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rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-18 12:43 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-18 12:43 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Ad Libitum (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris)
Yet more fanfiction for The Goes Wrong Show!
Here's a game you can play: see if you can guess what Chris named the main characters in his play before you read this, on the assumption that Chris just asked himself 'what names do gay men have?'
Title: Ad Libitum
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris
Wordcount: 1,800
Summary: Chris and Robert play lovers on stage. Things do not go as planned.
On a fairly regular basis, Chris will comb through assorted theatrical fora to see what is being said online about the Cornley Drama Society: an exercise that is occasionally educational, if rarely pleasant. He takes some consolation in the fact that none of these idiots know what they’re talking about. For example, someone by the name of ‘rg_goodactor’ has posted the same complaint across several different websites:
The Cornley Drama Society will occasionally allow its actresses to make eyes at each other, and for that it should be commended. However, the director’s refusal to let male characters explore the full spectrum of human sexuality betrays a fundamentally unprogressive mindset and, worse, artistically limits the society’s actors.
This is very clearly nonsense. Chris has no problem whatsoever with men having... having relations with each other. The matter, by coincidence, simply happens not to have arisen in any of their plays to date.
It’s a ridiculous, completely misinformed comment, and he is determined to ignore it.
-
“Our next play will be a romance,” Chris announces to the gathered drama society. “A love story between two men, which I have penned myself. I realise that this may be a controversial topic, but it’s an important one, and I think it’s high time we showed a willingness to explore it.”
He pauses. They’re all just looking back at him.
“Well, don’t all jump to react at once,” he says at last.
“In a perfect world, Chris,” Robert says, “how astonished do you imagine we’d be by your revolutionary addition of homosexuality to the world of theatre?”
Chris flushes. “Shut up, Robert.”
“I’m all for it, in any case,” Robert says. “Two male leads means double the opportunities for a lead role. You will be giving me one of them, won’t you, Chris?”
“God knows the problem with theatre is that there aren’t enough male leads,” Sandra remarks, resting her chin on her hand.
“I haven’t made any casting decisions yet,” Chris says. “For now, I’d recommend that you all familiarise yourselves with the script, and ideally consider being a little less snide.”
-
“Chris,” Robert says, accosting Chris in the playhouse corridor, “how is it that you know nothing at all about the human heart? You’ve got one in your chest, haven’t you?”
“You’ve read my script, I suppose,” Chris says, wearily.
“Such as it is. You’ve written a romance without any kissing in it.”
“Well, yes.” Chris shifts, uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure exactly what our actors would be... prepared to do.”
Robert shakes his head. “What the hell is the point of a romantic play without kissing, Chris? I mean, do you know a single thing about even basic storytelling?”
“I’m sure some romantic stories—”
“It’s ridiculous,” Robert says. “You mark my words, the audience will have no idea that Oscar and Sebastian are supposed to be in love.”
Robert is too close, too looming. Chris backs away a little. “They – they say it. They confess their love for each other.”
“And will the audience believe in that, without the actions to back it up?” Robert asks. “Honestly, Chris.”
“All right, fine,” Chris snaps. “Fine. If you’re so much better at this than I am, submit your rewrites and I’ll take a look.”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Robert produces a sheaf of paper from seemingly nowhere and thrusts it into Chris’s arms.
-
Chris is determined to hate Robert’s rewrites. When he sits down to read them that evening, he’s already spent some time rehearsing exactly how to frame his rejection in his head. They’ll be maudlin, unnecessary; the man has no understanding of subtlety.
In the end, Chris does strike out several of Robert’s additions; Sebastian howls at the heavens, shaking the foundations of the theatre feels over-the-top, and, moreover, shaking the theatre’s foundations is probably to be discouraged. But, to his surprise, he doesn’t hate the new kissing scene.
Well, he doesn’t entirely hate it. Something about it makes him a little uncomfortable; he keeps returning to reread it, like it’s an itch he can’t scratch. But he can see Robert’s point; it does feel like it ultimately adds something to the play. It underlines Sebastian and Oscar’s attraction; it adds a subtext to their other scenes together.
And that damn online commenter won’t be able to complain now, will they?
Chris supposes he’ll have to brace himself to kiss one of his male castmates, in that case. He will, of course, be playing one of the lovers, which will demonstrate without question that there is nothing regressive about the director’s politics. There remains the matter of casting the other.
