Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-02-09 10:12 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-02-09 10:12 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Middle Ground (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris)
Riona: Okay, I've almost finished this fic; the end is in sight! Now I just need you guys to—
Chris and Robert: Destroy our relationship, right?
Riona: NO
It took some wrestling to deal with the damage the characters (in true Goes Wrong fashion) insisted on doing, but I managed to get the fic finished in the end!
Title: Middle Ground
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris
Wordcount: 3,900
Summary: Robert is in love. Chris isn't. They sleep together anyway. This is probably a great idea.
“I have something to add to the production meeting agenda,” Robert announces.
“No, you don’t,” Chris says. “This meeting is on a strict schedule, Robert. If you had something to add, you should have submitted it days ago.”
“I’ll be quick,” Robert says. “As I’ve unfortunately concluded that I’m in love with Chris, I propose that I should play Ariadne to his Theseus.”
Chris takes a few seconds to let that sink in. It’s not sinking in. It sits on the surface of his mind, stubborn and incomprehensible. “What?”
“What?” Annie echoes, with more delight than Chris feels is strictly appropriate.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robert says, “but the Minotaur and Ariadne are never in the same scene together, so I should be able to play both roles without issue.”
“That’s – that’s not what I’m thinking.” Chris swallows, with sudden, strange difficulty. “What did you say?”
“Anyway,” Robert says, “that’s all. Give it some consideration. Back to costuming.”
“Did you just say you’re in love with me?”
Robert frowns at him. “Chris, please. We’re on a strict schedule.”
-
Annie corners Chris after the meeting. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Talk to...?”
“Robert,” Annie says. “Robert, obviously. He just confessed his love to you in front of everyone.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a love confession, really,” Chris says, uncomfortable. “It was more of a love... aside, on the way to his larger point.”
“Doesn’t make a difference. He still said he’s in love with you.”
Chris hesitates. “I’m sure he didn’t really mean it.”
“Then why would he say it?” Annie asks.
This is, unfortunately, a good point. Robert certainly isn’t always honest, but he’s always sincere; he’s never been a prankster.
Chris’s sole scrap of hope is the possibility that Robert thought this was the best way to get a second role. It seems a strange lie to come up with, though, and a stranger one to commit to in front of the entire drama society.
“So,” Annie says. “He’s in love with you. You’ve got to do something about it, right?”
“Do what? Tell him to stop?” Can he do that? It would be convenient, certainly, if he could persuade Robert to somehow switch it off.
Annie folds her arms. “I guess you don’t love him back, do you?” she asks, with an air of disappointment that Chris finds frankly unsettling. “So you just... talk about your feelings. Make sure you’re both on the same page about things.”
Talk about your feelings. What an awful prospect.
“I mean...” Chris shakes his head. “What would I say?”
“I mean, for one thing, you’d say that Ariadne’s my role and he’s not having it,” Annie says.
He can probably manage that, at least.
-
Chris spends the rest of the day convincing himself there’s no real need to talk to Robert about this. After an extremely poor night’s sleep, however, he’s forced to concede that it might be best to clear the air.
He drafts a text message to Robert. Can you come in for rehearsals a little earlier than everyone else? Maybe 5.40 instead of 6? I realise that gives us twenty minutes alone together, but, to be clear, you shouldn’t have any strange expectations; I just thought we should talk.
Chris frowns at the message for a long moment, then deletes it and just sends Rehearsal time changed to 5.40.
Robert responds immediately. It’s already past seven, Chris.
It takes Chris a puzzled instant to work out what’s happened here. 5.40 pm, obviously.
You need to communicate more clearly, Robert replies. I’ve always said so.
Chris sighs. He could really do with not being tense and stressed and irritated before eight o’clock. Or, if it’ll keep Robert happy, before eight in the morning.
-
“Am I the first one here?” Robert asks, striding into the rehearsal room.
“Seems that way.” He usually is; Chris could probably have counted on getting some time alone without the text message, but he wanted to be sure. “While we’re waiting for the others, I thought perhaps we could have a talk.”
Robert looks at him, expectant.
Chris draws in a deep breath. “You said you’re in love with me.”
“I did,” Robert says. “I don’t like it any more than you do, if that helps.”
“And you...” Chris hesitates. “That was real. You meant it?”
“Chris, when do I ever not say what I mean?”
“When you’re trying to get a role,” Chris says, without hesitation. “This could just be part of some mad scheme to play Ariadne.” That’s what he told himself last night, lying awake, turning that moment over and over in his head.
“Ah,” Robert says. “Well, yes, I can see why you would think that. But I’m genuinely in love with you, inconveniently enough.”
It cracks through all of Chris’s efforts to tell himself it was just a scheme, a slip of the tongue, a bad joke. Robert’s in love with him. That’s a real thing; that’s something they have to deal with.
“Why?” It’s the only thing Chris can think of to ask.
“Excellent question.” Robert takes a moment to contemplate. “It’s certainly not your personality, or your looks. Or your acting ability.”
“What’s wrong with – what else is there? My voice?”
Robert shakes his head. “I’ve always found your voice mildly irritating, actually.”
Chris folds his arms. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to this abuse, Robert.”
“I said mildly.”
“This is nonsense. You’re saying you’re in love with me, but it wouldn’t make a difference if I looked and spoke and behaved entirely differently?”
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t make a difference. It’d probably improve things.”
“Robert,” Chris says.
“Look, I don’t know why I’m in love with you,” Robert says. “But the inconvenient fact remains. It’s not something you have to worry about. I’ll use it to inform my acting for now, and eventually I’ll come to my senses.”
