Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-20 11:48 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-20 11:48 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Mixed Beans (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris)
I think this is the worst title I've ever given a fic.
Fun fact: I've now officially posted an entire quarter of the Robert/Chris fanfiction on AO3. I think this means there's not enough Robert/Chris fanfiction on AO3.
Title: Mixed Beans
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris, with references to Robert/Celia
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: Robert books a romantic getaway with Chris's mother. There is a misunderstanding.
“Good morning, Robert. I’m calling from the Lakeside Hotel in the Cotswolds.”
Ah. Perhaps it was a mistake to take this call on the radio. Specifically, perhaps it was a mistake to take this call while hosting a radio show with Chris.
“I just wanted to confirm your booking for the romantic couples’ getaway package with a C Bean?”
Right. This could be an issue. Robert’s romance with Celia is nobody’s business but theirs, but Chris is probably just the sort of person who’d overreact to a little thing like finding a friend in bed with his mother.
Robert glances at Chris to check his reaction. It’s hard to read; Chris is just staring back at him.
Fine. Robert confirms the booking, then hangs up and braces himself for the director’s wrath. They’re still on the radio, so if Chris opts to punch him in the face – unlikely; it’s not his style – there will at least be audio evidence.
“Robert,” Chris says, softly. “Why – why on Earth—”
“I assure you,” Robert says, “I will have an excellent explanation ready for you if you give me two minutes to prepare.”
“Why would you book a romantic holiday with me?”
Oh.
Robert runs back over the call in his head, quickly. How did the receptionist refer to his travelling companion? A C Bean, was it?
Well. This is an interesting development.
If Chris learns of Robert’s relationship with his mother, he will be unhappy. If Chris is unhappy with Robert, his casting decisions may be adversely affected. Therefore, for the sake of theatre, it’s probably best if Chris never learns that the booking was for Celia.
“Well, you work so hard as our director,” Robert says. “I thought you deserved a little break.”
Chris is still staring. “A romantic break. With you.”
Robert shrugs. “These places are often cheaper if you book as a couple, you know.”
The line of Chris’s shoulders relaxes at that, just a little. “Really? I would have expected an ordinary stay to be cheaper than the couples’ package.”
“You’d be surprised if you saw the booking details.” Technically true.
Chris is quiet, for a long moment.
“I... I haven’t had a holiday in a long time, I suppose,” he says at last. “It’s been years since I last went away anywhere. It’s absurd that you booked this without a word to me, of course, but... Robert, this is astonishingly thoughtful of you.”
Going on this holiday with Chris was very much not the plan. But Robert is an actor, and his audience is currently visibly and audibly moved; it’s immensely gratifying. He was originally planning to discourage Chris from coming, but now...
“Come with me, Chris,” Robert says. “I’d like to do this for you.”
“I’ll take a look at my calendar,” Chris says. “It sounds – it sounds lovely. Thank you.”
-
Chris is indeed able to come to the Cotswolds, it turns out. Robert sends a message to Celia: Romantic getaway’s off. Unavoidable complications. Apologies.
The reply comes exactly two minutes later. Thank you for letting me know. I will remind you that you invited my son on my romantic getaway live on the radio. We are no longer seeing each other.
Damn, damn, damn. No helping it, he supposes. Perhaps he’ll at least get a leading role out of this change of plans.
-
“Robert,” Chris says, suddenly, on the drive down to the Cotswolds, “how many beds are we going to have at this hotel?”
“In the couples’ suite?” Robert asks. “Not many, I imagine.”
Chris is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”
“For Christ’s sake, Chris, it’s not like you won’t fit. You’re a skinny little nothing of a man.”
“I’m – I’m not a ‘nothing of a man’, and that’s not my concern.”
“Well, what is your concern, then?”
Chris doesn’t say anything to that.
-
They reach the hotel in the early evening, bring their luggage up to their room. They’ll only be here for a couple of days, so Robert has packed fairly lightly: toiletries, walking boots, a change of clothes, one or two Shakespearean outfits for emergencies.
Once they’re established, Chris stands for a long moment by the bed, looking down at the rose petals scattered across it.
Seems a waste, really; perhaps Chris is thinking the same thing. All these petals, and no plans to do anything other than sleep. Robert was looking forward to throwing Celia down onto this bed. Or getting thrown down himself, perhaps; she’s a forceful woman.
