Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-01-23 12:00 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-01-23 12:00 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Performance Notes (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris, Robert/everyone)
When I was looking through my many ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
threesentenceficathon fills for The Goes Wrong Show, it occurred to me that I could probably use my 'unethical sexuality experimentation' fill as the first scene of a longer fic, perhaps incorporating a couple of my other fills.
Here's the result! Some of the scenes may feel familiar if you've read my Three-Sentence Ficathon fills, but the vast majority of this fic is brand new.
Title: Performance Notes
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris by way of Robert/everyone
Wordcount: 3,000
Summary: The script Robert has written for the society to perform is, to say the least, extremely worrying.
Looking through the drama society’s submissions for the Cornley Drama Festival is, as predicted, a disheartening experience. Jonathan’s concept, at least, seems solid. Dennis has submitted an incoherent mess that will require extensive cutting; Vanessa is proposing an improv session, and Chris dreads to think how that’s going to end up; Annie wants to do comedy, Christ...
Robert has submitted an original script, and Chris approaches it with reluctant interest. He’ll never admit it aloud, but the script for Summer Once Again wasn’t bad, even if the actual performance – fortunately, given the circumstances – left a lot to be desired.
Halfway through reading, Chris jolts to his feet and storms out of the room in search of Robert. He’s not hard to track down; Chris follows the sound of vocal exercises to find him in the rehearsal room.
“Robert,” Chris says. “What the hell is this script?”
“It’s my submission for the Cornley Drama Festival,” Robert says, bemused.
“The love scene,” Chris says. “With Sandra’s character.”
“What about it?”
Chris reads aloud from the script. “Richard and Sally make love, centre stage. They have to actually make love, none of that miming bollocks. The audience will sense any inauthenticity.”
Robert shrugs. “Well, they will. You’ve always underestimated the audience, Chris.”
“You can’t make Sandra do this! It’s absolutely outrageous.”
“I’ve already spoken to Sandra,” Robert says. “She’s all right with it.”
“She—” Chris cuts himself off for a moment, attempting to process that. “She’s a dedicated actress. You can’t use that to manipulate her into – into having sex with you on stage.”
“Well, what’s so special about Sandra? I make love with all the rest of you as well.”
“You – what?” Chris flicks through the script, suddenly frantic. “What?”
There it is, in black and white. Apparently Chris is also expected to have sex with Robert Grove on stage, after Vanessa and before Jonathan; Robert has thoughtfully written a glory hole into the latter scene, just in case Jonathan struggles with getting onto the set.
“Robert,” Chris says, looking up to meet his eyes, “what could possibly have possessed you to write this?”
“A passion for art, naturally,” Robert says. “And... well. Well, Denise isn’t coming back. I thought it was an opportunity to hold auditions.”
“Auditions,” Chris echoes. “To – to be your partner?”
“There’s always the chance the winner of the audition won’t be interested in the role, of course,” Robert concedes, “but the exercise should teach me a little more about my preferences, at any rate. A lot of my sexual experiences have been with a certain demographic; I thought it was time to branch out.”
A certain demographic. Chris is always careful not to think too much about his mother’s affair with Robert, but there are times when it’s hard to avoid.
“We cannot perform this at the drama festival,” Chris says, firmly.
“Fine,” Robert says. “I’ll do my acting masterclass.”
“Yes. Good. That sounds... that sounds better.”
There’s a moment’s silence. Chris would very much like to exit the scene, but it feels hard to find the appropriate parting words.
“Can I include stage kissing lessons in my acting masterclass?” Robert asks.
Chris shakes his head. “Please don’t.”
-
Chris draws Sandra aside at the first opportunity.
“I hear you’ve already spoken with Robert about his script for the festival,” he says. “I’ve had a word with him, and I thought you’d like to know that you won’t have to – you won’t have to do any of that. He’ll be holding an acting class instead.”
“Oh, really?” Sandra asks. “Shame. I thought his play looked interesting.”
That is... not the response Chris expected. “You thought it was interesting?”
“Didn’t you? We don’t do enough nude scenes; I’ve always said so. I’m very good at them, you know.”
“I don’t – I don’t doubt it.” Chris falters halfway through the words; it doesn’t feel like the appropriate thing to say, somehow. “But – come on, you don’t think it’s obscene? Using his position as writer to have onstage sex with the entire drama society?”
