Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-24 11:25 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-03-24 11:25 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: The Verge (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris)
Yet more Robert/Chris Goes Wrong fanfiction! And, yet again, I have managed to sneak Robert banging Chris's mother in here. It's my favourite thing.
Title: The Verge
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris, with some Robert/Celia
Wordcount: 3,500
Summary: Chris steels himself. “Do you ever feel something might... happen between us?”
Chris hammers furiously on his dressing-room door.
Their performance of Oedipus Rex has been going well. Only a handful of missed cues, barely any fire at all, no injuries beyond a sprained ankle or three. Most of the audience did walk out at the start when Chris announced that they’d stripped out the play’s more distasteful content, admittedly, but the first half has still been a resounding success.
And now the interval is over, and Chris has somehow become trapped in his dressing room, leaving the rest of the cast stranded with no Oedipus. He’s knocked plenty of doors down by accident during performances; why can’t he do it when it really matters?
The door opens, suddenly, and—
“Jonathan?” Chris asks. He... well, if he’s honest, he’s not used to seeing Jonathan on the other side of an open door. He darts quickly out of the dressing room, to prevent Jonathan from somehow managing to get stuck in there as well.
“I was wondering where you were,” Jonathan says. “I thought you might be stuck in your dressing room, because, well...”
No surprise there; Jonathan gets stuck in his dressing room twice a week. “Thank you. Let’s get to the stage; the second half should have started far too long ago—”
“It’s started,” Jonathan says. “Robert’s playing Oedipus.”
Of course he is. Chris draws in a deep breath. “Tell me: was the door to my room just stuck, or had someone locked it?”
Jonathan winces and opens his mouth. It doesn’t matter; Chris already knows the answer. He wheels and storms towards the stage.
There Robert is, the bastard, playing the part he stole. He turns when Chris enters the set. “Ah, I’ve no need of a servant at present.”
Chris launches himself at Robert with what multiple audience members will later describe as a ‘feral scream’.
He knocks Robert to the boards and freezes on top of him, gripping the front of Robert’s tunic. He wants to make his displeasure known. But he doesn’t – he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
That hesitation gives Robert the opportunity to get the upper hand. He grabs Chris’s shoulders and rolls with him, and an instant later Chris is flat on his back, trying to catch his breath, Robert pinning him to the stage.
“I invite you to explain yourself.” Robert smirks down at him. “Servant.”
“Robert,” Chris says, straining ineffectually against him, “how dare you—”
“My lord, I think you mean.”
Damn. Robert has a point; they’re on stage, they shouldn’t be using their real names. “My lord, how—”
Something odd sparks through Chris, looking into Robert’s eyes and calling him my lord with Robert’s weight pressing him into the floor, and he loses the thread of what he was about to say. All he can do is lie there and try to keep breathing.
It feels like the floor is falling away beneath him. He’s strangely aware of every point where their bodies are in contact. What happens next?
Sandra, playing Jocasta, clears her throat extremely loudly.
“My wife desires my attention,” Robert says, climbing to his feet. “Are we finished here?”
Chris has to fight the absurd impulse to say no, drag Robert back down to him. “Your wife? I am the true Oedipus; you are a mere impostor.”
The plot of Oedipus Rex does not end up playing out as planned. But Chris has to admit that some of his earlier changes to the script may rather have robbed the play of its teeth; the unintended ‘evil twin’ plotline does at least add a little friction back in.
-
Chris’s parents will occasionally invite both Chris and Robert to stay for a weekend. Robert’s company can be trying, and Chris often finds spending time with his parents slightly intense, but they combine surprisingly well; both of Chris’s parents seem to like Robert, oddly enough, and Robert’s presence takes a little of their focus off Chris.
Chris lingers in the dining room for a while after supper, talking to his father, before heading up to bed. He glances into the sitting room on the way, to check whether Robert needs any help setting up the sofa bed, but Robert seems to be elsewhere.
Chris’s bedroom door is closed, despite the fact that he’s not in there. That’s unusual, but it doesn’t occur to Chris to wonder about it until he’s halfway through pushing it open.
An instant later, he is hit by considerably larger concerns.
Someone is in his room. Someone is on his bed. Robert is on his bed, wearing a large red ribbon – tied in a carefully positioned bow, apparently in an effort to preserve some semblance of modesty – and very little else.
Chris and Robert look at each other for an indeterminate period of time. At Chris’s best guess, it is somewhere between three seconds and several thousand years. Robert is inexplicably wide-eyed, as if he has somehow ended up in this position by accident.
The slow, unsettling realisation dawns on Chris that Robert cannot possibly be here by accident.
“Robert,” Chris says, at last. “Why...?”
His mind baulks at the prospect of putting what he sees before him into words. He’ll just leave it at that.