Chris hesitates. “So you’re not – you’re not hoping for anything from me. You’re not asking for anything to change.”
“I’m hoping for the role of Ariadne. I thought I made that clear.”
“I’m not giving you Ariadne. We already don’t have enough female roles for the women.”
“This is a real missed opportunity, Chris,” Robert says. “I’m in the perfect position to depict unrequited love.”
Unrequited love. It really does sound like Robert doesn’t have any visions of seduction; he doesn’t expect to whisk Chris into his arms and off to a bedroom in the middle of rehearsals. (Disconcerting thought. Chris needs a few seconds to clear his head.) That’s a relief, at least, and perhaps it makes Chris a little more inclined to take pity on him.
“I’ll tell you what,” Chris says: “I’ll give you Ariadne if you can talk Annie into being the Minotaur.”
Robert is visibly torn; he does everything visibly. It’s no surprise. They’re both good roles, and he’s well suited to the Minotaur; that was the first casting decision Chris made for this play.
It’s no surprise that he eventually takes the deal, either. Robert will always take a speaking part over a non-speaking one. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise; Chris has been a little afraid that Robert might start trying to give the Minotaur lines.
-
Their performance of Theseus and the Minotaur goes... well, ‘well’ would be overstating it. The curtain gets stuck after the interval and can’t be raised; they have to perform the entire second half teetering on the narrow strip of stage in front of the curtain, with no visible sets.
But the change in casting works better than Chris had expected. Annie has taken to her new role with a ferocious enthusiasm; when Chris has to face down her Minotaur as Theseus, he finds himself genuinely terrified.
Robert as Ariadne, meanwhile...
Well. Chris was concerned that Robert might feel ridiculous in the role, too loud and too bold and too bearded. There’s no telling what the audience thinks – the booing could be for any reason, frankly – but Chris finds he’s largely able to take Robert’s Ariadne seriously. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that there’s some degree of real feeling there.
When Theseus abandons Ariadne on the island of Naxos and sails away, Chris feels a genuine twinge of guilt at Ariadne’s anguished howls.
-
There are still a handful of people left in the audience by the time the curtain metaphorically falls, which is always a feat. Unfortunately, Robert gets into a verbal altercation with one of the remaining audience members and emerges inconsolable.
“Rude! He said I was rude! He said I was rude, Chris. Me, Chris! Rude!”
“Well,” Chris says, “you have to admit that some of the things you say might, er, occasionally—”
“We should go back. I need you to explain that he’s mistaken, please, Chris. You see, I said please there, as I often do; it’s an inherently polite word.”
Chris sighs deeply. He’s going to have to escort Robert home, or Robert really will go back and try to iron this out, and there will most likely be unfortunate headlines in the Cornley Gazette tomorrow.
Robert seems to have calmed down a little by the time they’ve reached his doorstep, at least. Chris bids him farewell and turns to leave.
“You won’t come in for supper?” Robert asks.
Chris hesitates. It’s an offer Robert has made before, after a show, and Chris usually accepts. Robert’s company is... well, questionable might be the word for it, but it’s company nonetheless, and the alternative is stewing alone over yet another failed production.
But Robert’s in love with him. It feels like that changes things.
“Just a meal,” Chris says, cautiously.
“What, do you think I’m going to tear your trousers off?” Robert asks, unlocking the door. “It’s just a meal.”
“You do have form.”
“That was just because I needed the trousers for my role. Nothing salacious about it.” Robert holds the door open, pointedly.
Against his better judgement, Chris walks through it.
-
They’ve done a show tonight, so it was already late by the time they reached Robert’s, and the meals he cooks tend to be on the elaborate side. By the time they’ve finished eating, it’s nearing midnight. Chris sits back in his seat, exhausted, but not unpleasantly so; it’s more a vague floatiness than anything actively miserable.
“Thank you,” he says. “I think it’s probably for the best that I wasn’t on my own this evening.”
“And your trousers remain intact,” Robert observes.
“They do,” Chris says. “You’re really not planning anything, are you?”
“I’m not going to waste time pursuing someone who won’t have me. It’s undignified. If you ever happen to fall for me, you’ll make it known and we’ll go from there.”
Will Chris make it known? He doesn’t have a strong track record of being direct with people he’s interested in, although he supposes the fact that he already knows Robert’s feelings might make it easier.
Not that it’s relevant, of course. It’s extremely hard to picture falling in love with Robert.
“Have you had relationships with men before?” Chris asks.
“Not relationships, no,” Robert says. “Sexual encounters, I suppose you’d call them.”
Chris knocks over his empty glass with a sharp, involuntary motion of his hand.
It suddenly makes everything so much more concrete. What Robert desires from him, physically if not emotionally. Chris has never slept with a man; he has only vague ideas of what it involves. But it’s an experience Robert has lived through, and it’s something he wants with Chris.
“You’ll have to do that harder if you want to smash it,” Robert comments, his eyes on the overturned glass.
That’s a distraction, at least. “Why would I want to smash it?”
“Oh,” Robert says. “Right. I suppose that’s not really desirable.”
Chris puzzles over that exchange the entire way home. He puzzles over it consciously, desperately, so there’s no room in his thoughts for Robert’s feelings to slip in.
They slip in anyway, through the cracks. He sleeps badly, drifting in and out of dreams about sex with Robert: holding Chris down by the throat, or up against the wall of the rehearsal room, or on stage while the audience applauds in polite confusion.