“I might have thought it was strange if it had just been me,” Sandra says, thoughtfully. “Understandable, but fishy. If it’s everyone, though, it’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Chris asks, faintly. He feels a little dizzy.
“Well, he can’t be sexually interested in everyone; that’s obviously not his motive. So there must be a genuine artistry to it.”
Does that make sense? Does anything make sense, when it comes to Robert?
“He suggested there might be... more personal motives involved,” Chris says. “Apparently he’s not sure of his own sexual tastes. He’s trying to... learn more, I suppose.”
“Oh,” Sandra says. “Oh, poor thing. Do you think I should offer to help him?”
This is not at all the direction Chris was expecting this conversation to go. He feels frustrated and itchy and uncomfortable in ways he can’t put into words. “I mean – I mean, if you and Robert both feel like rolling around in bed on your own time, I can’t exactly stop you, can I?”
-
Chris tries not to think about it. But days go by, and the quiet is Sandra going to offer to sleep with Robert? voice in his mind becomes have they already slept together?, which, it turns out, is an even harder question to ignore.
He finds himself losing focus during rehearsals, just watching the two of them, trying to work out if they’re behaving differently around each other. Chris knows it’s just her acting style, he knows he shouldn’t read into it when Sandra casts a sultry glance over at Robert – she has sultry glances aplenty for the cast as a whole – but it still makes that question in his mind just a little bit louder.
Eventually, the terrible need to know becomes too much to endure. He invites Robert to the rehearsal room, ostensibly to run lines together.
“Robert,” Chris says. “Has Sandra... approached you, recently?”
“Oh,” Robert says, “is our uptight director interested in salacious cast gossip, hmm?”
“I – I am not! I will not be made out to be some sort of pervert by the man who wrote that filthy script. It involved a ménage à trois with Annie and Dennis!”
“Dennis doesn’t enjoy being the centre of attention,” Robert says. “I thought a threesome would put less pressure on him. The more actors there are in a scene, you know, the less focus on any one actor.”
“Well, that’s... that’s surprisingly considerate of you, I suppose,” Chris concedes, “but it doesn’t make your script any less astonishing.” A pause. “As you just implied there’s salacious gossip to be had, should I take it that Sandra did approach you?”
Robert nods. “We spent an interesting night together, if you must know.”
Hard not to picture what that might mean. Which is troubling, on some levels, but it’s also an infinite improvement on picturing his mother with Robert. In a way, Chris supposes he owes Sandra a thank-you for creating a different image to haunt him. “So are you... in a relationship?”
“Just the night, I think,” Robert says. “Said she wanted to help me pinpoint my sexual tastes. I suppose you’re the one who told her I was doing research in that area.”
It’s true; Chris supposes he himself is directly responsible for two of his actors having sex. That’s a strange thought. “She can’t teach you that much about your sexual preferences, can she? I mean, you had a long-term relationship with Denise, so I know for a fact that not all of your sexual experiences have been with women in their sixties.”
“Sandra and Denise are very different women,” Robert says. “Sandra’s still willing to associate with me, for one thing. But it’s true that I could only learn so much about myself by sleeping with her. If someone hadn’t prevented me from further broadening my horizons...”
“I stand by my decision,” Chris says. “If there’s another Sandra situation, if someone else in the society is prepared to sleep with you of their own free will, I suppose that’s fine; I can’t prevent that. But you can’t script it; you’d be taking advantage. These are actors; they’ll follow the script even if it’s something they don’t want to do. Well, Dennis won’t follow the script, but only because he’ll have forgotten the directions.”
There’s a brief pause.
“I suppose that’s a reasonable point,” Robert concedes, reluctantly. “Can’t be that hard to find a man who’s up for a shag. I’ll take out a personals ad in the drama festival programme.”
“What? It’s a theatre programme; it doesn’t have a lonely hearts section.”
Robert shrugs. “I’ll have it as my bio, then.”
“No!” Just once, Chris would like to get through a conversation with Robert without ever descending into anything that could be described as ‘breathless outrage’. “You will not use this drama festival as some sort of – some sort of vehicle to get people into your bed! Not through your performance, not through the programme; none of that!”
“Fine,” Robert says, irritably. “I’ll ask Max, I suppose; he might go for it.”
What? “Why Max?”
“He might go for it,” Robert repeats. “Did you not hear me?”