“Would you like me to make love to you?” Robert asks.
Chris turns, very slowly, to face him.
“It’s not compulsory,” Robert says. “I just thought, you know, as we’re here.”
There is, Robert feels, a much longer pause than necessary. Chris has never been decisive enough; it’s ludicrous that he’s in the position of making so many decisions for the drama society.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Chris asks at last.
What? “Of course I’m serious. It’d be a strange thing to say as a joke, wouldn’t it?”
Chris looks a little paler than usual, although, given his usual pallor, it’s hard to be certain. “It’s a strange thing to say if you mean it!”
“It is a perfectly sensible thing to say if I mean it,” Robert says. “I’d like to make love to you. It’s unlikely to happen if I don’t make that desire known. Therefore, I’m going to say it.”
Chris opens his mouth. Closes it. After a moment, he actually manages to speak. “You’d – you’d like to – you’d like to...?”
Robert shrugs. “Of course I’d like to. Strange thing to say if I wouldn’t.”
“I think,” Chris says, and he pauses. “I think, er, you know, probably not.”
-
They take supper in the hotel restaurant. Chris is poor company; he eats little, and he’s extremely quiet. It’s hard not to think longingly of Celia, who would doubtless have spent the meal finding new and interesting ways to criticise Robert.
Back in their suite, Chris starts digging blankets out of the wardrobe. Carrying them over to, perplexingly, the sofa.
“You know there’s a bed, don’t you?” Robert asks.
“With you,” Chris says, grabbing a pillow from the aforementioned bed. “You tried to come on to me.”
“Inside, ideally.”
Chris whips around to look at him. “What?”
They stare at each other for a few seconds.
“Apologies,” Robert says. “I may have misunderstood.”
Chris shakes his head. “Was this your intent all along? Getting me here as some sort of – some sort of bizarre seduction plan?”
“I can promise you,” Robert says, perfectly truthful, “that that was not my intent. You don’t have to keep your distance, you know. You’ve already declined; I’m not going to touch you.”
“I can’t share a bed with you. I—” He hesitates, for a long moment, then shakes his head again. “No. I can’t do that.”
Robert shrugs. “More room for me.”
-
They spend the next day exploring the lovely landscape of the Cotswolds in slightly less lovely temperatures; it’s chilly, barely above freezing, but they do at least get to see their surroundings in sunlight. They wander along the River Isbourne, in which Robert only slightly falls; they pay a visit to Sudeley Castle and get chased away when it turns out not to be open in the winter. They take a tour of a model village; it’s not Robert’s sort of thing, but Chris seems to find it charming.
Chris winces, periodically. Reaches up to massage his neck.
“The sofa no good?” Robert asks. “If only there had been an alternative.”
“A noble companion,” Chris says, “might offer to exchange the bed for the sofa this evening.”
“I’m not giving up the bed, Chris. I paid for the room, and there’s plenty of space for both of us. You’re welcome to join me or not, as you choose, but that’s where I’ll be sleeping tonight.”
Chris sighs. “All right, fine. You’re right. This is my problem. I just...” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’ve made things very hard for me, you know. Ah, very difficult, I mean.”
Robert folds his arms. “I made an offer. You declined. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“And the offer’s off the table, now?” Chris asks. “It’s gone?”
“Well, unless you change your mind.”
Chris closes his eyes for a moment.
“Fine,” he says at last, opening them again. “I’m sure I’m capable of just... just getting into bed and going to sleep, like a sensible person.”
-
The hotel staff have refreshed the flower petals in their absence: a thoughtful touch that only makes it more of a shame that the bed isn’t being put to its intended use. Still, never mind.
Robert’s already ensconced in bed by the time Chris, clad in striped blue-and-white pyjamas, emerges from the bathroom that evening. Chris’s eyes linger on him for a long moment.
“You’re not wearing anything?” Chris asks.
“I’m wearing boxers,” Robert says. “I could throw on a T-shirt, if it’s essential. I’m afraid I don’t have anything sleep-appropriate in the trouser department.”
Chris sighs. “No, it’s... it’s fine, I suppose.”
He hovers by the bed for so long that Robert expects him to give up on the idea, go back to the sofa. But Chris climbs under the covers eventually, with the slow caution of a man attempting to defuse a bomb.
“What do you imagine will happen if we make physical contact?” Robert asks.