“Ah,” Robert says. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
Chris’s eyes are once again drawn, suboptimally, to the large red bow only partly concealing Robert’s genitalia. “Among other things.”
It seems like some sort of explanation should follow that. There’s just more silence.
Chris braces himself, and then braces himself further. “Robert, is this some sort of... some sort of effort at seduction?”
Robert glances down at the ribbon. It’s a moment before he speaks. “I suppose there’s no other possible explanation.”
Chris sits down heavily on the floor, right there in his doorway. One of his parents might walk by at any moment, he’s vaguely aware, might see this bizarre and incriminating scene through his bedroom door. But, in this moment, he can’t operate his own body to close it.
Robert is attracted to him. Robert is attracted to him, and has apparently decided to declare this fact by... presenting himself to Chris on his bed, forcing Chris to decide not only ‘how do I feel about Robert?’ but ‘how do I feel about Robert, and do I want to have sex with him right now, today, here?’
“I,” Chris says, and then, “Um,” and then, “Robert, I—”
“I can imagine that this might be overwhelming,” Robert says. “You should take the time to think about it elsewhere.”
That’s... surprisingly considerate of Robert. Chris doesn’t want Robert to be considerate; he wants Robert to be his usual intolerable self, so Chris can remember why it would be ludicrous to want him.
Right now, it’s hard to think of anything but that strange, intense moment on the stage, Robert pinning him to the floor, that sense that they were falling unstoppably towards something both tempting and terrifying.
“Can you—” Chris shakes his head. “I can’t think like this. Not with you dressed like that, if – if dressed is the right word.” He drags himself to his feet. It’s a challenge; his legs are shaking. “I’ll – I’ll give you a dressing gown.” He makes his way towards his wardrobe, with some difficulty. “Please just put it on, and then maybe I’ll be able to clear my—”
“Chris,” Robert says, sharply, just as Chris opens his wardrobe door.
Chris stares into the eyes of his own mother. Hiding in his wardrobe, wearing black lingerie.
Chris’s gaze travels, very much against his will, from his scantily clad mother in the wardrobe to the scantily clad form of Robert on his bed.
“Robert,” he says, and he could not have imagined making this request of Robert Grove twenty seconds ago, “please tell me you’re here to seduce me.”
Robert does at least have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “What you need to understand, Chris—”
“Please don’t explain this,” Chris says, desperately. “Please, just... just let me live in ignorance.”
-
There’s an audible stirring in the wings, and Chris looks up sharply from his position on the stage.
There’s no way to check the time here, tied to a post, but it must have been at least two hours since the play ended. He’d started to resign himself to being stuck here all night.
The plan was to end The Odyssey, Part Two on a cliffhanger, to tempt audiences back if they ever decide to put on a part three, or indeed a part one. Odysseus, played by Chris, was lashed to the mast of his ship; would he survive the sirens?
All well and good. The issue, as Chris has now very much realised, is that the script called for him to be tied to the mast, but at no point did the stage directions instruct anyone to untie him.
He’d assumed at first that Trevor would free him while clearing up the stage; it’s Trevor’s job to clean up after performances and leave apology money for the venue, in an effort to build goodwill. Trevor, the bastard, walked off whistling with the money in his pocket, leaving the mess untouched. He’s probably been doing that for years; it’s no wonder they never get invited back.
“Hello?” Chris calls. “Could you help me, please?”
Robert emerges onto the stage, and Chris has never been so relieved to see him.
“Jesus Christ,” Robert says. “Have you been stuck here this whole time?”
Given that Robert is an actor, Chris really feels he could have delivered that line with a little more concern. Perhaps a little less openly holding back laughter. “Did you realise I was missing?”
Robert shakes his head. “I just thought I could make use of the stage to rehearse a few monologues. Fortunate that I did, really.”
“Very,” Chris agrees. “Could you untie me?”
Robert makes his way behind Chris. Crouches or kneels or stoops behind him; it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s doing from this angle.
It shouldn’t be a surprise. Robert’s there to untie a rope around Chris’s hands; there’s going to be physical contact. But Chris jerks when Robert’s fingers brush the skin of his wrist; it sends a strange jolt through him.
“Hmm.” Robert lets go of the rope, almost as soon as he’s taken hold of it.
What? He can’t have untied it already; he hasn’t done anything. Chris tugs against the rope, experimentally, and winces when it only rubs his already-raw wrists rawer. “What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking.” Robert strolls back into Chris’s field of vision. “Perhaps there’s no need to untie you just yet.”
What the hell is he playing at? Perhaps more troublingly, why is this making Chris feel so strange?
Chris swallows, with sudden difficulty. “What possible reason...?”
The prospect of finishing the sentence is terrifying, somehow.
“Well,” Robert says. “There are... things one can do, perhaps, while someone is tied up.”
Chris is oddly aware of his own heartbeat, a little too vigorous, a little too fast. “Such as?”