He’d be able to cope with the dreams if he enjoyed them less. The whole experience is uncomfortably erotic. Chris tries to will away his own body’s reaction when he wakes, but it’s easier thought than done.
-
They’re not planning to start work on their next production until after the weekend. Chris is hoping that a couple of days away from Robert might give him time to clear his head, time to exorcise all these uncomfortable images.
It makes things worse. With Robert physically there, being his typical offputting self, perhaps it would be easier to recognise how ludicrous these fantasies are. With Robert elsewhere, there’s nothing but the fantasy, unwelcome dreams spilling into Chris’s waking thoughts.
Is it a fantasy; is it a fear? It’s hard to pin down the line between them. More than anything else, perhaps it’s just the slow solidification of a thought that won’t stop haunting Chris: What does he want from me? What does he want from me? What does he want from me?
He can barely look at Robert during the drama society session on Monday. Robert, of course, notices.
“Chris!” Robert exclaims, hammering his hands on the table. “Eye contact! It’s an absolute fundamental of acting.”
“We’re not acting,” Chris says, startled into meeting his eyes. “We’re discussing which play to—”
He loses the thread of what he’s saying. It’s too much, looking straight at Robert; it sharpens and intensifies every image that’s been haunting him over the last few days.
“We’re actors, Chris,” Robert says. “We’re always acting.”
Chris can’t carry on like this. So what does—
What does that mean? What can he do?
-
After every drama society meeting, if they haven’t done any actual acting, Robert will spend some time performing monologues in the rehearsal room. It makes it dangerously easy to know where to find him.
Chris hesitates in the doorway, watching. Waiting to think better of this.
Robert notices him, eventually, and starts aiming his monologues directly at him. The intensity of his acting doesn’t change – Chris is fairly certain that Robert is always acting on full blast, whether he has an audience or not – but the experience certainly changes.
Chris isn’t shaking, exactly, but he’s somewhere on the verge of it. The sensible decision would be to walk away.
He’s not going to do that, is he?
“Well?” Robert asks at last, reaching his conclusion. “What did you think?”
Chris breathes in, slowly, and then out, and then in again.
“I’m not in love with you,” he says.
Robert frowns at him. “With respect, Chris, that’s hardly news, and it’s a dreadful effort at acting critique.”
“I thought I should say that first,” Chris says. “So you know this isn’t—”
He can feel himself losing his nerve more with every word he says. But he’s put this in motion; he can’t stop now.
He strides over to Robert and kisses him.
On some level, maybe he’s been trying to tell himself this is just another dream; maybe that’s how he’s built up the courage to do this. It’s instantly, intensely, inescapably real.
Robert picks him up and near-throws him against the wall; Chris makes a small noise of pain, quickly lost somewhere in Robert’s mouth. Embarrassingly, it feels good.
“Wait.” Robert breaks away. “You did say you’re not in love with me, didn’t you?”
“I—” Chris blinks, swallows, tries to breathe. Robert’s still pinning him against the wall; it feels like that’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I’m not – I’m just – I’m... interested in the physical side, I suppose.” It sounds ridiculous, saying it aloud. “I’m sorry; I probably shouldn’t have—”
Robert shrugs, and an instant later Chris is being kissed again.
-
Chris lives just a few doors down from the rehearsal building, which means there’s not much time to have second thoughts in the brief span where they’re getting to a bed. He manages to have quite a few of them anyway.
“This is a mistake,” Chris says, as they stumble through his front door together. “Isn’t it? It’s a mistake. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Robert says. “But so was performing on a sideways set. We can survive a mistake; God knows we’ve been through enough of them already.”
“If there are real feelings on your end, I... well, I shouldn’t take advantage of that, should I?” Chris asks. “Not just to satisfy my curiosity.”
Robert rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Chris, I’m not some lovestruck teenager. I’m not wistfully hoping that we’ll get married. If I thought I couldn’t handle sleeping with you, I would simply not sleep with you; it’s very easily done.”
He pushes Chris up against the doorframe of his bedroom and kisses him, hard and extensively, his hands large and warm on Chris’s hips. It leaves Chris a little dazed.
“Shall we leave it there, then?” Robert asks eventually, drawing back, and all Chris can do is shake his head.
-
There’s time afterwards, lying in bed next to Robert, for Chris to reflect. A part of him was half afraid he’d come out of the experience feeling the same way about Robert that Robert apparently does about him.
He seems to have escaped that pit, at least; he’s still fairly sure he’s not in love. But it’s been an intense experience nonetheless, and a strange one. He’s been vulnerable, under Robert’s hands, in a way he’s rarely been with anybody; perhaps that’s inevitably going to leave some sort of mark on a relationship, whether there are romantic feelings involved or not. How will it feel when they next face each other across a stage?
“Well,” Robert says, eventually, “thank you for that. A few more of those and I should be cured.”
Chris sits up sharply. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. It was fine. Not exactly mind-blowing, though, was it?”
Chris stares at him for a moment, outraged and wounded. It was good. He’d thought it was good. It was good, wasn’t it? “I didn’t think it was anything to complain about.”
“You weren’t sleeping with Chris Bean. It was an entirely different experience from your perspective.”
“Well, what did you expect?” Chris demands. “I’ve never done this before!”
“True,” Robert concedes. “I suppose, with rehearsals, there’s room for improvement.”
“There will be no rehearsals,” Chris says. “I was vulnerable with you, and you immediately insulted me. This is never going to happen again. I shouldn’t have led you along like this in the first place.”
