“Save our woodland! Stop the road!”

 

The chant went on and on, around and around. It was enough to give the whole world and its lover one hell of a headache, but Constable Andrew Rawlings stood stubbornly firm at his post—smack bang between the protesters and the workmen about to start clearing the old oaks away for the new motorway.

 

It should have been impossible to pick out one single voice from the chaos, but Andrew’s hand tightened into a fist at his side as a well educated tone cut through all the others as if they were merely whispers.

 

“What’s wrong, Andy? Nothing to say now?”

 

Andrew pointedly kept his back to the protesters and pretended not to have heard.

 

“Come on, constable! Give me another order!”

 

Harris, the cop immediately to Andrew’s right, leaned slightly toward him. “You want me to go give him a clip around the ear when we take him in, tell him to shut the hell up?”

 

“No,” Andrew bit out.

 

“It’s not like he hasn’t got it coming,” the other man pointed out. “He’s been a right cheeky sod ever since we got here.”

 

“He’s also my bloody flatmate,” Andrew snapped.

 

Rocking forward onto the toes of his shoes, Andrew could just about make out Ben’s reflection in one of the riot van windows. He looked big and tough, broad shouldered enough to take on the whole world. Appearances were deceptive. If the little fool managed to get through this without getting literally bloody it would be a miracle.

 

“Show us your truncheon, constable!”

 

Andrew held back a sigh as he rolled his eyes heavenward. Turning around, he let his eyes travel all the way along the rows of hard-core protesters, serious environmental activists and troublemakers looking for a fight.

 

Ben really didn’t have any idea what sort of trouble he’d landed himself in this time. His nice, sensible parka coat made him stand out like a sore thumb among the scruffy rabble. His neatly styled brown hair did nothing to help him blend in with all the dreadlocks.

 

“I told him not to come to the protest,” Andrew muttered to Constable Harris.

 

“Doesn’t look like he listened.”

 

“He never does,” Andrew admitted. “Bloody teachers. He always thinks he knows best—thinks he can get away with treating me like one of the kids in the class.”

 

Harris cleared his throat. “So, when you say he’s your flatmate…”

 

Andrew glanced toward him, joined the dots and shook his head. “We share a flat, not a bed.”

 

The other cop seemed to relax. “Not that I’d have a problem with it if were…I mean…I’m not…”

 

Andrew half smiled. “Harris, when you’re in a hole, the appropriate thing to do is to stop digging.” He met the suddenly nervous looking man’s eyes and chuckled in spite of it all. “Ben’s the one who’s into the whole gay pride thing. I don’t really care what anyone thinks about my sex life…” He trailed off, all his attention homing in on the protesters.

 

All hell was about to break loose. Andrew could feel it in the air. It was all about to hit the fan, and Ben was going to get stuck in the middle of it with nothing but that bloody stupid banner he was waving for protection.

 

“Silly little fool,” Andrew whispered to himself. He’d obviously thought it was going to be one of those peaceful little demos he was so fond of attending. “Doesn’t have a bloody clue…”

 

Barely a second had passed before the first bottle was thrown at the workmen.

 

Andrew mumbled a curse under his breath. Ben wouldn’t like that. He didn’t approve of littering. Unfortunately, he was just about naive enough to give the thrower a right dressing down as if he was no different to the nine year olds in his class.

 

More glass bottles rained down from the nice blue spring sky. Stones joined them. So did other random items. Anything that could be picked up and tossed through the air was a suitable weapon now. Whatever travelled far enough to land at the workmen’s feet in one piece was quickly snatched up and pitched back.

 

Most of them had better arms than the protesters. Suddenly the sky was full of makeshift ammo, the air jam-packed with angry shouts.

 

Trying to keep his eye on Ben and the apparent ringleaders at the same time, hoping like hell that neither ran headlong into the other, Andrew didn’t have much attention to spare for any instructions that might come down the chain of command. The first he knew of the order to advance on the protesters and clear the way for the workmen before things got any worse, was all the other cops stepping forward around him.

 

The protesters retreated. Andrew noticed a flash of heavy metal chains. He saw the padlocks snap into place. That was all the encouragement his cock needed to harden behind his fly. Ben in bondage. Well, wasn’t that just bloody brilliant? As if he didn’t have enough trouble keeping that image out of his head at the best of times.

 

Andrew stormed forward, hoping to get there in time to arrest Ben before his friend got his own padlocks fastened. Of course, he was too late. As Andrew came to an abrupt halt in front of the other man, Ben was already wrapped in chains, restrained to one of the old oak trees he was so keen to protect.