Dennis is out of the question, obviously. Max lacks sincerity, and this is a very sincere piece. Jonathan would be Chris’s choice, but it’s risky to cast him in main roles; there’s a chance Chris will have to perform the tale of Oscar and Sebastian with no Sebastian at all.
That leaves Robert.
Robert can be difficult. But Robert has complained, loudly and often, about never being considered for romantic roles; perhaps he’ll be less inclined to cause trouble if he has what he wants. He’s the one who insisted on including a kiss, too, so he most likely won’t mind performing it.
And Sebastian is rather a brash sort, so Robert might be suited to the part. There were times, writing the script, when Chris could almost hear his lines in Robert’s voice.
-
Chris always works up a sweat on stage, but he feels almost feverish as the big kiss scene approaches.
They haven’t rehearsed the kiss. Chris told Robert some story about how it had to feel organic, and fortunately Robert seemed to buy it, but the truth is—
The truth is, well, Chris is nervous about kissing Robert. He’s kissed Sandra on stage before, and Annie; he’s kissed Vanessa in rehearsals, although somehow their attempts at kissing always seem to go awry on the stage itself. Kissing a man is new territory, and kissing Robert specifically does very much feel like jumping in at the deep end.
Sebastian pushes Oscar against the wall in one sharp motion, Robert’s stage directions read.
Robert pushes Chris against the wall in one sharp motion. A pane of glass falls out of the prop window next to them and shatters on the stage. Chris’s heart is beating too fast; he feels ill.
They stare into each other’s eyes.
They stare into each other’s eyes. It’s a kiss that comes next, Chris knows it’s a kiss, that’s what’s in the script, and yet a part of him is half convinced that Robert is about to kill him.
Sebastian leans in—
No. Chris cannot possibly just stand here waiting; he can’t take the suspense, even if it’s only for another second or two. He’s going to catch fire; he’s going to explode.
He kisses Robert. One hand on Robert’s face, one on his side, for the instant before Robert grabs both of Chris’s wrists and pins them against the wall.
“Not the direction, Chris,” Robert growls into his face. He’s the one to kiss Chris this time, and that’s fine, that’s what the play calls for, Chris should just accept it.
But there’s nothing in the script that says Oscar can’t kiss back harder.
Chris strains as hard as he can to get the upper hand. But Robert is pinning him in place, and he’s taller than Chris; it’s hard to get any kind of leverage.
Chris can’t breathe, he can’t think. He’s overheating, getting dizzy, and certain parts of his anatomy are reacting in a way that... that doesn’t feel entirely appropriate for the stage, although he supposes this is at least a better play for it than some.
What comes next in the script? Whose line is it? It all seems to have flown out of Chris’s head.
It doesn’t matter. The stage directions don’t mention who breaks the kiss, and that’s something Chris can take control of, at least; he can end it himself.
No. No, there’s a better option: he can force Robert to be the one who ends it. If they keep kissing for now, that’ll buy Chris a little time to remember his next line.
Robert lets go of Chris’s wrists, seizes him by the shoulders. Chris, his hands freed at last, hastily starts unbuttoning his own shirt – he’s too hot, he needs to cool off, he needs to—
Robert bats Chris’s hands away, takes over the unbuttoning himself. It feels only natural, in this instant, to return the favour; Chris fumbles with the buttons on Robert’s shirt, and then Robert is sliding Chris’s shirt off his shoulders and Chris is unbuckling Robert’s belt and Robert’s hands are on Chris’s bare hips and someone in the audience wolf-whistles and—
Someone in the audience wolf-whistles?
“This,” Chris says, tearing himself furiously away from Robert to face the audience, “is a serious play! What on Earth makes you think that’s an appropriate response to a sincere work of theatre? For God’s sake, this isn’t the Rocky Horror Show!”
He is aware, suddenly, of an absolute silence.
He becomes aware, gradually, that he is standing bare-chested on the stage, fully erect and breathing hard, with his trousers around his ankles and his boxers halfway down his thighs.
Fuck. Maybe they should have done the Rocky Horror Show; you can probably get away with this sort of thing there.
-
Chris stumbles his way through the rest of the play, of course, attempting to keep his blushing to a minimum. The show must go on, after all.
The moment the curtain falls, he heads backstage and collapses against a wall with his face in his hands.
“Well,” he mutters, to no one in particular, “that was a disaster.”
“Really?” Robert asks. “I thought it went rather well.”
God. Robert is the absolute last person he wants to speak to right now.
Chris lets his hands fall, looks unhappily up at Robert. “You know you can be imprisoned for up to three years for directing an obscene play? Multiple courts have already concluded that our work has no artistic merit, so we can’t use that as a defence.”