Chris winces. “Please don’t ask me questions like that.”
There’s a long silence. Chris’s posture is as stiff as a board, perfectly flat on his back, his arms straight down by his sides; it’s clear even under the duvet. It doesn’t seem like it can be comfortable.
“Is that how you normally sleep?” Robert asks at last.
“I’m trying so hard not to touch you,” Chris says, very quietly.
“Touch me all you like. It doesn’t bother me.”
“No?” Chris asks. “You said you – you said you wanted me. You wouldn’t feel anything? If I touched you?”
Robert shrugs. “Well, depends on how you touch me.” (Chris makes a strange, sharp motion at that; something like a flinch.) “It’s fine if you brush against me in bed, though. I’m not going to come on the spot.”
“God.” Chris presses both hands over his face. It’s a long, long moment before he speaks again, so softly that Robert has to strain to hear it. “I’m starting to think I might.”
A few seconds pass while Robert considers that.
“Chris,” he says.
“Sorry.” Chris is scrambling to climb out of bed in the next instant. “Sorry, that’s completely—” He’s become oddly tangled in the bedclothes in his haste, his voice hiking higher. “That’s completely inappropriate, please just forget I – I’ll go and sleep on—”
“Chris,” Robert says, reaching out to catch hold of Chris’s wrist.
Chris’s entire body goes completely still at the moment of contact.
And then Chris is on top of him in a sudden whirl of motion. His face buried in Robert’s neck, his hands clawing away the duvet between them, and – hold on—
“Just to be clear,” Robert says, grabbing the duvet to keep it in place, “it’s January, and it’s cold, so I’d prefer not to lose the covers unless we’re actually about to fuck.”
“I think—” It seems like it’s a struggle for Chris to get the words out between his rapid breaths. “I think – I think we are about to—” He tugs at the duvet again. “I think we should lose this.”
Promising. Robert allows the duvet to be stripped away. He’s going to be extremely annoyed if it turns out that this is just a ruse for Chris to get all the covers to himself.
“So.” Robert reaches up to rest a hand on Chris’s hip, experimental, watching his reaction; Chris closes his eyes, breathes out shakily between his teeth. “This is happening, is it?”
Chris opens his eyes at that. “I want to be clear,” he says, urgently. “I don’t want a relationship with you. I’m not in love with you.”
Robert rolls his eyes. “Chris—”
“This shouldn’t be taken as any sort of – of confession. And I don’t want you to draw any conclusions about my identity, and I don’t—”
Robert kisses him. He’s half expecting Chris to jerk away from him, keep babbling like some sort of legal contract. Chris kisses back straight away, gripping Robert’s arms like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored to the bed.
“Are—” Robert begins to say when he breaks away, but Chris isn’t finished, kisses him again, and Robert is happy to delay his question for another minute or two.
“Are any of your terms things we absolutely have to know in advance?” Robert asks eventually, once he’s permitted the use of his mouth again.
Chris shakes his head, fervently. “Fuck me.”
Robert is happy to oblige.
-
Chris collapses next to Robert after the curtain falls, looking gratifyingly dazed. It’s a while before he speaks. “You weren’t planning that from the start, were you?”
“God, no.” Robert shifts against the sheets. “You’re not even the person I was expecting to go on this holiday with. I can’t say I’m sorry about how it played out, though.”
Chris laughs a little at that. “Don’t lie to me, Robert. My name was on the booking.”
Ah. Robert must tread carefully; for a moment, the exact reason he’s here with Chris instead of Celia had slipped his mind. “Should have known I couldn’t slip that past you.”
-
It’s several years later when Chris walks into Play of the Week rehearsals to find a lively discussion in progress.
“Hi, Chris!” Annie greets him. “Has Robert ever banged your mum?”
“Oh, God, what?” Chris asks. “Is this really how we’re starting?”
“Chris has a point, you know,” Robert says. “It’s a rehearsal session; we should really be focused on rehearsals.”
“We’ve just been trying to work out how many of our mothers Robert has worked through,” Annie says. “There’s mine. There’s Dennis’s, apparently, one Christmas. There’s that threesome he had with Max and Sandra’s mums at the wedding reception, obviously, and—”
“What do you mean, obviously?” Chris demands, at a considerably higher pitch than he intended. “Why are you talking as if we should all know that Robert had a threesome – a threesome? – with—”
“Because we all know,” Annie says. “We were all there. He talked about it in his best man’s speech.”