“Chris, I don’t think—”
“Do you always treat the people you supposedly love with this little respect? It’s no wonder Denise left you.”
Sudden, total silence.
“Robert,” Chris says.
“Get out of my house,” Robert says, with such vehement feeling that Chris scrambles to his feet, pulls on his clothes and leaves as fast as he can.
An instant after the front door shuts behind him, Chris realises he has, in fact, just shut himself out of his own home.
He could knock. But he can’t look Robert in the eye, not right now, not after saying that to him.
He sits with his back to the door and his head against his knees, his heart beating too fast, sickness twisting in his gut.
-
Eventually, the door opens behind Chris and he falls through it, backwards. He blinks up from the floor at Robert’s puzzled frown.
“I wondered where you’d gone,” Robert says. “Have you been sitting out here the whole time?”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Chris says. “I’m sorry.”
Robert visibly tenses at that. “Yes, well.” A moment’s silence. “I’m sure Denise would agree with you.”
“I was hurt.” Chris swallows, tries to breathe steadily. “What we just did meant something to me. I know that probably sounds stupid when I’m not even the one in love.”
“Look,” Robert says, “are you going to stand up or not?”
Chris considers that for a moment, then reaches up. Robert takes his hand and pulls him to his feet.
They look at each other for a moment.
“It does sound a little stupid,” Robert says.
Chris turns away. “All right.”
“I’m touched, though, I suppose.” Robert pauses. “I thought you were just interested in sex. I didn’t realise you were having a spiritual experience.”
“It’s not spiritual. It’s – you wouldn’t understand.” He doesn’t understand it himself; how can he expect Robert to?
Another pause. “You weren’t terrible.”
“Don’t you dare pity me.”
“You weren’t. I only ever say what I mean.”
That is, in fact, a large part of the issue.
“I’ll get over it soon enough, I’m sure,” Chris says. “I underperformed, apparently; it’s as simple as that. It’s stupid of me to let it bother me. I’m just embarrassed.”
“Not the worst performance issue we’ve had,” Robert says. “Remember the time I got stinking drunk on stage?”
“How could I ever—”
Chris cuts himself off, stares at Robert. Robert never brings his own theatrical mistakes up, never. He must genuinely want to make Chris feel better.
“I suppose that’s some reassurance,” Chris says, after a moment.
Robert looks relieved. To be more precise, Robert assumes the exaggerated expression he describes as ‘relief’ in his acting classes. “And there’s always room for improvement, of course. Even if you’re not interested in another night with me, I understand there are professionals one can hire. Your birthday’s in a few months, isn’t it?”
That throws Chris, when he was just starting to feel on more stable ground. “You want to hire me a... a professional? Seems like a strange thing to do when you’re in love with me.”
“Chris,” Robert says, “my larger concern has always been ensuring that my fellow actors are performing to the top of their ability.”
“Well, thank you,” Chris says, uncertainly. “I’m not sure I have any particular plans to spend more time in bed with the same sex, but, if I ever do, I’d sooner spend that time with someone I trust.” A pause. Should he say this? “Or, failing that, you.”
Robert nods. “The biggest issue is that you’re not vocal enough. I’ll give you some exercises to practise before next time. Gasps and cries and the like.”
Not vocal enough? Chris has always prided himself on his ability to maintain silence in bed; anything else seems undignified. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might bother a partner. Or whatever Robert is to him; partner doesn’t feel like the right word.
“To be clear,” Chris says, “that was not a commitment to a ‘next time’.”
“Do the exercises anyway; they’ll do you good. Let me know if you’d ever like me to evaluate you for your certificate.”
“A certificate?” Chris asks. “A certificate for my noises in bed?”
“It’s important to recognise effort and improvement,” Robert says, solemnly.
Chris looks at him for a long, long moment.
“I suppose it is,” he says at last.
Chris and Robert: Destroy our relationship, right?
Riona: NO
It took some wrestling to deal with the damage the characters (in true Goes Wrong fashion) insisted on doing, but I managed to get the fic finished in the end!
Title: Middle Ground
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris
Wordcount: 3,900
Summary: Robert is in love. Chris isn't. They sleep together anyway. This is probably a great idea.
“I have something to add to the production meeting agenda,” Robert announces.
“No, you don’t,” Chris says. “This meeting is on a strict schedule, Robert. If you had something to add, you should have submitted it days ago.”
“I’ll be quick,” Robert says. “As I’ve unfortunately concluded that I’m in love with Chris, I propose that I should play Ariadne to his Theseus.”
Chris takes a few seconds to let that sink in. It’s not sinking in. It sits on the surface of his mind, stubborn and incomprehensible. “What?”
“What?” Annie echoes, with more delight than Chris feels is strictly appropriate.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robert says, “but the Minotaur and Ariadne are never in the same scene together, so I should be able to play both roles without issue.”
“That’s – that’s not what I’m thinking.” Chris swallows, with sudden, strange difficulty. “What did you say?”
“Anyway,” Robert says, “that’s all. Give it some consideration. Back to costuming.”
“Did you just say you’re in love with me?”
Robert frowns at him. “Chris, please. We’re on a strict schedule.”
Annie corners Chris after the meeting. “Are you going to talk to him?”
“Talk to...?”
“Robert,” Annie says. “Robert, obviously. He just confessed his love to you in front of everyone.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a love confession, really,” Chris says, uncomfortable. “It was more of a love... aside, on the way to his larger point.”
“Doesn’t make a difference. He still said he’s in love with you.”