Robert crouches in front of Chris. Looks into his eyes. All Chris can do is stare back at him, dry-mouthed, every second of suspense more agonising than the last.
“In exchange for your freedom,” Robert says, “perhaps you would consider casting me as Odysseus in the next instalment.”
It takes a moment for Chris to make sense of the words. He’s not sure exactly what he’s been bracing himself for, but he knows it isn’t that. “Robert, are you blackmailing me?”
“Of course not. This is a negotiation.”
“This is an abduction. You’re holding me prisoner.”
Robert somehow has the nerve to look outraged by this accusation. “I’m not the one who tied you up, am I? Annie abducted you, if anyone did. I’m just making use of the leverage at my disposal.”
Chris takes a breath, as deep and slow as he can manage under the circumstances. “For God’s sake, Robert, just untie me.”
“And you’ll give me Odysseus?” Robert asks.
“And perhaps I won’t call the police,” Chris says. “You can’t just leave me here. You won’t.”
He won’t, will he?
“It’s my understanding,” Robert says, irritably, “that a good deed should be rewarded.” He moves behind Chris again, starts fumbling with the rope. “Of course I’m not going to leave you here. But it’s very short-sighted of you not to offer any incentive for me to do this in the future.”
“To be honest,” Chris says, “I don’t intend to end up in this situation again.”
“A pity. It doesn’t look bad on you.”
Chris moves too sharply, trying to twist around to look at him. Pulls something in his arm.
He’s too distracted by the pain to make much more conversation while he’s being freed.
-
Chris has been losing sleep. Strange dreams, strange thoughts when he’s halfway between waking and sleeping. He can’t—
He can’t stop thinking about Robert. And, in a way, that’s nothing new. Robert is a man who makes himself hard to ignore; it feels like Chris has spent a disproportionate amount of his time thinking about him ever since they first met.
Robert causes a lot of problems in the drama society. As Chris is the director, it often falls to him to solve those problems. It’s natural that Robert would take up space in his thoughts.
But Dennis also causes a lot of problems. And Chris isn’t fantasising about Dennis taking him against the wall of the rehearsal room, is he?
-
“Chris,” Robert says, “I was wondering if we could do some one-on-one work.”
This happens after almost every rehearsal: Robert will linger so that the two of them can work on some aspect of their plays or another. In theory, Chris is happy to devote a little more of his time to theatre. In practice...
Well, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to tolerate this time alone with Robert. Chris tends to return home from these sessions tense and stressed and feeling a little too warm. He should decline.
“What did you want to work on?” he asks.
“The sword fight in act three is feeling a little lifeless,” Robert says. “I thought we could work out some more dynamic choreography.”
Not a bad idea, perhaps. Their stage fights are consistently lacking; it’s admittedly an area that they could probably give a little more care to.
Twenty minutes later, Chris is cornered against the wall of the rehearsal room, panting and shaking, the point of Robert’s sword at his throat, and this was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake.
Chris can barely think. There’s nothing in his head but what-ifs, images spiralling out from this moment: Robert kissing him, Robert slowly cutting off the buttons of his shirt, Robert grabbing his hair and shoving him to his knees, Robert—
“That was considerably better,” Robert says, resheathing his sword. “Next week, then?”
“Wait, Robert,” Chris blurts out. “Do you ever...?”
What is he doing? He can’t say this.
“That’s not a full sentence, you know,” Robert remarks.
This is a terrible idea. But, in this moment, Chris can barely bring himself to care. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him; all he knows is that, when Robert just took the sword away, he felt sick with disappointment.
Chris steels himself. All he has to do is say a few words. He can do that; that’s his craft. “Do you ever feel something might... happen between us?”
“Vague, Chris.” Robert shakes his head. “The stage is no place for subtlety; even those in the back row must understand the events of the play. They’re part of the audience too, you know, even if they’re cheapskates.”
Speaking to Robert is impossible. A part of Chris wishes he had the courage just to grab him, to kiss him; it seems like this would be a lot easier without actually having to talk about it. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re talking about some sort of sexual event, I suppose.”
Chris tries to keep breathing steadily. It’s intimidating, the word sexual; it makes him want to deny it. But Robert’s not wrong, is he?
“You don’t seem surprised,” Chris says. “So it’s not just in my head, is it? It’s crossed your mind, too.”
“Of course it’s crossed my mind,” Robert says. “I’ve contemplated sex with every member of the drama society.”
“I suppose—” Hold on. “Every member?”
“Obviously. It’d be strange not to. Actors are always sleeping around with each other.”
Would it be strange not to? Is it strange that Chris doesn’t think about sex with more of the drama society? That doesn’t sound right, but he has a feeling that Sandra, at least, might agree with Robert; maybe Chris really is the odd one here.
“Anyway,” Robert says, “you’re bringing this up because you’re interested in sex, are you?”