“Strange that he gave one at all, really,” Sandra says, thoughtfully, “because he wasn’t the best man.”
Now that Chris thinks about it, he does remember Robert making an inappropriate comment along those lines. But that... that was a joke, wasn’t it? Surely that must have been a joke.
Vanessa, the newest member of the drama society, clears her throat. “Er, should I... should I be concerned?”
“Well, I haven’t met your mother,” Robert says. “If you’d like to arrange an introduction, though, I’m sure it would be a pleasure.”
“You’re not actually trying to work through all the mothers of the drama society, are you?” Chris asks. “Robert, that’s perverse.”
“I’m not checking them off on a bingo card, if that’s what you mean,” Robert says, haughtily drawing himself up. “I simply have an aesthetic appreciation of women of a certain generation. Certain events may occasionally take place as a result.”
“I like it,” Dennis says. “It’s like we’re all siblings.”
“It absolutely isn’t,” Sandra says, firmly.
“Well, in any case,” Chris says, “he’s certainly never done anything like that with my m—”
Something in his mind slots abruptly and violently into place: something he’d never really registered was out of place to begin with. He and Robert have spent ill-advised nights together a few times over the years, but the first was on that holiday in the Cotswolds.
What was that strange thing Robert said? Something about not expecting Chris to be the one there with him. Which didn’t make any sense, when the name on the booking was...
Chris feels dizzy, suddenly; he feels ill. Surely not. Surely not.
“Robert,” Chris says, slowly. “That hotel in the Cotswolds. Remind me: when they called the radio station, did they say you’d booked it with Chris Bean, or...?”
For several agonisingly, awfully long seconds, he and Robert just look at each other.
“That’s exactly what they said,” Robert says. “Obviously.”
Not for the first time, Chris wishes, desperately, that he worked with better actors.
Fun fact: I've now officially posted an entire quarter of the Robert/Chris fanfiction on AO3. I think this means there's not enough Robert/Chris fanfiction on AO3.
Title: Mixed Beans
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris, with references to Robert/Celia
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: Robert books a romantic getaway with Chris's mother. There is a misunderstanding.
“Good morning, Robert. I’m calling from the Lakeside Hotel in the Cotswolds.”
Ah. Perhaps it was a mistake to take this call on the radio. Specifically, perhaps it was a mistake to take this call while hosting a radio show with Chris.
“I just wanted to confirm your booking for the romantic couples’ getaway package with a C Bean?”
Right. This could be an issue. Robert’s romance with Celia is nobody’s business but theirs, but Chris is probably just the sort of person who’d overreact to a little thing like finding a friend in bed with his mother.
Robert glances at Chris to check his reaction. It’s hard to read; Chris is just staring back at him.
Fine. Robert confirms the booking, then hangs up and braces himself for the director’s wrath. They’re still on the radio, so if Chris opts to punch him in the face – unlikely; it’s not his style – there will at least be audio evidence.
“Robert,” Chris says, softly. “Why – why on Earth—”
“I assure you,” Robert says, “I will have an excellent explanation ready for you if you give me two minutes to prepare.”
“Why would you book a romantic holiday with me?”
Oh.
Robert runs back over the call in his head, quickly. How did the receptionist refer to his travelling companion? A C Bean, was it?
Well. This is an interesting development.
If Chris learns of Robert’s relationship with his mother, he will be unhappy. If Chris is unhappy with Robert, his casting decisions may be adversely affected. Therefore, for the sake of theatre, it’s probably best if Chris never learns that the booking was for Celia.
“Well, you work so hard as our director,” Robert says. “I thought you deserved a little break.”
Chris is still staring. “A romantic break. With you.”
Robert shrugs. “These places are often cheaper if you book as a couple, you know.”
The line of Chris’s shoulders relaxes at that, just a little. “Really? I would have expected an ordinary stay to be cheaper than the couples’ package.”
“You’d be surprised if you saw the booking details.” Technically true.
Chris is quiet, for a long moment.
“I... I haven’t had a holiday in a long time, I suppose,” he says at last. “It’s been years since I last went away anywhere. It’s absurd that you booked this without a word to me, of course, but... Robert, this is astonishingly thoughtful of you.”