“Yes, but... really? Max? Of all the men in the drama society, he’s not the one I’d expect you to be most interested in sleeping with.”
“You’re the one who said free will was a concern.” Robert adjusts his sleeves. “I can’t just worry about who I’m interested in, can I? Apparently, I have to pick someone who’d be interested back.”
This is all true, of course, but it also raises a question that’s starting to nag at Chris. “Which of the men would you sleep with, then? If you had your choice?”
Robert gives him a strange, searching look, a why are you asking this? look. It’s a look Chris would give himself, if that were physically possible.
You. That’s what Chris wants the answer to be; it’s a bizarre realisation. He wants to be at the top of Robert’s ranking, in the same breathless way he hopes he’ll hear his name announced as the lead after an audition.
Does he want to sleep with Robert? Surely not. But he wants Robert to want him. There’s all that history and rivalry between them, all that intensity; if Robert is going to want someone in the society, it should be Chris.
“That’s completely irrelevant, Chris,” Robert says at last.
It is, isn’t it? And yet Chris’s mind won’t let it go.
-
“How is Robert in bed?” Chris asks Sandra in a quiet moment, out of some sort of awful curiosity.
Sandra looks thoughtful for a moment. “He’s a lot like he is on stage, really.”
Somehow, that’s the most frightening answer she could possibly have given.
-
“Okay, let’s end it there for the day,” Chris says. “Robert, stay behind, please.”
“Really?” Vanessa asks. “The festival’s in two days.”
“It’s clear to me that we aren’t making progress in this session,” Chris says. “Maybe it’ll turn out that the key to success is rehearsing less; God knows we’ve tried everything else.”
The others, save Robert, pack up and leave; Chris watches them go, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on Max or Sandra.
“Do you know why I suspended rehearsals?” Chris asks, once the room has cleared.
“Because you realised your insect ballet was ridiculous?” Robert suggests.
“No, I – no. I suspended rehearsals because Max kept causing a disruption. He kept looking over at you and giggling.”
“Ah,” Robert says, with an air of pride that, given the circumstances, Chris finds himself disliking intensely.
Chris already knows the answer. He braces himself. “Did you sleep with Max?”
“So what if I did? We’re both adults acting of our own free will. Believe it or not, Max is technically a grown man. It’s not my failing if he’s so smitten with me that he carries it into rehearsals. Why are you scolding me instead of him?”
That’s... a fair point, actually. Max was causing the disruption; why was it Chris’s instinct to draw Robert aside to discuss it?
“Fine,” Chris says. “Fine. I can’t do anything about it. I’m sure he’ll have forgotten about it in a week.” He presses both hands over his face and draws in a deep, slow breath.
“It was fine, if you’re wondering.”
“Fine?” Chris echoes, dropping his hands. “Doesn’t sound like high praise.”
“It’s not, especially,” Robert says. “I mean, it was amusing enough, but I suppose I’m not really into men.”
This is it, Chris supposes: this is the end of Robert’s experimentation.
And on the heels of that thought comes another, considerably fiercer and considerably stranger: no. No, it won’t end here. It would be ridiculous to stop it at this point.
“That’s it, is it?” Chris asks. “You sleep with one man – Max, specifically – and on the strength of that one experience you decide to dismiss half the population?”
“I would have had a larger selection,” Robert says, “but, as you dismissed my play, I’m making do with what’s available to me.”
There’s a strange, furious thrill running through Chris, and he has to say this now or he won’t say it at all. “I’m available to you. Me.”
Robert cocks his head, his eyes flickering over Chris in a way that suddenly makes Chris feel very much like he’s being auditioned. “Are you, now?”
“Maybe the problem isn’t that Max is a man,” Chris says. “Maybe there just wasn’t enough tension there.”
“And no one could accuse us of not having enough tension in our relationship.” Robert considers him for a moment longer. “You asked me who I’d choose to have sex with. It would have been you, you know.”
It’s the same feeling that floods Chris when he passes an audition, too: that strange mix of euphoria and terror. This is going to happen, isn’t it?
“I suppose you'd want to be on top,” he manages to say, once he’s found his voice.
“What, you think we’re formally going to arrange that beforehand?” Robert asks, with a scoff. “I am going to earn it.” He approaches Chris with an intensity and intent that has Chris backing away.