Robert shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a little nudity. It’s our natural state, you know.”
“Why the hell did you undress me?”
“You’re the one who started all the undressing,” Robert points out. “I thought it was in Sebastian’s character to participate.”
Chris has spent the whole play since that incident fiercely blaming Robert in his head. When he really thinks about it, though, it’s hard to say exactly who is responsible for what happened. He can’t remember which of them first went below the belt.
“Anyway,” Robert says, “cheer up. Still six performances left to go. It’ll be better tomorrow night.”
“It’ll be better tomorrow night,” Chris repeats, quietly, like a mantra.
-
They fuck on stage the next night.
They probably shouldn’t put this play on any more.
Here's a game you can play: see if you can guess what Chris named the main characters in his play before you read this, on the assumption that Chris just asked himself 'what names do gay men have?'
Title: Ad Libitum
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris
Wordcount: 1,800
Summary: Chris and Robert play lovers on stage. Things do not go as planned.
On a fairly regular basis, Chris will comb through assorted theatrical fora to see what is being said online about the Cornley Drama Society: an exercise that is occasionally educational, if rarely pleasant. He takes some consolation in the fact that none of these idiots know what they’re talking about. For example, someone by the name of ‘rg_goodactor’ has posted the same complaint across several different websites:
The Cornley Drama Society will occasionally allow its actresses to make eyes at each other, and for that it should be commended. However, the director’s refusal to let male characters explore the full spectrum of human sexuality betrays a fundamentally unprogressive mindset and, worse, artistically limits the society’s actors.
This is very clearly nonsense. Chris has no problem whatsoever with men having... having relations with each other. The matter, by coincidence, simply happens not to have arisen in any of their plays to date.
It’s a ridiculous, completely misinformed comment, and he is determined to ignore it.
“Our next play will be a romance,” Chris announces to the gathered drama society. “A love story between two men, which I have penned myself. I realise that this may be a controversial topic, but it’s an important one, and I think it’s high time we showed a willingness to explore it.”
He pauses. They’re all just looking back at him.
“Well, don’t all jump to react at once,” he says at last.
“In a perfect world, Chris,” Robert says, “how astonished do you imagine we’d be by your revolutionary addition of homosexuality to the world of theatre?”
Chris flushes. “Shut up, Robert.”
“I’m all for it, in any case,” Robert says. “Two male leads means double the opportunities for a lead role. You will be giving me one of them, won’t you, Chris?”
“God knows the problem with theatre is that there aren’t enough male leads,” Sandra remarks, resting her chin on her hand.
“I haven’t made any casting decisions yet,” Chris says. “For now, I’d recommend that you all familiarise yourselves with the script, and ideally consider being a little less snide.”
“Chris,” Robert says, accosting Chris in the playhouse corridor, “how is it that you know nothing at all about the human heart? You’ve got one in your chest, haven’t you?”
“You’ve read my script, I suppose,” Chris says, wearily.
“Such as it is. You’ve written a romance without any kissing in it.”
“Well, yes.” Chris shifts, uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure exactly what our actors would be... prepared to do.”
Robert shakes his head. “What the hell is the point of a romantic play without kissing, Chris? I mean, do you know a single thing about even basic storytelling?”
“I’m sure some romantic stories—”
“It’s ridiculous,” Robert says. “You mark my words, the audience will have no idea that Oscar and Sebastian are supposed to be in love.”
Robert is too close, too looming. Chris backs away a little. “They – they say it. They confess their love for each other.”
“And will the audience believe in that, without the actions to back it up?” Robert asks. “Honestly, Chris.”
“All right, fine,” Chris snaps. “Fine. If you’re so much better at this than I am, submit your rewrites and I’ll take a look.”
“I’m so glad you asked.” Robert produces a sheaf of paper from seemingly nowhere and thrusts it into Chris’s arms.
Chris is determined to hate Robert’s rewrites. When he sits down to read them that evening, he’s already spent some time rehearsing exactly how to frame his rejection in his head. They’ll be maudlin, unnecessary; the man has no understanding of subtlety.
In the end, Chris does strike out several of Robert’s additions; Sebastian howls at the heavens, shaking the foundations of the theatre feels over-the-top, and, moreover, shaking the theatre’s foundations is probably to be discouraged. But, to his surprise, he doesn’t hate the new kissing scene.