Going on this holiday with Chris was very much not the plan. But Robert is an actor, and his audience is currently visibly and audibly moved; it’s immensely gratifying. He was originally planning to discourage Chris from coming, but now...
“Come with me, Chris,” Robert says. “I’d like to do this for you.”
“I’ll take a look at my calendar,” Chris says. “It sounds – it sounds lovely. Thank you.”
Chris is indeed able to come to the Cotswolds, it turns out. Robert sends a message to Celia: Romantic getaway’s off. Unavoidable complications. Apologies.
The reply comes exactly two minutes later. Thank you for letting me know. I will remind you that you invited my son on my romantic getaway live on the radio. We are no longer seeing each other.
Damn, damn, damn. No helping it, he supposes. Perhaps he’ll at least get a leading role out of this change of plans.
“Robert,” Chris says, suddenly, on the drive down to the Cotswolds, “how many beds are we going to have at this hotel?”
“In the couples’ suite?” Robert asks. “Not many, I imagine.”
Chris is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”
“For Christ’s sake, Chris, it’s not like you won’t fit. You’re a skinny little nothing of a man.”
“I’m – I’m not a ‘nothing of a man’, and that’s not my concern.”
“Well, what is your concern, then?”
Chris doesn’t say anything to that.
They reach the hotel in the early evening, bring their luggage up to their room. They’ll only be here for a couple of days, so Robert has packed fairly lightly: toiletries, walking boots, a change of clothes, one or two Shakespearean outfits for emergencies.
Once they’re established, Chris stands for a long moment by the bed, looking down at the rose petals scattered across it.
Seems a waste, really; perhaps Chris is thinking the same thing. All these petals, and no plans to do anything other than sleep. Robert was looking forward to throwing Celia down onto this bed. Or getting thrown down himself, perhaps; she’s a forceful woman.
“Would you like me to make love to you?” Robert asks.
Chris turns, very slowly, to face him.
“It’s not compulsory,” Robert says. “I just thought, you know, as we’re here.”
There is, Robert feels, a much longer pause than necessary. Chris has never been decisive enough; it’s ludicrous that he’s in the position of making so many decisions for the drama society.
“You’re not serious, are you?” Chris asks at last.
What? “Of course I’m serious. It’d be a strange thing to say as a joke, wouldn’t it?”
Chris looks a little paler than usual, although, given his usual pallor, it’s hard to be certain. “It’s a strange thing to say if you mean it!”
“It is a perfectly sensible thing to say if I mean it,” Robert says. “I’d like to make love to you. It’s unlikely to happen if I don’t make that desire known. Therefore, I’m going to say it.”
Chris opens his mouth. Closes it. After a moment, he actually manages to speak. “You’d – you’d like to – you’d like to...?”
Robert shrugs. “Of course I’d like to. Strange thing to say if I wouldn’t.”
“I think,” Chris says, and he pauses. “I think, er, you know, probably not.”
They take supper in the hotel restaurant. Chris is poor company; he eats little, and he’s extremely quiet. It’s hard not to think longingly of Celia, who would doubtless have spent the meal finding new and interesting ways to criticise Robert.
Back in their suite, Chris starts digging blankets out of the wardrobe. Carrying them over to, perplexingly, the sofa.
“You know there’s a bed, don’t you?” Robert asks.
“With you,” Chris says, grabbing a pillow from the aforementioned bed. “You tried to come on to me.”
“Inside, ideally.”
Chris whips around to look at him. “What?”
They stare at each other for a few seconds.
“Apologies,” Robert says. “I may have misunderstood.”
Chris shakes his head. “Was this your intent all along? Getting me here as some sort of – some sort of bizarre seduction plan?”
“I can promise you,” Robert says, perfectly truthful, “that that was not my intent. You don’t have to keep your distance, you know. You’ve already declined; I’m not going to touch you.”
“I can’t share a bed with you. I—” He hesitates, for a long moment, then shakes his head again. “No. I can’t do that.”
Robert shrugs. “More room for me.”
They spend the next day exploring the lovely landscape of the Cotswolds in slightly less lovely temperatures; it’s chilly, barely above freezing, but they do at least get to see their surroundings in sunlight. They wander along the River Isbourne, in which Robert only slightly falls; they pay a visit to Sudeley Castle and get chased away when it turns out not to be open in the winter. They take a tour of a model village; it’s not Robert’s sort of thing, but Chris seems to find it charming.