“Changed your mind?” Robert asks, coming to a halt.
“For God’s sake, Robert, not here. I can’t condone hanky-panky in the rehearsal room.”
From Robert’s sudden shifty expression, Chris has a sinking feeling that this is exactly where some of his previous hanky-panky has taken place.
-
They end up going back to Chris’s home. It’s not what Chris would prefer, ideally; he can sense the regret already, the way his bed will end up haunted by the ghost of this terrible decision. But at least he lives alone. Robert lives with Dennis, and the possibility of any other members of the drama society bearing witness to this is a hideous nightmare.
Chris has to make the first move. It’s a determination that solidified on the drive over here. The suspense of waiting is too much; he needs to take control of how it starts.
Chris kisses Robert as soon as they’re inside the bedroom. It’s tentative, perhaps, but it’s his own action; he knows what he’s doing, he’s keeping some kind of grip on the situation.
He’s expecting to hate it. He’s expecting to come to his senses instantly, realise what a terrible idea this is.
He doesn’t. The scratch of Robert’s beard is... it’s strange, it’s not what he’s used to. There’s no chance of pretending this is anyone other than Robert. But Chris is an actor, he’s kissed fellow members of the drama society on stage before; is this so different, really, despite the lack of an audience?
The thought is reassuring; it puts everything that’s happening at a safe distance. He kisses Robert again, stroking down the side of his neck, and—
Robert grabs Chris’s wrist, tightly enough to make him cry out. It’s more startling than painful, at least; after all the injuries he’s experienced on stage, Chris knows the difference.
“What are you doing?” Chris demands.
“Come on, you can do better than that.” Robert runs his fingers down Chris’s neck, feather-light and mocking. “I can barely feel it. You’re weak, Chris.”
“I’m not – I’m not demonstrating my power!” Robert’s touch has left him shivering, embarrassingly; it’s broken through any sense that Chris can keep this moment at arm’s length. He tries to bury any sign of it. “I was trying to be romantic!”
“Romance is a contest of strength and acting ability,” Robert says. “You haven’t got a chance. Kiss me harder.”
“It is not,” Chris says, but he takes up the challenge anyway.
-
Sex with Robert is mostly as Chris might have expected, had he really thought about the prospect for long enough to think better of it: vigorous and vindictive, Chris’s face being held down uncomfortably hard in the pillow, a passionate cry of Robert! – and everything stops dead.
“Did you just call your own name?” Chris asks.
“You’re hearing things, Chris,” Robert assures him.
Chris starts laughing, suddenly, the absurdity of the situation crashing down on him like a poorly constructed theatre ceiling. He’s all adrenaline and arousal and incredulity, in this moment; he’s shaking, he can’t get control of his own reactions. He laughs until he nearly chokes.
-
“So,” Chris says, in the aftermath. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be; he’s not sure it’s a good idea to ask. “Did I pass your audition?”
“You laughed at me,” Robert says, disgruntled.
“You deserved it.”
“You weren’t bad,” Robert concedes. “I’ll keep your CV on file. Do you think Annie would be interested?”
There’s a moment’s silence. Chris sits up in bed to stare at him. “You’re planning to keep sleeping through the drama society?”
“I’m gathering information,” Robert says. “It’s worth gathering everything I can, isn’t it? What, did you think you’d be so mindblowing you’d answer all my questions about my sexual interests?”
It’s infuriating; it instantly makes Chris’s competitive spirit flare up. Everything about this situation does; everything about Robert does, really. Perhaps they were always destined to end up in bed together. Perhaps they’re destined to end up choking each other to death.
“Right,” Chris says. “Come on, we’re going again.”
Robert shrugs and kisses him.
threesentenceficathon fills for The Goes Wrong Show, it occurred to me that I could probably use my 'unethical sexuality experimentation' fill as the first scene of a longer fic, perhaps incorporating a couple of my other fills.Here's the result! Some of the scenes may feel familiar if you've read my Three-Sentence Ficathon fills, but the vast majority of this fic is brand new.
Title: Performance Notes
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris by way of Robert/everyone
Wordcount: 3,000
Summary: The script Robert has written for the society to perform is, to say the least, extremely worrying.
Looking through the drama society’s submissions for the Cornley Drama Festival is, as predicted, a disheartening experience. Jonathan’s concept, at least, seems solid. Dennis has submitted an incoherent mess that will require extensive cutting; Vanessa is proposing an improv session, and Chris dreads to think how that’s going to end up; Annie wants to do comedy, Christ...