Chris hesitates. “I’m sure he didn’t really mean it.”
“Then why would he say it?” Annie asks.
This is, unfortunately, a good point. Robert certainly isn’t always honest, but he’s always sincere; he’s never been a prankster.
Chris’s sole scrap of hope is the possibility that Robert thought this was the best way to get a second role. It seems a strange lie to come up with, though, and a stranger one to commit to in front of the entire drama society.
“So,” Annie says. “He’s in love with you. You’ve got to do something about it, right?”
“Do what? Tell him to stop?” Can he do that? It would be convenient, certainly, if he could persuade Robert to somehow switch it off.
Annie folds her arms. “I guess you don’t love him back, do you?” she asks, with an air of disappointment that Chris finds frankly unsettling. “So you just... talk about your feelings. Make sure you’re both on the same page about things.”
Talk about your feelings. What an awful prospect.
“I mean...” Chris shakes his head. “What would I say?”
“I mean, for one thing, you’d say that Ariadne’s my role and he’s not having it,” Annie says.
He can probably manage that, at least.
Chris spends the rest of the day convincing himself there’s no real need to talk to Robert about this. After an extremely poor night’s sleep, however, he’s forced to concede that it might be best to clear the air.
He drafts a text message to Robert. Can you come in for rehearsals a little earlier than everyone else? Maybe 5.40 instead of 6? I realise that gives us twenty minutes alone together, but, to be clear, you shouldn’t have any strange expectations; I just thought we should talk.
Chris frowns at the message for a long moment, then deletes it and just sends Rehearsal time changed to 5.40.
Robert responds immediately. It’s already past seven, Chris.
It takes Chris a puzzled instant to work out what’s happened here. 5.40 pm, obviously.
You need to communicate more clearly, Robert replies. I’ve always said so.
Chris sighs. He could really do with not being tense and stressed and irritated before eight o’clock. Or, if it’ll keep Robert happy, before eight in the morning.
“Am I the first one here?” Robert asks, striding into the rehearsal room.
“Seems that way.” He usually is; Chris could probably have counted on getting some time alone without the text message, but he wanted to be sure. “While we’re waiting for the others, I thought perhaps we could have a talk.”
Robert looks at him, expectant.
Chris draws in a deep breath. “You said you’re in love with me.”
“I did,” Robert says. “I don’t like it any more than you do, if that helps.”
“And you...” Chris hesitates. “That was real. You meant it?”
“Chris, when do I ever not say what I mean?”
“When you’re trying to get a role,” Chris says, without hesitation. “This could just be part of some mad scheme to play Ariadne.” That’s what he told himself last night, lying awake, turning that moment over and over in his head.
“Ah,” Robert says. “Well, yes, I can see why you would think that. But I’m genuinely in love with you, inconveniently enough.”
It cracks through all of Chris’s efforts to tell himself it was just a scheme, a slip of the tongue, a bad joke. Robert’s in love with him. That’s a real thing; that’s something they have to deal with.
“Why?” It’s the only thing Chris can think of to ask.
“Excellent question.” Robert takes a moment to contemplate. “It’s certainly not your personality, or your looks. Or your acting ability.”
“What’s wrong with – what else is there? My voice?”
Robert shakes his head. “I’ve always found your voice mildly irritating, actually.”
Chris folds his arms. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to this abuse, Robert.”
“I said mildly.”
“This is nonsense. You’re saying you’re in love with me, but it wouldn’t make a difference if I looked and spoke and behaved entirely differently?”
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t make a difference. It’d probably improve things.”
“Robert,” Chris says.
“Look, I don’t know why I’m in love with you,” Robert says. “But the inconvenient fact remains. It’s not something you have to worry about. I’ll use it to inform my acting for now, and eventually I’ll come to my senses.”
Chris hesitates. “So you’re not – you’re not hoping for anything from me. You’re not asking for anything to change.”
“I’m hoping for the role of Ariadne. I thought I made that clear.”
“I’m not giving you Ariadne. We already don’t have enough female roles for the women.”
“This is a real missed opportunity, Chris,” Robert says. “I’m in the perfect position to depict unrequited love.”
Unrequited love. It really does sound like Robert doesn’t have any visions of seduction; he doesn’t expect to whisk Chris into his arms and off to a bedroom in the middle of rehearsals. (Disconcerting thought. Chris needs a few seconds to clear his head.) That’s a relief, at least, and perhaps it makes Chris a little more inclined to take pity on him.
“I’ll tell you what,” Chris says: “I’ll give you Ariadne if you can talk Annie into being the Minotaur.”
Robert is visibly torn; he does everything visibly. It’s no surprise. They’re both good roles, and he’s well suited to the Minotaur; that was the first casting decision Chris made for this play.
It’s no surprise that he eventually takes the deal, either. Robert will always take a speaking part over a non-speaking one. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise; Chris has been a little afraid that Robert might start trying to give the Minotaur lines.
Their performance of Theseus and the Minotaur goes... well, ‘well’ would be overstating it. The curtain gets stuck after the interval and can’t be raised; they have to perform the entire second half teetering on the narrow strip of stage in front of the curtain, with no visible sets.
But the change in casting works better than Chris had expected. Annie has taken to her new role with a ferocious enthusiasm; when Chris has to face down her Minotaur as Theseus, he finds himself genuinely terrified.
Robert as Ariadne, meanwhile...
Well. Chris was concerned that Robert might feel ridiculous in the role, too loud and too bold and too bearded. There’s no telling what the audience thinks – the booing could be for any reason, frankly – but Chris finds he’s largely able to take Robert’s Ariadne seriously. Perhaps it’s the knowledge that there’s some degree of real feeling there.
