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 ~