sometimes, and he can only draw her closer to try and keep the dreams at bay. *** Greg has known a few women who have been abused, and whether it was by spouses or boyfriends, the station never really mattered, just the terrible effects it had on them, forcing them to reconcile their love against the treatment they received. Effects he can see in the way they react to an otherwise harmless turn of phrase, or an unintentionally harsh gesture. The knowing always fills him with a rage, built on a strong foundation of morality taught him by his father, the lessons learned from the women of his family, the simple damned observation that some things are unacceptable and _wrong_. How could any _real_ man treat a woman this way? Despite the rage, his head was clear, and the decision was made without a second thought. He was going to hit this man, hit him hard, hit him again. That could cost him, though, cost him big. There is a way... "Wow, you're a real big man." Greg had jeered softly, just loud enough to be heard by the boyfriend. That got his attention, and that seething gaze had shifted from his girlfriend to Greg with some effort. "Mind your own business." The boyfriend was loud, and people were watching. They couldn't help but overhear. "Yeah," Greg had said again, in that same harsh jeer. "Wouldn't want anyone to take notice of the big man hitting his girlfriend, would we? They might think he was a pussy. A little bitch. Hell, they might not think you're a man at all, with that long hair and lack of balls, eh?" Each word had been emphasized to convey just how little manliness the guy possessed, and he'd gotten results. A steadily reddening face, turning an ugly shade with each word uttered. Some words were simply guaranteed a reaction unless the person he was taunting was completely gutless. Few people were, if you kept pushing on their buttons. "Word might even get back to your _mother_ and then you'd have to shut her up with a few well placed slaps, am I right?" He'd hissed the words with grim satisfaction, sure they would be enough, and he'd been right. Asshole boyfriend had swung, broadcasting so obviously that any unskilled fighter would only have needed to move and hit back. A punch to the gut and the man deflated. Another to the side of the face and he went to his knees. Follow-up from the opposite direction and he went down, stunned nearly to the point of unconsciousness. Each blow was enough to eat some of the rage he felt. He wanted to hit the man again and again, but knew there were limits. If he got busted, he'd have to explain himself. This was over. There was only silence in the cafeteria, and in that moment, Greg realized that everyone, _everyone_ was watching. No applause, that shit was only for the movies, simply a silent consensus that the boyfriend had gotten what he'd deserved. Someone nearby spoke, though he had no idea who. "You should go." Nobody was going to call the cops, probably, but no need to stick around. Except... He turned to Amy who was staring at him with wide eyes, a knuckled fist concealing her open-mouthed horror. Somehow, he knew it wasn't because she cared about the guy on the ground. "It's going to be worse for you when you get home because of me, isn't it?" Nodding mutely, she stared at the man curling in upon himself on the floor, the beginning of tears in her eyes. "Then end it here. Come with me." He's wanted to say that before, to others, but he'd never had such a seemingly personal connection to those women before. More than anything, he wanted to save Amy Collins: from her boyfriend, from herself. He had, paying a price in teeth and a dozen stitches some months later when he'd made the mistake of paying a visit to her former residence to retrieve some clothes and personal possessions she wanted, her ex-boyfriend's buddies ambushing him, taking their pound of flesh. There was an image, too, that would haunt him in his own nightmares, a skinny rat of a guy who looked like a refugee from a Depression-era black-and-white film staring silently at the man beside him, a man who had ranted about Greg laying hands on his boy. *** And here she was, lying beside him over a year after that fateful day, safe from the too-human demons that had tormented her. There were things he could never put right for her, and he could only stand by her side for as long as she needed him. Her knight in shining blue denim, she called him sometimes. No teasing or silliness in it, she'd meant every word. He loved her, and she loved him back, and it had taken him way too long to figure that out. *** Helping set Amy's life to rights again had been Greg's first priority, and the months after that day had been pleasant ones, an exercise in helping her get whatever she needed to put her life back to rights. They couldn't go back to the boyfriend's house to get her clothing, and the bastard had made sure she'd had precious little else of her own. That meant