When Theseus abandons Ariadne on the island of Naxos and sails away, Chris feels a genuine twinge of guilt at Ariadne’s anguished howls.
There are still a handful of people left in the audience by the time the curtain metaphorically falls, which is always a feat. Unfortunately, Robert gets into a verbal altercation with one of the remaining audience members and emerges inconsolable.
“Rude! He said I was rude! He said I was rude, Chris. Me, Chris! Rude!”
“Well,” Chris says, “you have to admit that some of the things you say might, er, occasionally—”
“We should go back. I need you to explain that he’s mistaken, please, Chris. You see, I said please there, as I often do; it’s an inherently polite word.”
Chris sighs deeply. He’s going to have to escort Robert home, or Robert really will go back and try to iron this out, and there will most likely be unfortunate headlines in the Cornley Gazette tomorrow.
Robert seems to have calmed down a little by the time they’ve reached his doorstep, at least. Chris bids him farewell and turns to leave.
“You won’t come in for supper?” Robert asks.
Chris hesitates. It’s an offer Robert has made before, after a show, and Chris usually accepts. Robert’s company is... well, questionable might be the word for it, but it’s company nonetheless, and the alternative is stewing alone over yet another failed production.
But Robert’s in love with him. It feels like that changes things.
“Just a meal,” Chris says, cautiously.
“What, do you think I’m going to tear your trousers off?” Robert asks, unlocking the door. “It’s just a meal.”
“You do have form.”
“That was just because I needed the trousers for my role. Nothing salacious about it.” Robert holds the door open, pointedly.
Against his better judgement, Chris walks through it.
They’ve done a show tonight, so it was already late by the time they reached Robert’s, and the meals he cooks tend to be on the elaborate side. By the time they’ve finished eating, it’s nearing midnight. Chris sits back in his seat, exhausted, but not unpleasantly so; it’s more a vague floatiness than anything actively miserable.
“Thank you,” he says. “I think it’s probably for the best that I wasn’t on my own this evening.”
“And your trousers remain intact,” Robert observes.
“They do,” Chris says. “You’re really not planning anything, are you?”
“I’m not going to waste time pursuing someone who won’t have me. It’s undignified. If you ever happen to fall for me, you’ll make it known and we’ll go from there.”
Will Chris make it known? He doesn’t have a strong track record of being direct with people he’s interested in, although he supposes the fact that he already knows Robert’s feelings might make it easier.
Not that it’s relevant, of course. It’s extremely hard to picture falling in love with Robert.
“Have you had relationships with men before?” Chris asks.
“Not relationships, no,” Robert says. “Sexual encounters, I suppose you’d call them.”
Chris knocks over his empty glass with a sharp, involuntary motion of his hand.
It suddenly makes everything so much more concrete. What Robert desires from him, physically if not emotionally. Chris has never slept with a man; he has only vague ideas of what it involves. But it’s an experience Robert has lived through, and it’s something he wants with Chris.
“You’ll have to do that harder if you want to smash it,” Robert comments, his eyes on the overturned glass.
That’s a distraction, at least. “Why would I want to smash it?”
“Oh,” Robert says. “Right. I suppose that’s not really desirable.”
Chris puzzles over that exchange the entire way home. He puzzles over it consciously, desperately, so there’s no room in his thoughts for Robert’s feelings to slip in.
They slip in anyway, through the cracks. He sleeps badly, drifting in and out of dreams about sex with Robert: holding Chris down by the throat, or up against the wall of the rehearsal room, or on stage while the audience applauds in polite confusion.
He’d be able to cope with the dreams if he enjoyed them less. The whole experience is uncomfortably erotic. Chris tries to will away his own body’s reaction when he wakes, but it’s easier thought than done.
They’re not planning to start work on their next production until after the weekend. Chris is hoping that a couple of days away from Robert might give him time to clear his head, time to exorcise all these uncomfortable images.
It makes things worse. With Robert physically there, being his typical offputting self, perhaps it would be easier to recognise how ludicrous these fantasies are. With Robert elsewhere, there’s nothing but the fantasy, unwelcome dreams spilling into Chris’s waking thoughts.
Is it a fantasy; is it a fear? It’s hard to pin down the line between them. More than anything else, perhaps it’s just the slow solidification of a thought that won’t stop haunting Chris: What does he want from me? What does he want from me? What does he want from me?
He can barely look at Robert during the drama society session on Monday. Robert, of course, notices.
“Chris!” Robert exclaims, hammering his hands on the table. “Eye contact! It’s an absolute fundamental of acting.”
“We’re not acting,” Chris says, startled into meeting his eyes. “We’re discussing which play to—”
He loses the thread of what he’s saying. It’s too much, looking straight at Robert; it sharpens and intensifies every image that’s been haunting him over the last few days.
“We’re actors, Chris,” Robert says. “We’re always acting.”
Chris can’t carry on like this. So what does—
What does that mean? What can he do?
After every drama society meeting, if they haven’t done any actual acting, Robert will spend some time performing monologues in the rehearsal room. It makes it dangerously easy to know where to find him.
Chris hesitates in the doorway, watching. Waiting to think better of this.
Robert notices him, eventually, and starts aiming his monologues directly at him. The intensity of his acting doesn’t change – Chris is fairly certain that Robert is always acting on full blast, whether he has an audience or not – but the experience certainly changes.