Chris winces, periodically. Reaches up to massage his neck.
“The sofa no good?” Robert asks. “If only there had been an alternative.”
“A noble companion,” Chris says, “might offer to exchange the bed for the sofa this evening.”
“I’m not giving up the bed, Chris. I paid for the room, and there’s plenty of space for both of us. You’re welcome to join me or not, as you choose, but that’s where I’ll be sleeping tonight.”
Chris sighs. “All right, fine. You’re right. This is my problem. I just...” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “You’ve made things very hard for me, you know. Ah, very difficult, I mean.”
Robert folds his arms. “I made an offer. You declined. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“And the offer’s off the table, now?” Chris asks. “It’s gone?”
“Well, unless you change your mind.”
Chris closes his eyes for a moment.
“Fine,” he says at last, opening them again. “I’m sure I’m capable of just... just getting into bed and going to sleep, like a sensible person.”
The hotel staff have refreshed the flower petals in their absence: a thoughtful touch that only makes it more of a shame that the bed isn’t being put to its intended use. Still, never mind.
Robert’s already ensconced in bed by the time Chris, clad in striped blue-and-white pyjamas, emerges from the bathroom that evening. Chris’s eyes linger on him for a long moment.
“You’re not wearing anything?” Chris asks.
“I’m wearing boxers,” Robert says. “I could throw on a T-shirt, if it’s essential. I’m afraid I don’t have anything sleep-appropriate in the trouser department.”
Chris sighs. “No, it’s... it’s fine, I suppose.”
He hovers by the bed for so long that Robert expects him to give up on the idea, go back to the sofa. But Chris climbs under the covers eventually, with the slow caution of a man attempting to defuse a bomb.
“What do you imagine will happen if we make physical contact?” Robert asks.
Chris winces. “Please don’t ask me questions like that.”
There’s a long silence. Chris’s posture is as stiff as a board, perfectly flat on his back, his arms straight down by his sides; it’s clear even under the duvet. It doesn’t seem like it can be comfortable.
“Is that how you normally sleep?” Robert asks at last.
“I’m trying so hard not to touch you,” Chris says, very quietly.
“Touch me all you like. It doesn’t bother me.”
“No?” Chris asks. “You said you – you said you wanted me. You wouldn’t feel anything? If I touched you?”
Robert shrugs. “Well, depends on how you touch me.” (Chris makes a strange, sharp motion at that; something like a flinch.) “It’s fine if you brush against me in bed, though. I’m not going to come on the spot.”
“God.” Chris presses both hands over his face. It’s a long, long moment before he speaks again, so softly that Robert has to strain to hear it. “I’m starting to think I might.”
A few seconds pass while Robert considers that.
“Chris,” he says.
“Sorry.” Chris is scrambling to climb out of bed in the next instant. “Sorry, that’s completely—” He’s become oddly tangled in the bedclothes in his haste, his voice hiking higher. “That’s completely inappropriate, please just forget I – I’ll go and sleep on—”
“Chris,” Robert says, reaching out to catch hold of Chris’s wrist.
Chris’s entire body goes completely still at the moment of contact.
And then Chris is on top of him in a sudden whirl of motion. His face buried in Robert’s neck, his hands clawing away the duvet between them, and – hold on—
“Just to be clear,” Robert says, grabbing the duvet to keep it in place, “it’s January, and it’s cold, so I’d prefer not to lose the covers unless we’re actually about to fuck.”
“I think—” It seems like it’s a struggle for Chris to get the words out between his rapid breaths. “I think – I think we are about to—” He tugs at the duvet again. “I think we should lose this.”
Promising. Robert allows the duvet to be stripped away. He’s going to be extremely annoyed if it turns out that this is just a ruse for Chris to get all the covers to himself.
“So.” Robert reaches up to rest a hand on Chris’s hip, experimental, watching his reaction; Chris closes his eyes, breathes out shakily between his teeth. “This is happening, is it?”
Chris opens his eyes at that. “I want to be clear,” he says, urgently. “I don’t want a relationship with you. I’m not in love with you.”