helping her, getting her the clothes she needed, taking her to interviews, anything he could do to help her transition into a life that was not completely dependent on the whims of some pitiless monster. But most of it was getting her some confidence in herself. For too long she'd been told she was nothing without these other guys, that she was ugly, too stupid to earn a degree or learn a trade, too silly to think for herself, too sluttish to be trusted by herself. Too often, a simmering rage would well up in him as those old inflicted hurts were made apparent on her face, but he stamped them out, because the very last thing Amy needed was to see him angry again. If she ran now, what other loveless arms might she end up in? The thought terrified him, the notion that someone might break this once lively young woman's spirit even further than she'd already been broken. Patchwork Knight Amy had all the pieces of her life, she'd just needed help putting them back together. Slowly, very carefully, they'd managed it and the process had been one of bonding. There were times when she looked up at him, and he'd have liked to kiss her and tell her everything would be better soon, and even thought with secretive, hopeful wishes, that she might like him to do so. Greg couldn't do that. Might be that he was completely wrong and that making the attempt would hurt her even worse than she already had by those who'd meant to do it. That wasn't the kind of person he wanted to be, and he wouldn't be like that if he had any say. She'd been staying at his place, sharing his time and space, but a gulf seemed to exist between them. One that might never have been crossed if not for the accident of something she'd said. "He watches the girls, too." A strange line, he hadn't thought much of it when she'd first said it. That had been after she confronted him about the stitches he'd had to get at the hospital, demanding to know what had happened. Amy had been suspicious for good reason, and he couldn't weasel out, had to give her the whole truth afraid even as he did so that he was hurting her terribly. Crying had ensued, yes, but she'd gotten over it, insisting that he chalk up those things she'd left behind as lost. The delivery of that strange little line was offhanded, a comment on his bafflement that someone had actually _been_ there keeping a lookout and ready to kick his ass, so casually made as to be overlooked. Yet his nightmares had taken it and co-opted it, making him dream of nameless women on a long hit-list that the bastard Edwards had compiled for his later beating pleasure. Got to the point where he'd simply asked Amy what she'd been talking about. With worried eyes, Amy had asked him to understand that she wasn't a racist. That had taken Greg for a loop; what did that have to do with anything? Further explaining, she'd told him that this guy Edwards was a member of some Purity group with a supremacist agenda, and that he'd been keeping an eye on a couple of girls who worked for his company. The stalker nature of the man's behavior didn't do anything to allay Greg's concerns, and he'd persisted in questioning her on it, telling Amy that Edwards was the kind of guy who might do to these other women what he did to her. That was a hard thing to lay on her, and he'd felt some shame over the horrified look on her face, but she'd understood implicitly what a threat the man was to people around him. A few more questions in the right places, and he'd discovered the women in question were sisters, one who worked with Edwards in records, the other in the billing department with Andrea. That had been a sticky point for him -- he and Andrea were on good terms ever since she'd called him up about the incident with Edwards, but he didn't want to confront these women in their place of work with wild accusations. With some hesitance, Andrea had given him their address and advised him that he should take Amy along. Some people say that no good deed goes unpunished, but for Greg, the opposite turned out to be true. *** Running a finger through the curls of her long brown hair, Greg is reminded of how his girlfriend so willingly put her past aside to help him do the right thing. There is a great deal of light and warmth in her and it fills him with an uncustomary joy that he was part of bringing it back to her. She'd done as much for him, simply by making herself this part of his life, filling up all the empty patches in him. Her breath was a sigh, and he drew his hand away, afraid that he had woken her from whatever pleasant dreams she was enjoying. *** The home of the Reed girls had been uncomfortably suburban, a freshly painted family home situated in a depressed looking neighborhood that seemed to be falling into disrepair not by some communal decay, but by a general lifelessness in the area. No shops or schools here, no centers of community activity -- just a bunch of small homes that