Robert has submitted an original script, and Chris approaches it with reluctant interest. He’ll never admit it aloud, but the script for Summer Once Again wasn’t bad, even if the actual performance – fortunately, given the circumstances – left a lot to be desired.
Halfway through reading, Chris jolts to his feet and storms out of the room in search of Robert. He’s not hard to track down; Chris follows the sound of vocal exercises to find him in the rehearsal room.
“Robert,” Chris says. “What the hell is this script?”
“It’s my submission for the Cornley Drama Festival,” Robert says, bemused.
“The love scene,” Chris says. “With Sandra’s character.”
“What about it?”
Chris reads aloud from the script. “Richard and Sally make love, centre stage. They have to actually make love, none of that miming bollocks. The audience will sense any inauthenticity.”
Robert shrugs. “Well, they will. You’ve always underestimated the audience, Chris.”
“You can’t make Sandra do this! It’s absolutely outrageous.”
“I’ve already spoken to Sandra,” Robert says. “She’s all right with it.”
“She—” Chris cuts himself off for a moment, attempting to process that. “She’s a dedicated actress. You can’t use that to manipulate her into – into having sex with you on stage.”
“Well, what’s so special about Sandra? I make love with all the rest of you as well.”
“You – what?” Chris flicks through the script, suddenly frantic. “What?”
There it is, in black and white. Apparently Chris is also expected to have sex with Robert Grove on stage, after Vanessa and before Jonathan; Robert has thoughtfully written a glory hole into the latter scene, just in case Jonathan struggles with getting onto the set.
“Robert,” Chris says, looking up to meet his eyes, “what could possibly have possessed you to write this?”
“A passion for art, naturally,” Robert says. “And... well. Well, Denise isn’t coming back. I thought it was an opportunity to hold auditions.”
“Auditions,” Chris echoes. “To – to be your partner?”
“There’s always the chance the winner of the audition won’t be interested in the role, of course,” Robert concedes, “but the exercise should teach me a little more about my preferences, at any rate. A lot of my sexual experiences have been with a certain demographic; I thought it was time to branch out.”
A certain demographic. Chris is always careful not to think too much about his mother’s affair with Robert, but there are times when it’s hard to avoid.
“We cannot perform this at the drama festival,” Chris says, firmly.
“Fine,” Robert says. “I’ll do my acting masterclass.”
“Yes. Good. That sounds... that sounds better.”
There’s a moment’s silence. Chris would very much like to exit the scene, but it feels hard to find the appropriate parting words.
“Can I include stage kissing lessons in my acting masterclass?” Robert asks.
Chris shakes his head. “Please don’t.”
Chris draws Sandra aside at the first opportunity.
“I hear you’ve already spoken with Robert about his script for the festival,” he says. “I’ve had a word with him, and I thought you’d like to know that you won’t have to – you won’t have to do any of that. He’ll be holding an acting class instead.”
“Oh, really?” Sandra asks. “Shame. I thought his play looked interesting.”
That is... not the response Chris expected. “You thought it was interesting?”
“Didn’t you? We don’t do enough nude scenes; I’ve always said so. I’m very good at them, you know.”
“I don’t – I don’t doubt it.” Chris falters halfway through the words; it doesn’t feel like the appropriate thing to say, somehow. “But – come on, you don’t think it’s obscene? Using his position as writer to have onstage sex with the entire drama society?”
“I might have thought it was strange if it had just been me,” Sandra says, thoughtfully. “Understandable, but fishy. If it’s everyone, though, it’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Chris asks, faintly. He feels a little dizzy.
“Well, he can’t be sexually interested in everyone; that’s obviously not his motive. So there must be a genuine artistry to it.”
Does that make sense? Does anything make sense, when it comes to Robert?
“He suggested there might be... more personal motives involved,” Chris says. “Apparently he’s not sure of his own sexual tastes. He’s trying to... learn more, I suppose.”
“Oh,” Sandra says. “Oh, poor thing. Do you think I should offer to help him?”
This is not at all the direction Chris was expecting this conversation to go. He feels frustrated and itchy and uncomfortable in ways he can’t put into words. “I mean – I mean, if you and Robert both feel like rolling around in bed on your own time, I can’t exactly stop you, can I?”