Robert rolls his eyes. “Chris—”
“This shouldn’t be taken as any sort of – of confession. And I don’t want you to draw any conclusions about my identity, and I don’t—”
Robert kisses him. He’s half expecting Chris to jerk away from him, keep babbling like some sort of legal contract. Chris kisses back straight away, gripping Robert’s arms like they’re the only thing keeping him anchored to the bed.
“Are—” Robert begins to say when he breaks away, but Chris isn’t finished, kisses him again, and Robert is happy to delay his question for another minute or two.
“Are any of your terms things we absolutely have to know in advance?” Robert asks eventually, once he’s permitted the use of his mouth again.
Chris shakes his head, fervently. “Fuck me.”
Robert is happy to oblige.
Chris collapses next to Robert after the curtain falls, looking gratifyingly dazed. It’s a while before he speaks. “You weren’t planning that from the start, were you?”
“God, no.” Robert shifts against the sheets. “You’re not even the person I was expecting to go on this holiday with. I can’t say I’m sorry about how it played out, though.”
Chris laughs a little at that. “Don’t lie to me, Robert. My name was on the booking.”
Ah. Robert must tread carefully; for a moment, the exact reason he’s here with Chris instead of Celia had slipped his mind. “Should have known I couldn’t slip that past you.”
It’s several years later when Chris walks into Play of the Week rehearsals to find a lively discussion in progress.
“Hi, Chris!” Annie greets him. “Has Robert ever banged your mum?”
“Oh, God, what?” Chris asks. “Is this really how we’re starting?”
“Chris has a point, you know,” Robert says. “It’s a rehearsal session; we should really be focused on rehearsals.”
“We’ve just been trying to work out how many of our mothers Robert has worked through,” Annie says. “There’s mine. There’s Dennis’s, apparently, one Christmas. There’s that threesome he had with Max and Sandra’s mums at the wedding reception, obviously, and—”
“What do you mean, obviously?” Chris demands, at a considerably higher pitch than he intended. “Why are you talking as if we should all know that Robert had a threesome – a threesome? – with—”
“Because we all know,” Annie says. “We were all there. He talked about it in his best man’s speech.”
“Strange that he gave one at all, really,” Sandra says, thoughtfully, “because he wasn’t the best man.”
Now that Chris thinks about it, he does remember Robert making an inappropriate comment along those lines. But that... that was a joke, wasn’t it? Surely that must have been a joke.
Vanessa, the newest member of the drama society, clears her throat. “Er, should I... should I be concerned?”
“Well, I haven’t met your mother,” Robert says. “If you’d like to arrange an introduction, though, I’m sure it would be a pleasure.”
“You’re not actually trying to work through all the mothers of the drama society, are you?” Chris asks. “Robert, that’s perverse.”
“I’m not checking them off on a bingo card, if that’s what you mean,” Robert says, haughtily drawing himself up. “I simply have an aesthetic appreciation of women of a certain generation. Certain events may occasionally take place as a result.”
“I like it,” Dennis says. “It’s like we’re all siblings.”
“It absolutely isn’t,” Sandra says, firmly.
“Well, in any case,” Chris says, “he’s certainly never done anything like that with my m—”
Something in his mind slots abruptly and violently into place: something he’d never really registered was out of place to begin with. He and Robert have spent ill-advised nights together a few times over the years, but the first was on that holiday in the Cotswolds.
What was that strange thing Robert said? Something about not expecting Chris to be the one there with him. Which didn’t make any sense, when the name on the booking was...
Chris feels dizzy, suddenly; he feels ill. Surely not. Surely not.
“Robert,” Chris says, slowly. “That hotel in the Cotswolds. Remind me: when they called the radio station, did they say you’d booked it with Chris Bean, or...?”
For several agonisingly, awfully long seconds, he and Robert just look at each other.
“That’s exactly what they said,” Robert says. “Obviously.”
Not for the first time, Chris wishes, desperately, that he worked with better actors.
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Chris making an interesting assumption there!
Robert isn't used to people paying attention to his performances.
Seductive, Robert!
I love that Robert is perfectly comfortable with wanting to fuck Chris, it's just having it mean anything that's weird. (Also I briefly typed "Robert is perfectly comfortable with wanting to fuck Robert", which also seems accurate.)
Chris is Coping Well, I see.
I love Chris apologizing for saying something sexual in the context of being in bed with a man who wants to sleep with him.
The Chris Bean pre-sex disclaimer!
Aw, Dennis!
Great ending!