were probably occupied by couples or older people. They'd found the house easily enough, and the woman who answered the door was a slight woman, native by appearance. Barely topping 5'5", Greg was the last person who should call anyone short, but for a rare time in his life, he'd actually felt tall standing next to someone who was not a child. Curiosity alive upon her face, she'd introduced herself as Fiona Reed, and when he'd reciprocated, introducing himself and Amy, she'd reacted with surprise, as if she knew him. He knew she worked with Andrea from what he'd been told, but he didn't _think_ they'd ever met or that Andrea would have had any reason to tell her about him. That speculation was given the torpedo when the last person he wanted to see showed up at the door. Halvers, of all people. It didn't take Greg long to figure out that the guy must have met her at V&P, but their disparity in height made him wonder what the woman had ever seen in Halvers. Tall, dark and pretty-boy? People had some strange-ass tastes. Moreover, it seemed like Halvers might get himself in some trouble, the way his girlfriend's equally short and big-titted blonde sister kept looking at him. Halvers had kept it civil, barely, and they'd gotten through the explanation with a minimum of unpleasantness, Amy had herself a time-out, and Greg had to reassess his impression of the blonde as some kind of shallow ditz when she'd adeptly taken Amy out of a conversation that was only going to give her more grief. That had made things easier, but best of all was the unasked for reward. She... Jennifer... had whispered in his ear as he and Amy got ready to leave, "She loves you too, but she needs for you to make the first move." Oh. Oh boy. Greg was put in mind of the first time he'd ever been alone with a girl, had been allowed to put his hands places he'd only dreamed of before. Like that, only better, because it wasn't just some post-Prom date, but a woman who mattered to him, someone who he could see himself having a future with. Make the first move, sure, but how could he do that? A little romantic cheesecake was fine for getting a date, meeting a new girl, or the like, but where did he go from here? Tentatively, he'd asked her on a dinner date, and she'd given him such a radiant smile that it felt like every other part of his life must have been under a dark cloud, parting to reveal a ray of sunshine. When they finally made their way back to his apartment, the look in those pretty green eyes had been expectant as she stared back at him in the dim light of his apartment's entryway. That was the dealmaker for him... her eyes had seemed so dull when he'd first seen her again in the cafeteria, and now there was... hope in them. Love, too, if what Jennifer had told him was true. Lifting a hand to her shoulder, he drew in, and her mouth parted in expectation, a half-smile on her lips. Breath catching, he stopped, and then mentally kicked himself for being stupid and brought his lips to hers. A gentle kiss upon soft lips, almost chaste, but that was enough for him. But not enough for her; she draped an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, pressing her rounded breasts against his chest, free hand touching him... places. Amy's kisses were hungry, craving intimacy, forcing his lips to hers when he wasn't aggressive enough for her, her body doing the same, a barrier of clothing between them no barrier to the increasing sensitivity between his legs, or the rising heat in his chest. He'd said hoarsely as she finally drew back for breath, giving himself another mental kick as he did so for sounding like a moonstruck stupidass kid, "Do you..." "Of course. I need you... now." Those were the only words that Amy had spoken to him that night, her green eyes shimmering in the dim light. They'd made love, a strange and silent event that seemed more like her having her way with him, but... that was okay, because it was the best sex he'd ever had, kissing and touching, fuck, almost being ravished by someone who really and truly wanted him. Real intimacy, not just fucking. She could have that as often as she wanted, if only she'd be his. *** Touching her sleeping face didn't wake her, but drawing his hand away after did. His girlfriend, his... Lady, opened her light green eyes sleepily, smiling at him as she realized that he'd been staring at her as she slept. She knew he was there for her, would always watch over her. Teeth gleaming between parted pink lips, she moved her head towards his for a kiss, and while he was distracted by the taste of her lips, her hand reached between his legs, taking his dick in hand, sending a barrage of pleasure through him, bringing him gradually to hardness as she fondled him. He reciprocated, touching her lower lips, teasing at them, then teasing her clit, and was surprised to find her already wet for him. He wondered if dreams of him were what he'd woken her from. No