Chris isn’t shaking, exactly, but he’s somewhere on the verge of it. The sensible decision would be to walk away.
He’s not going to do that, is he?
“Well?” Robert asks at last, reaching his conclusion. “What did you think?”
Chris breathes in, slowly, and then out, and then in again.
“I’m not in love with you,” he says.
Robert frowns at him. “With respect, Chris, that’s hardly news, and it’s a dreadful effort at acting critique.”
“I thought I should say that first,” Chris says. “So you know this isn’t—”
He can feel himself losing his nerve more with every word he says. But he’s put this in motion; he can’t stop now.
He strides over to Robert and kisses him.
On some level, maybe he’s been trying to tell himself this is just another dream; maybe that’s how he’s built up the courage to do this. It’s instantly, intensely, inescapably real.
Robert picks him up and near-throws him against the wall; Chris makes a small noise of pain, quickly lost somewhere in Robert’s mouth. Embarrassingly, it feels good.
“Wait.” Robert breaks away. “You did say you’re not in love with me, didn’t you?”
“I—” Chris blinks, swallows, tries to breathe. Robert’s still pinning him against the wall; it feels like that’s the only thing keeping him upright. “I’m not – I’m just – I’m... interested in the physical side, I suppose.” It sounds ridiculous, saying it aloud. “I’m sorry; I probably shouldn’t have—”
Robert shrugs, and an instant later Chris is being kissed again.
Chris lives just a few doors down from the rehearsal building, which means there’s not much time to have second thoughts in the brief span where they’re getting to a bed. He manages to have quite a few of them anyway.
“This is a mistake,” Chris says, as they stumble through his front door together. “Isn’t it? It’s a mistake. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Robert says. “But so was performing on a sideways set. We can survive a mistake; God knows we’ve been through enough of them already.”
“If there are real feelings on your end, I... well, I shouldn’t take advantage of that, should I?” Chris asks. “Not just to satisfy my curiosity.”
Robert rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Chris, I’m not some lovestruck teenager. I’m not wistfully hoping that we’ll get married. If I thought I couldn’t handle sleeping with you, I would simply not sleep with you; it’s very easily done.”
He pushes Chris up against the doorframe of his bedroom and kisses him, hard and extensively, his hands large and warm on Chris’s hips. It leaves Chris a little dazed.
“Shall we leave it there, then?” Robert asks eventually, drawing back, and all Chris can do is shake his head.
There’s time afterwards, lying in bed next to Robert, for Chris to reflect. A part of him was half afraid he’d come out of the experience feeling the same way about Robert that Robert apparently does about him.
He seems to have escaped that pit, at least; he’s still fairly sure he’s not in love. But it’s been an intense experience nonetheless, and a strange one. He’s been vulnerable, under Robert’s hands, in a way he’s rarely been with anybody; perhaps that’s inevitably going to leave some sort of mark on a relationship, whether there are romantic feelings involved or not. How will it feel when they next face each other across a stage?
“Well,” Robert says, eventually, “thank you for that. A few more of those and I should be cured.”
Chris sits up sharply. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. It was fine. Not exactly mind-blowing, though, was it?”
Chris stares at him for a moment, outraged and wounded. It was good. He’d thought it was good. It was good, wasn’t it? “I didn’t think it was anything to complain about.”
“You weren’t sleeping with Chris Bean. It was an entirely different experience from your perspective.”
“Well, what did you expect?” Chris demands. “I’ve never done this before!”
“True,” Robert concedes. “I suppose, with rehearsals, there’s room for improvement.”
“There will be no rehearsals,” Chris says. “I was vulnerable with you, and you immediately insulted me. This is never going to happen again. I shouldn’t have led you along like this in the first place.”
“Chris, I don’t think—”
“Do you always treat the people you supposedly love with this little respect? It’s no wonder Denise left you.”
Sudden, total silence.
“Robert,” Chris says.
“Get out of my house,” Robert says, with such vehement feeling that Chris scrambles to his feet, pulls on his clothes and leaves as fast as he can.
An instant after the front door shuts behind him, Chris realises he has, in fact, just shut himself out of his own home.
He could knock. But he can’t look Robert in the eye, not right now, not after saying that to him.
He sits with his back to the door and his head against his knees, his heart beating too fast, sickness twisting in his gut.
Eventually, the door opens behind Chris and he falls through it, backwards. He blinks up from the floor at Robert’s puzzled frown.
“I wondered where you’d gone,” Robert says. “Have you been sitting out here the whole time?”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Chris says. “I’m sorry.”
Robert visibly tenses at that. “Yes, well.” A moment’s silence. “I’m sure Denise would agree with you.”
“I was hurt.” Chris swallows, tries to breathe steadily. “What we just did meant something to me. I know that probably sounds stupid when I’m not even the one in love.”
“Look,” Robert says, “are you going to stand up or not?”
Chris considers that for a moment, then reaches up. Robert takes his hand and pulls him to his feet.
They look at each other for a moment.
“It does sound a little stupid,” Robert says.
Chris turns away. “All right.”
“I’m touched, though, I suppose.” Robert pauses. “I thought you were just interested in sex. I didn’t realise you were having a spiritual experience.”
“It’s not spiritual. It’s – you wouldn’t understand.” He doesn’t understand it himself; how can he expect Robert to?
Another pause. “You weren’t terrible.”
“Don’t you dare pity me.”
“You weren’t. I only ever say what I mean.”
That is, in fact, a large part of the issue.