Chris tries not to think about it. But days go by, and the quiet is Sandra going to offer to sleep with Robert? voice in his mind becomes have they already slept together?, which, it turns out, is an even harder question to ignore.
He finds himself losing focus during rehearsals, just watching the two of them, trying to work out if they’re behaving differently around each other. Chris knows it’s just her acting style, he knows he shouldn’t read into it when Sandra casts a sultry glance over at Robert – she has sultry glances aplenty for the cast as a whole – but it still makes that question in his mind just a little bit louder.
Eventually, the terrible need to know becomes too much to endure. He invites Robert to the rehearsal room, ostensibly to run lines together.
“Robert,” Chris says. “Has Sandra... approached you, recently?”
“Oh,” Robert says, “is our uptight director interested in salacious cast gossip, hmm?”
“I – I am not! I will not be made out to be some sort of pervert by the man who wrote that filthy script. It involved a ménage à trois with Annie and Dennis!”
“Dennis doesn’t enjoy being the centre of attention,” Robert says. “I thought a threesome would put less pressure on him. The more actors there are in a scene, you know, the less focus on any one actor.”
“Well, that’s... that’s surprisingly considerate of you, I suppose,” Chris concedes, “but it doesn’t make your script any less astonishing.” A pause. “As you just implied there’s salacious gossip to be had, should I take it that Sandra did approach you?”
Robert nods. “We spent an interesting night together, if you must know.”
Hard not to picture what that might mean. Which is troubling, on some levels, but it’s also an infinite improvement on picturing his mother with Robert. In a way, Chris supposes he owes Sandra a thank-you for creating a different image to haunt him. “So are you... in a relationship?”
“Just the night, I think,” Robert says. “Said she wanted to help me pinpoint my sexual tastes. I suppose you’re the one who told her I was doing research in that area.”
It’s true; Chris supposes he himself is directly responsible for two of his actors having sex. That’s a strange thought. “She can’t teach you that much about your sexual preferences, can she? I mean, you had a long-term relationship with Denise, so I know for a fact that not all of your sexual experiences have been with women in their sixties.”
“Sandra and Denise are very different women,” Robert says. “Sandra’s still willing to associate with me, for one thing. But it’s true that I could only learn so much about myself by sleeping with her. If someone hadn’t prevented me from further broadening my horizons...”
“I stand by my decision,” Chris says. “If there’s another Sandra situation, if someone else in the society is prepared to sleep with you of their own free will, I suppose that’s fine; I can’t prevent that. But you can’t script it; you’d be taking advantage. These are actors; they’ll follow the script even if it’s something they don’t want to do. Well, Dennis won’t follow the script, but only because he’ll have forgotten the directions.”
There’s a brief pause.
“I suppose that’s a reasonable point,” Robert concedes, reluctantly. “Can’t be that hard to find a man who’s up for a shag. I’ll take out a personals ad in the drama festival programme.”
“What? It’s a theatre programme; it doesn’t have a lonely hearts section.”
Robert shrugs. “I’ll have it as my bio, then.”
“No!” Just once, Chris would like to get through a conversation with Robert without ever descending into anything that could be described as ‘breathless outrage’. “You will not use this drama festival as some sort of – some sort of vehicle to get people into your bed! Not through your performance, not through the programme; none of that!”
“Fine,” Robert says, irritably. “I’ll ask Max, I suppose; he might go for it.”
What? “Why Max?”
“He might go for it,” Robert repeats. “Did you not hear me?”
“Yes, but... really? Max? Of all the men in the drama society, he’s not the one I’d expect you to be most interested in sleeping with.”
“You’re the one who said free will was a concern.” Robert adjusts his sleeves. “I can’t just worry about who I’m interested in, can I? Apparently, I have to pick someone who’d be interested back.”
This is all true, of course, but it also raises a question that’s starting to nag at Chris. “Which of the men would you sleep with, then? If you had your choice?”
Robert gives him a strange, searching look, a why are you asking this? look. It’s a look Chris would give himself, if that were physically possible.
You. That’s what Chris wants the answer to be; it’s a bizarre realisation. He wants to be at the top of Robert’s ranking, in the same breathless way he hopes he’ll hear his name announced as the lead after an audition.