foreplay here, she simply wanted him to be one with her and pulled him closer, parting her thighs and moving up onto him. Never quite lifting herself, simply sliding herself down onto his cock across his body, a languorous and leisurely sensation of extended bodily skin contact that made him feel as if his erection were swelling even further than it had, despite already being totally hard. Sliding into her, the warmth of her pussy engulfing his dick, the warmth of her mouth engulfing his lips, the warmth of her love engulfing his heart, the warmth of her engulfing his all of him Crying out as she came, her pleasure spent, she briefly arched her back as she rode him, then seemed to fall upon him, pressing her breasts to his chest. He felt his own pleasure spend itself, his cock spilling into her, twitching with orgasmic inside her, and he lay back, gasping as he placed a hand on the curve of her back. He whispered, "I love you," but she doesn't hear it, because she'd already fallen asleep where she lay, a happy smile still upon her face. Amy doesn't need to hear the words now, though, not because she already knows, but because he's already told her, and will tell her again as many times as she needs to hear it: "You are beautiful, and you deserve to be loved." She seemed to believe it, too.In the here and now, her eyes had regained so much of that sparkle and warmth of days gone by, and he loved her all the more for it. Greg and Amy seldom argued, because he wanted her to have whatever she felt she needed to be happy again, and he had no desire to be the obstacle between her and happiness. He'd known that she'd taken to hanging out with Jennifer Reed and the blonde's friends. He knew the Reed girl had her heart and priorities in the right place, and he had no objection to that, even though he'd eventually found out about the bizarre three-way dynamic Halvers and the two sisters had. Amy had friends again, and they seemed to fill her with happiness that she'd been too long denied. When she approached him about the camping trip, he'd been cool with it. With Andrea out of the picture, Halvers seemed like less of a dick, though he questioned just how much good sense the guy had if he was involving himself in the kind of relationship Andrea had subjected them both too. Made the Reed girls happy, though, so he couldn't be too bad. What really threw him was Amy broaching the subject of a girl-on-girl show with Jennifer for him and Halvers. Greg wasn't naïve, he'd seen enough girlie magazines both growing up and in the service to know what turned him on and what didn't. That _was_ kind of hot, he'd happily admit to himself, though not where his lady could hear. The blonde had a great rack, and a cuteness that made him think of actresses in those chick flicks that Hollywood perpetually churned out. But he also couldn't help but think that Halvers had somehow manipulated this, as if he wouldn't settle just for having two hot sisters in the sack, but wanted even more action on the side. Maybe being left in a state of denial by Andrea had turned him into a pussyhound, but really... He'd said as much to Amy, wisely leaving out the bits about his ex-girlfriend, and she'd reacted with uncommon irritation. "Jenny and I came up with this, not her damn boyfriend. She wanted to do something for him and I... wanted to do something for you. You've done so much for me, and I wanted to do something special, something different. Is that so wrong?" "Of course not, but really... are you sure you're okay with this?" As soon as he said it, he knew the words had come out wrong, as if he were being overly protective, but that was how he'd meant them... Eyes widening in real anger, she flared up, "Jenny's my friend, probably the best friend I've ever had besides you. She would never hit me or hurt me, and you know it. You don't have to treat me like a porcelain doll, Greg, I'm not that fragile. If I can get past Freddy and Jake, nothing like this will hurt me, let alone break me." "Her other friends said their guys liked it when they did things like this for them. If you don't, if it grosses you out, or you think I'm cheating on you by doing it, then say so." "I don't know..." he said, honestly. "I feel like I'd be putting you in a position of something you're not really comfortable with, just to do this thing..." Amy laughed at him, but without meanness or reproach in the laughter. "Do you think I've never been with a woman before? Maybe not with people watching, but I had a girlfriend after college for a little while. It didn't work out, but it wasn't a bad experience like the other two assholes." Oh, well. Well, okay. That was news to him, and he really didn't have a response. Handily defeated, he agreed to the terms of the truce. In what felt a perverse sort of way, he'd enjoyed it, just as she intended, and the sex with her afterward had been spectacular. *** When he awoke to the alarm, he