“I’ll get over it soon enough, I’m sure,” Chris says. “I underperformed, apparently; it’s as simple as that. It’s stupid of me to let it bother me. I’m just embarrassed.”
“Not the worst performance issue we’ve had,” Robert says. “Remember the time I got stinking drunk on stage?”
“How could I ever—”
Chris cuts himself off, stares at Robert. Robert never brings his own theatrical mistakes up, never. He must genuinely want to make Chris feel better.
“I suppose that’s some reassurance,” Chris says, after a moment.
Robert looks relieved. To be more precise, Robert assumes the exaggerated expression he describes as ‘relief’ in his acting classes. “And there’s always room for improvement, of course. Even if you’re not interested in another night with me, I understand there are professionals one can hire. Your birthday’s in a few months, isn’t it?”
That throws Chris, when he was just starting to feel on more stable ground. “You want to hire me a... a professional? Seems like a strange thing to do when you’re in love with me.”
“Chris,” Robert says, “my larger concern has always been ensuring that my fellow actors are performing to the top of their ability.”
“Well, thank you,” Chris says, uncertainly. “I’m not sure I have any particular plans to spend more time in bed with the same sex, but, if I ever do, I’d sooner spend that time with someone I trust.” A pause. Should he say this? “Or, failing that, you.”
Robert nods. “The biggest issue is that you’re not vocal enough. I’ll give you some exercises to practise before next time. Gasps and cries and the like.”
Not vocal enough? Chris has always prided himself on his ability to maintain silence in bed; anything else seems undignified. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might bother a partner. Or whatever Robert is to him; partner doesn’t feel like the right word.
“To be clear,” Chris says, “that was not a commitment to a ‘next time’.”
“Do the exercises anyway; they’ll do you good. Let me know if you’d ever like me to evaluate you for your certificate.”
“A certificate?” Chris asks. “A certificate for my noises in bed?”
“It’s important to recognise effort and improvement,” Robert says, solemnly.
Chris looks at him for a long, long moment.
“I suppose it is,” he says at last.
no subject
Again, I love how direct he is about this!
It’s not sinking in. It sits on the surface of his mind, stubborn and incomprehensible.
*chef's kiss* of a construction
“I know what you’re thinking,” Robert says, “but the Minotaur and Ariadne are never in the same scene together, so I should be able to play both roles without issue.”
Robert I don't think ANYONE but you was thinking that.
“It was more of a love... aside, on the way to his larger point.”
That is true!
Can he do that? It would be convenient, certainly, if he could persuade Robert to somehow switch it off.
CHRIS.
“I mean, for one thing, you’d say that Ariadne’s my role and he’s not having it,” Annie says.
Hahah! The ulterior motives return.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, if that helps.”
*chinhands* my favourite dynamic. I LOVE it when characters resent their feelings.
“Excellent question.” Robert takes a moment to contemplate. “It’s certainly not your personality, or your looks. Or your acting ability.”
Hahahaha AMAZING.
“Look, I don’t know why I’m in love with you,” Robert says. “But the inconvenient fact remains. It’s not something you have to worry about. I’ll use it to inform my acting for now, and eventually I’ll come to my senses.”
... Oh this is actually unpleasantly relatable only I'd say writing instead of acting. Huh.
But the change in casting works better than Chris had expected. Annie has taken to her new role with a ferocious enthusiasm; when Chris has to face down her Minotaur as Theseus, he finds himself genuinely terrified.
Oh nice!
the booing could be for any reason, frankly
Sksksksksks
“That was just because I needed the trousers for my role. Nothing salacious about it.” Robert holds the door open, pointedly.
Hshshshhs
He doesn’t have a strong track record of being direct with people he’s interested in, although he supposes the fact that he already knows Robert’s feelings might make it easier.
Ho ho
“Sexual encounters, I suppose you’d call them.”
FANTASTICALLY CLEAR THANK YOU ROBERT
or on stage while the audience applauds in polite confusion.
That part is my favourite
“We’re actors, Chris,” Robert says. “We’re always acting.”
This man needs to be in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead SO BADLY
After every drama society meeting, if they haven’t done any actual acting, Robert will spend some time performing monologues in the rehearsal room
This man has an addiction to the stage
Robert picks him up and near-throws him against the wall; Chris makes a small noise of pain, quickly lost somewhere in Robert’s mouth. Embarrassingly, it feels good.
Well.
“But so was performing on a sideways set. We can survive a mistake; God knows we’ve been through enough of them already.”
That's the kind of optimism I'd kill to have
“Well,” Robert says, eventually, “thank you for that. A few more of those and I should be cured.”
SKSKSKSKSKSKK
“Do you always treat the people you supposedly love with this little respect? It’s no wonder Denise left you.”
Damn.
An instant after the front door shuts behind him, Chris realises he has, in fact, just shut himself out of his own home.
Amazing speedrunning of a relationship to the divorce without actually having the relationship. And then losing your house.
“You weren’t. I only ever say what I mean.”
That is, in fact, a large part of the issue.
This is like 100% of his problem.
Chris cuts himself off, stares at Robert. Robert never brings his own theatrical mistakes up, never. He must genuinely want to make Chris feel better.
GASP!
That throws Chris, when he was just starting to feel on more stable ground. “You want to hire me a... a professional? Seems like a strange thing to do when you’re in love with me.”
“Chris,” Robert says, “my larger concern has always been ensuring that my fellow actors are performing to the top of their ability.”
... Chris I think you should date him actually.
Chris has always prided himself on his ability to maintain silence in bed; anything else seems undignified.
Oh man see a therapist.