Does he want to sleep with Robert? Surely not. But he wants Robert to want him. There’s all that history and rivalry between them, all that intensity; if Robert is going to want someone in the society, it should be Chris.
“That’s completely irrelevant, Chris,” Robert says at last.
It is, isn’t it? And yet Chris’s mind won’t let it go.
“How is Robert in bed?” Chris asks Sandra in a quiet moment, out of some sort of awful curiosity.
Sandra looks thoughtful for a moment. “He’s a lot like he is on stage, really.”
Somehow, that’s the most frightening answer she could possibly have given.
“Okay, let’s end it there for the day,” Chris says. “Robert, stay behind, please.”
“Really?” Vanessa asks. “The festival’s in two days.”
“It’s clear to me that we aren’t making progress in this session,” Chris says. “Maybe it’ll turn out that the key to success is rehearsing less; God knows we’ve tried everything else.”
The others, save Robert, pack up and leave; Chris watches them go, trying not to let his gaze linger too long on Max or Sandra.
“Do you know why I suspended rehearsals?” Chris asks, once the room has cleared.
“Because you realised your insect ballet was ridiculous?” Robert suggests.
“No, I – no. I suspended rehearsals because Max kept causing a disruption. He kept looking over at you and giggling.”
“Ah,” Robert says, with an air of pride that, given the circumstances, Chris finds himself disliking intensely.
Chris already knows the answer. He braces himself. “Did you sleep with Max?”
“So what if I did? We’re both adults acting of our own free will. Believe it or not, Max is technically a grown man. It’s not my failing if he’s so smitten with me that he carries it into rehearsals. Why are you scolding me instead of him?”
That’s... a fair point, actually. Max was causing the disruption; why was it Chris’s instinct to draw Robert aside to discuss it?
“Fine,” Chris says. “Fine. I can’t do anything about it. I’m sure he’ll have forgotten about it in a week.” He presses both hands over his face and draws in a deep, slow breath.
“It was fine, if you’re wondering.”
“Fine?” Chris echoes, dropping his hands. “Doesn’t sound like high praise.”
“It’s not, especially,” Robert says. “I mean, it was amusing enough, but I suppose I’m not really into men.”
This is it, Chris supposes: this is the end of Robert’s experimentation.
And on the heels of that thought comes another, considerably fiercer and considerably stranger: no. No, it won’t end here. It would be ridiculous to stop it at this point.
“That’s it, is it?” Chris asks. “You sleep with one man – Max, specifically – and on the strength of that one experience you decide to dismiss half the population?”
“I would have had a larger selection,” Robert says, “but, as you dismissed my play, I’m making do with what’s available to me.”
There’s a strange, furious thrill running through Chris, and he has to say this now or he won’t say it at all. “I’m available to you. Me.”
Robert cocks his head, his eyes flickering over Chris in a way that suddenly makes Chris feel very much like he’s being auditioned. “Are you, now?”
“Maybe the problem isn’t that Max is a man,” Chris says. “Maybe there just wasn’t enough tension there.”
“And no one could accuse us of not having enough tension in our relationship.” Robert considers him for a moment longer. “You asked me who I’d choose to have sex with. It would have been you, you know.”
It’s the same feeling that floods Chris when he passes an audition, too: that strange mix of euphoria and terror. This is going to happen, isn’t it?
“I suppose you'd want to be on top,” he manages to say, once he’s found his voice.
“What, you think we’re formally going to arrange that beforehand?” Robert asks, with a scoff. “I am going to earn it.” He approaches Chris with an intensity and intent that has Chris backing away.
“Changed your mind?” Robert asks, coming to a halt.
“For God’s sake, Robert, not here. I can’t condone hanky-panky in the rehearsal room.”
From Robert’s sudden shifty expression, Chris has a sinking feeling that this is exactly where some of his previous hanky-panky has taken place.
They end up going back to Chris’s home. It’s not what Chris would prefer, ideally; he can sense the regret already, the way his bed will end up haunted by the ghost of this terrible decision. But at least he lives alone. Robert lives with Dennis, and the possibility of any other members of the drama society bearing witness to this is a hideous nightmare.
Chris has to make the first move. It’s a determination that solidified on the drive over here. The suspense of waiting is too much; he needs to take control of how it starts.
Chris kisses Robert as soon as they’re inside the bedroom. It’s tentative, perhaps, but it’s his own action; he knows what he’s doing, he’s keeping some kind of grip on the situation.