looked over at her to see her still sleeping, and whispered in her ear to wake her as the clock had not, "Time to get up, you have to work today." Moaning grumpily, she slipped from the bed and went to shower, eat, and make herself presentable. Greg didn't have to go in today, but that was because he'd requested the day off. He had a dragon to slay. After taking her to the little clinic where she worked as a part-time secretary, Greg returned home and waited for the appointed time. As he stared at the door of his apartment, he picked up the sword that stood against the side of his armchair. No 'Excalibur' this, Greg's sword was named "Louisville Slugger", a solid but dependable artifact from his childhood, chock-full of happy memories of its own. Lifting it in front of him, he examined it. Still in good condition, but metal didn't succumb to ravages of time as easily as wood did. Satisfied, he settled it on his lap. When the knock on the door came, he was ready, and strode over to it, sword in hand like a walking stick, and he opened it to the stranger outside. The man who stood there was a large man, though many men were large standing next to Greg, and he was filled with muscle that seemed to be softening, though not yet going to seed. He had the heavy, powerful features and the solid build of someone who would make a good football player, though Greg knew for fact that the man hadn't the skills to pay that bill. A bouquet of flowers was in his hand, roses as red as any dark flame. This was Greg's dragon. This was Frederick Calhoun. For some unfathomable reason, Amy had had her name listed in the phone book once they'd agreed that she would move in with him, and a few days ago, he'd found a call on the answering machine from Calhoun, cheerily dropping a hello, letting her know that he was in town in a few days, and wouldn't she like to get together? Greg knew very well that she did not have any such interest, and he also knew that Calhoun had a strong possessive streak. The scholarship kid been all over her when she'd first found her way to the college they had both attended, a fresh-faced and pretty small town girl with laughter on her lips and a sparkle in her eye. Calhoun had only left her be after he'd found a new toy to play with. And now he was back. Staring down at the little man in front of him, Calhoun looked puzzled and even a little pissed, as if he were Amy's husband, catching some home-wrecking little asshole in his house rather than an ex-boyfriend nearly ten years gone from her life. "Who the hell are you?" "You can call me Greg, Amy's boyfriend. I'm guessing you're Calhoun, the ex." He radiated as much contempt as he could. Naked hostility in his voice, the man responded, "Yeah, got a problem with that?" "As a matter of fact, I do. You're violating a restraining order." That was a lie, but he knew the man, a college dropout who'd lost his ride, wasn't smart enough to contest it. He'd see about getting one later, after he'd spoken to Amy about what had gone down here. "What restr-" the man's eyes narrowed as he took in Greg's weapon. "The hell is that for?" "You could call it insurance, or you could call it an answer to a problem. You're the problem, asshole." More than a little bewildered, the man said back petulantly, "I got no beef with you, we never met before." Greg grinned without mirth. "I know you, though. You're quick with your hands, big man, though you're even faster with a nasty word. Everything that comes out of your mouth can burn a person's self-esteem to the ground, I'm told." "I don't know what Amy's been telling you..." "Nothing but the god's honest truth, I've no doubt. Which makes you a goddamned liar. Amy's a beautiful woman. She deserves to be loved, deserves to have friends, a job, a life of her own. A life without _you_." Contempt drips from his words like acid. Low cunning flickers in Calhoun's hazel eyes. "Maybe she oughtta decide that for herself." "She's already decided." Greg hefted the bat meaningfully, no spoken threat needed, drawing the man's eyes to the weapon. "That means you need to leave and never come back. Amy isn't yours anymore." Calhoun looks ready to argue, but Greg forestalled him, "Imagine me using this on you the way you used yourself on her." Calhoun blanched at the response, not because of the threat of a beating, but because it was obvious that he suddenly understood just how much his ex-girlfriend had told this runt of a man about their past relationship. In that instant, with that realization, his stricken face showed Greg that he'd beaten the man without violence, that Calhoun would never darken this doorstep again. As Calhoun departed, the man Greg wanted more than anything to be raised a shining sword to the sky in a victory salute. He would slay as many dragons as his lady needed him to, because whatever chinks his armor might possess, whatever holes in his jeans, he was her knight. ~ The End ~