In Philly, Andy almost got arrested.

All right, not really. In fact, there were no cops anywhere, which was probably a very good thing. Even if he had been able to worm his way out of official trouble, he probably would have landed in some pretty hot water financially. As in, he probably would have been sued for assault.

It wasn’t his fault. Not at all. He was just walking. Him and Ry. They were going to get something to eat. The others were all salivating over authentic Philly cheese-steaks, which Ryan wrinkled his nose at. Andy wanted a real restaurant. Somewhere a bloke could get a fucking drink. Ryan had spotted some chain restaurant, one of those crappy little happy places the states seemed to adore so much, and had suggested it.

Andy agreed, but only because he knew there would be a bar.

So they walked. It was two blocks from the hotel. Should have been fine. It wasn’t a fucking mile or anything. Ryan was playing coy again and Andy was trying to get him to ante the fuck up about the bloke Andy knew had been in the little poof’s room the night before. “I fucking heard you, you motherfucker. The hotel walls in Philadelphia are not as well made as some others. Sounded to me like you were having a pretty good time.”

“Sounds to me like you listen an awful lot, Dobos. What is that? You being vicariously gay, or what?”

“I just want to know where you got him,” Andy said as he slung an arm over Ryan’s shoulders. “We’d only just got in. No way you had time to disappear to a bar or some shit.”

“I didn’t,” Ryan said with a smile. Fucker had a secret hidden in that cocky ass grin.

“You going to tell me or what, you little twat?” Andy gently shook Ryan against him. Into him.

“Or what,” Ryan replied easily, catching himself by placing his arm around Andy for a moment. Both arms, actually, and he turned a bit into the hold, so that he was hugging Andy, walking sort of twisted and sideways.

Andy didn’t mind. He was actually pretty fucking pleased that Ryan was that okay with him again. He squeezed the bloke’s shoulders for a moment, carefully directing him to the side and out of the way of the pedestrians coming their way.

“Jesus. Fucking faggots everywhere.”

At least, Andy was pretty sure that’s what he heard as the two men passed by them. One glance at Ryan’s face confirmed it.

Andy spun around, dragging Ryan with him. “What the fuck did you just fucking say?”

Ryan was trying not to trip over his own feet and also pull at Andy’s arm. “Andy, don’t.”

The two men stopped, and Andy caught the roll of the eyes as they turned. “Should have guessed. All limeys are fucking homos, man.”

“At least we don’t have to claim them,” the other said.

And it pretty much went downhill from there.

“Jesus, And,” Ryan said as Andy washed his hands off in the loo of the restaurant.

“They’re just scraped,” he replied, examining his knuckles.

“I don’t fucking mean your hands.”

“I know.” He sighed. Here it came. Drama.

“I . . . You could have been in serious trouble. What if they had recognised you? What if the cops had shown up?”

“They didn’t and they didn’t. Besides, those two would never report that they got their arses handed to them in their hats by a fucking ‘mo.”

“You’re not a ‘mo.”

“They thought I was.”

“Oh. So that’s . . .”

“No, Ry, that’s not why. I don’t give a flying toss what those fuckers think. But you do.”

“Oh.”

Andy wrapped a towel around his hand. “You really shouldn’t though.”

“I . . . I know.”

“Come on. Buy your white knight a drink, eh?”

“How about some lunch to go with it?”

“If you insist.”

______

Andy was still pretty keyed up about the incident later, during the performance even, no matter how he tried to act around Ryan. Especially when Jesse started his little crusade speech and pointed Ryan’s orientation out to the crowd and Andy watched Ryan’s whole body stiffen. Fuck. And he’d been doing so well lately.

The kiss segued into a song, and at the end of it, Ryan still looked like he thought the crowd might come at him with pitchforks. So Andy hit his hi-hat in a gentle rhythm, not really knowing what he was doing. But Ryan turned to look and Andy shot him a wink.

They all turned to look, actually, but Andy didn’t stop. Someone in the crowd screamed and Andy picked up the pace and added a little bit of bass drum to it. More screams. Then some snare followed by the floor tom. All right. More screams and cheers. Now a bit of tom, back to the cymbals, and . . .

“Drum solo!” he screamed into his mic as he really started pounding away. And the crowd went nuts.