He’s expecting to hate it. He’s expecting to come to his senses instantly, realise what a terrible idea this is.
He doesn’t. The scratch of Robert’s beard is... it’s strange, it’s not what he’s used to. There’s no chance of pretending this is anyone other than Robert. But Chris is an actor, he’s kissed fellow members of the drama society on stage before; is this so different, really, despite the lack of an audience?
The thought is reassuring; it puts everything that’s happening at a safe distance. He kisses Robert again, stroking down the side of his neck, and—
Robert grabs Chris’s wrist, tightly enough to make him cry out. It’s more startling than painful, at least; after all the injuries he’s experienced on stage, Chris knows the difference.
“What are you doing?” Chris demands.
“Come on, you can do better than that.” Robert runs his fingers down Chris’s neck, feather-light and mocking. “I can barely feel it. You’re weak, Chris.”
“I’m not – I’m not demonstrating my power!” Robert’s touch has left him shivering, embarrassingly; it’s broken through any sense that Chris can keep this moment at arm’s length. He tries to bury any sign of it. “I was trying to be romantic!”
“Romance is a contest of strength and acting ability,” Robert says. “You haven’t got a chance. Kiss me harder.”
“It is not,” Chris says, but he takes up the challenge anyway.
Sex with Robert is mostly as Chris might have expected, had he really thought about the prospect for long enough to think better of it: vigorous and vindictive, Chris’s face being held down uncomfortably hard in the pillow, a passionate cry of Robert! – and everything stops dead.
“Did you just call your own name?” Chris asks.
“You’re hearing things, Chris,” Robert assures him.
Chris starts laughing, suddenly, the absurdity of the situation crashing down on him like a poorly constructed theatre ceiling. He’s all adrenaline and arousal and incredulity, in this moment; he’s shaking, he can’t get control of his own reactions. He laughs until he nearly chokes.
“So,” Chris says, in the aftermath. He’s not sure what he wants the answer to be; he’s not sure it’s a good idea to ask. “Did I pass your audition?”
“You laughed at me,” Robert says, disgruntled.
“You deserved it.”
“You weren’t bad,” Robert concedes. “I’ll keep your CV on file. Do you think Annie would be interested?”
There’s a moment’s silence. Chris sits up in bed to stare at him. “You’re planning to keep sleeping through the drama society?”
“I’m gathering information,” Robert says. “It’s worth gathering everything I can, isn’t it? What, did you think you’d be so mindblowing you’d answer all my questions about my sexual interests?”
It’s infuriating; it instantly makes Chris’s competitive spirit flare up. Everything about this situation does; everything about Robert does, really. Perhaps they were always destined to end up in bed together. Perhaps they’re destined to end up choking each other to death.
“Right,” Chris says. “Come on, we’re going again.”
Robert shrugs and kisses him.
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Oh, can't he?
Aw!
Thoughtful!
Creative thinking!
Chris doesn't want Robert to decide he's entirely heterosexual! For reasons!
Perfect!
Robert learned how to seduce Chris!
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Of course not. I would never dream of writing a character who's sexually interested in everyone.
Thank you so much; this made me smile! ♥
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“Well, he can’t be sexually interested in everyone; that’s obviously not his motive. So there must be a genuine artistry to it.”
CAN'T HE
“Dennis doesn’t enjoy being the centre of attention,” Robert says. “I thought a threesome would put less pressure on him. The more actors there are in a scene, you know, the less focus on any one actor.”
The rationale.
“She can’t teach you that much about your sexual preferences, can she? I mean, you had a long-term relationship with Denise, so I know for a fact that not all of your sexual experiences have been with women in their sixties.”
LOL.
“Can’t be that hard to find a man who’s up for a shag. I’ll take out a personals ad in the drama festival programme.”
Just ask him, you coward
Somehow, that’s the most frightening answer she could possibly have given.
JESUS. Yeah.
“I am going to earn it.”
Oh God.
“Romance is a contest of strength and acting ability,” Robert says. “You haven’t got a chance. Kiss me harder.”
So very him. Yes.
“Did you just call your own name?” Chris asks.
Listen there was a whole movie about this, you could've just referenced that and it would be fine probably.
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I did think about Call Me By Your Name while writing that, I'll be honest.
Thank you so much!!