Well, he doesn’t entirely hate it. Something about it makes him a little uncomfortable; he keeps returning to reread it, like it’s an itch he can’t scratch. But he can see Robert’s point; it does feel like it ultimately adds something to the play. It underlines Sebastian and Oscar’s attraction; it adds a subtext to their other scenes together.
And that damn online commenter won’t be able to complain now, will they?
Chris supposes he’ll have to brace himself to kiss one of his male castmates, in that case. He will, of course, be playing one of the lovers, which will demonstrate without question that there is nothing regressive about the director’s politics. There remains the matter of casting the other.
Dennis is out of the question, obviously. Max lacks sincerity, and this is a very sincere piece. Jonathan would be Chris’s choice, but it’s risky to cast him in main roles; there’s a chance Chris will have to perform the tale of Oscar and Sebastian with no Sebastian at all.
That leaves Robert.
Robert can be difficult. But Robert has complained, loudly and often, about never being considered for romantic roles; perhaps he’ll be less inclined to cause trouble if he has what he wants. He’s the one who insisted on including a kiss, too, so he most likely won’t mind performing it.
And Sebastian is rather a brash sort, so Robert might be suited to the part. There were times, writing the script, when Chris could almost hear his lines in Robert’s voice.
Chris always works up a sweat on stage, but he feels almost feverish as the big kiss scene approaches.
They haven’t rehearsed the kiss. Chris told Robert some story about how it had to feel organic, and fortunately Robert seemed to buy it, but the truth is—
The truth is, well, Chris is nervous about kissing Robert. He’s kissed Sandra on stage before, and Annie; he’s kissed Vanessa in rehearsals, although somehow their attempts at kissing always seem to go awry on the stage itself. Kissing a man is new territory, and kissing Robert specifically does very much feel like jumping in at the deep end.
Sebastian pushes Oscar against the wall in one sharp motion, Robert’s stage directions read.
Robert pushes Chris against the wall in one sharp motion. A pane of glass falls out of the prop window next to them and shatters on the stage. Chris’s heart is beating too fast; he feels ill.
They stare into each other’s eyes.
They stare into each other’s eyes. It’s a kiss that comes next, Chris knows it’s a kiss, that’s what’s in the script, and yet a part of him is half convinced that Robert is about to kill him.
Sebastian leans in—
No. Chris cannot possibly just stand here waiting; he can’t take the suspense, even if it’s only for another second or two. He’s going to catch fire; he’s going to explode.
He kisses Robert. One hand on Robert’s face, one on his side, for the instant before Robert grabs both of Chris’s wrists and pins them against the wall.
“Not the direction, Chris,” Robert growls into his face. He’s the one to kiss Chris this time, and that’s fine, that’s what the play calls for, Chris should just accept it.
But there’s nothing in the script that says Oscar can’t kiss back harder.
Chris strains as hard as he can to get the upper hand. But Robert is pinning him in place, and he’s taller than Chris; it’s hard to get any kind of leverage.
Chris can’t breathe, he can’t think. He’s overheating, getting dizzy, and certain parts of his anatomy are reacting in a way that... that doesn’t feel entirely appropriate for the stage, although he supposes this is at least a better play for it than some.
What comes next in the script? Whose line is it? It all seems to have flown out of Chris’s head.
It doesn’t matter. The stage directions don’t mention who breaks the kiss, and that’s something Chris can take control of, at least; he can end it himself.
No. No, there’s a better option: he can force Robert to be the one who ends it. If they keep kissing for now, that’ll buy Chris a little time to remember his next line.
Robert lets go of Chris’s wrists, seizes him by the shoulders. Chris, his hands freed at last, hastily starts unbuttoning his own shirt – he’s too hot, he needs to cool off, he needs to—
Robert bats Chris’s hands away, takes over the unbuttoning himself. It feels only natural, in this instant, to return the favour; Chris fumbles with the buttons on Robert’s shirt, and then Robert is sliding Chris’s shirt off his shoulders and Chris is unbuckling Robert’s belt and Robert’s hands are on Chris’s bare hips and someone in the audience wolf-whistles and—
Someone in the audience wolf-whistles?
“This,” Chris says, tearing himself furiously away from Robert to face the audience, “is a serious play! What on Earth makes you think that’s an appropriate response to a sincere work of theatre? For God’s sake, this isn’t the Rocky Horror Show!”
He is aware, suddenly, of an absolute silence.
He becomes aware, gradually, that he is standing bare-chested on the stage, fully erect and breathing hard, with his trousers around his ankles and his boxers halfway down his thighs.
Fuck. Maybe they should have done the Rocky Horror Show; you can probably get away with this sort of thing there.
Chris stumbles his way through the rest of the play, of course, attempting to keep his blushing to a minimum. The show must go on, after all.
The moment the curtain falls, he heads backstage and collapses against a wall with his face in his hands.
“Well,” he mutters, to no one in particular, “that was a disaster.”
“Really?” Robert asks. “I thought it went rather well.”
God. Robert is the absolute last person he wants to speak to right now.
Chris lets his hands fall, looks unhappily up at Robert. “You know you can be imprisoned for up to three years for directing an obscene play? Multiple courts have already concluded that our work has no artistic merit, so we can’t use that as a defence.”
Robert shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a little nudity. It’s our natural state, you know.”
“Why the hell did you undress me?”
“You’re the one who started all the undressing,” Robert points out. “I thought it was in Sebastian’s character to participate.”
Chris has spent the whole play since that incident fiercely blaming Robert in his head. When he really thinks about it, though, it’s hard to say exactly who is responsible for what happened. He can’t remember which of them first went below the belt.
“Anyway,” Robert says, “cheer up. Still six performances left to go. It’ll be better tomorrow night.”
“It’ll be better tomorrow night,” Chris repeats, quietly, like a mantra.
They fuck on stage the next night.
They probably shouldn’t put this play on any more.
no subject
Hahahahahahahahaaha but also squirming for the audience.
no subject
no subject
Not beating the Masochism Allegations, Mr Bean
“In a perfect world, Chris,” Robert says, “how astonished do you imagine we’d be by your revolutionary addition of homosexuality to the world of theatre?”
Bwahaha
“You’ve read my script, I suppose,” Chris says, wearily.
THe voice of a man who is familiar with Robert's Bullshit.
“You mark my words, the audience will have no idea that Oscar and Sebastian are supposed to be in love.”
OH MY FUCKING GOD. CHRIS. OSCAR AND SEBASTIAN.
Robert produces a sheaf of paper from seemingly nowhere and thrusts it into Chris’s arms.
Oh of course.
shaking the theatre’s foundations is probably to be discouraged
They've done quite enough of that already and the insurance premiums must be murderous by now
Jonathan would be Chris’s choice, but it’s risky to cast him in main roles; there’s a chance Chris will have to perform the tale of Oscar and Sebastian with no Sebastian at all.
He could be an amazing kisser and you'll never know
There were times, writing the script, when Chris could almost hear his lines in Robert’s voice.
O RLY CHRIS
Kissing a man is new territory, and kissing Robert specifically does very much feel like jumping in at the deep end.
I love the idea that Robert is The Most Man in his head
Robert pushes Chris against the wall in one sharp motion.
Chris I think you have preferences.
But there’s nothing in the script that says Oscar can’t kiss back harder.
Ah there it is, the struggle for the upper hand
someone in the audience wolf-whistles and—
That's you. I think that's you. You in the cuck chair row B.
Maybe they should have done the Rocky Horror Show; you can probably get away with this sort of thing there.
... Possibly.
“You know you can be imprisoned for up to three years for directing an obscene play? Multiple courts have already concluded that our work has no artistic merit, so we can’t use that as a defence.”
Oh god.
They fuck on stage the next night.
I bet everyone who had tickets to the first night feels extremely deprived.
no subject
What a subtle and mysterious username! You must have picked that out at random, because I can see no significance whatsoever!
Very normal and comfortable, no repressed feelings here at all.
Homosexuality, in theater? *shocked gasp* *argument against this that's just strong enough to give Chris something to argue against so he feels Boldly Controversial, but not strong enough to make things awkward*
"We, I mean whichever actors play the lead, should kiss or else you fail at writing! Do you want to fail at writing, Chris?"
I did wonder if there was going to be an Oscar, but one of my brain's Default Gay Names is 'Bruce', so I was sure there's going to be a Bruce. (My other idea for a Gay Name was Troy.)
Counterpoint, casting Dennis as Sebastian would be really funny. ...that may not be Chris's intention, I accept.
WHICH COULD MEAN NOTHING!
I like how he feels both excited and unwell about it, although he probably only realizes the last bit.
Yes! Kiss for dominance!
If he's going to get a boner on stage from making out with Robert, at least it's in a play where they're meant to be two men in love with each other.
"We should keep kissing until Robert makes the kissing stop, for, um, theater reasons!"
Serious drama is taking place, people!
"We are legally incapable of claiming to be art."
Of course they do.
no subject