“I – I don’t—” It’s thrown him, the revelation that Robert thinks about this sort of thing with everyone. “I don’t know.”
Have the others been having similar experiences with Robert, that sense that something might happen? Chris isn’t sure whether the thought is a disappointment or a relief. Perhaps there’s nothing special between them, but there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he might not be alone.
“Well,” Robert says, producing several folded sheets of paper from an inside jacket pocket, “if you need some help thinking it through, I’ve written a short play that may assist.”
What?
Chris steps forward to take the sheets, unfolds them. On the front page is a typewritten title: ROBERT GROVE AND CHRIS BEAN: INTIMATE SCENE, by ROBERT GROVE.
This immediately raises a large number of questions, amongst which are ‘does Robert carry this everywhere?’ and ‘does he also possess similar scenes about the other members of the society?’, but there’s one in particular that stands out. “Robert, why on Earth would you write this?”
“As I said,” Robert says, with a shrug. “I contemplate these things. I often find that writing things out in dramatic form helps me to get my thoughts in order.”
Chris flicks through the pages. He’s skimming – he can’t face reading in detail – but certain phrases leap out with an alarming vividity. There’s a hot prickling along the back of his neck.
He pauses on one particular page.
“You once told me,” he says, “that I needed to be less detailed in my stage directions. You said that my specificity was the mark of a control freak and that I was artistically stifling the actors.”
“And I stand by it,” Robert says. “What’s your point?”
Chris clears his throat. “Well, for example, I suppose I’m wondering about the line – the line—” It’s no use; he can’t say it aloud. He gestures to the line in question: Robert fondles Chris’s testes for three to four seconds.
“Precisely,” Robert says, leaning over Chris’s shoulder to read it; Chris tenses at the contact. “Three to four seconds. Between three and four seconds. The precise length of time is left to the actor’s discretion.”
“Is it?” Chris asks, flatly.
“There’s also plenty of room for artistic interpretation in the word fondles, if you’d like me to demonstrate.”
Chris breathes, carefully. Flicks through the play again, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything too outlandish. It’s intimidating, certainly, but he doesn’t think it depicts anything dangerous, and...
Well. If he’s going to venture into unknown new territory, he wouldn’t mind having a map. There’s something to be said for having his first sexual encounter with a man scripted in advance; if he knows what’s coming, he can prepare himself.
“Would you like to put this play on?” he asks, trying very hard to keep his voice level.
Robert lights up instantly. “I’d be delighted. I’ve already prepared a preliminary design for flyers, and—”
“No!” Chris exclaims, slightly horrified. “No, I don’t think we want to advertise this one. I’m – I’m very much proposing a private performance.”
“Hmm. I suppose.” Robert folds his arms, looking contemplative. “I’ll be playing Robert Grove, of course. We’ll need to hold auditions for the role of Chris.”
“Auditions?” Chris echoes.
“Well, we need to make sure we have the best person for the role.”
Chris stares at him. “Absolutely not. I refuse to be depicted by – by Max or Dennis or Jonathan in your pornographic play about me. No.”
“Any thoughts on Annie?” Robert asks. “Always willing to play male parts, and I think she’d bring a boldness to the role of Chris that—”
“Robert,” Chris says, “for God’s sake, will you just have sex with me?”
“Well, yes.” Robert shrugs off his jacket without hesitation, starts working on his shirt buttons. “Obviously. But I’d like to continue our discussion of the best actor for the role of Chris Bean afterwards.”
Chris sighs, deeply. “Fine.”
Title: The Verge
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 14
Pairing: Robert/Chris, with some Robert/Celia
Wordcount: 3,500
Summary: Chris steels himself. “Do you ever feel something might... happen between us?”
Chris hammers furiously on his dressing-room door.
Their performance of Oedipus Rex has been going well. Only a handful of missed cues, barely any fire at all, no injuries beyond a sprained ankle or three. Most of the audience did walk out at the start when Chris announced that they’d stripped out the play’s more distasteful content, admittedly, but the first half has still been a resounding success.
And now the interval is over, and Chris has somehow become trapped in his dressing room, leaving the rest of the cast stranded with no Oedipus. He’s knocked plenty of doors down by accident during performances; why can’t he do it when it really matters?
The door opens, suddenly, and—
“Jonathan?” Chris asks. He... well, if he’s honest, he’s not used to seeing Jonathan on the other side of an open door. He darts quickly out of the dressing room, to prevent Jonathan from somehow managing to get stuck in there as well.
“I was wondering where you were,” Jonathan says. “I thought you might be stuck in your dressing room, because, well...”
No surprise there; Jonathan gets stuck in his dressing room twice a week. “Thank you. Let’s get to the stage; the second half should have started far too long ago—”
“It’s started,” Jonathan says. “Robert’s playing Oedipus.”
Of course he is. Chris draws in a deep breath. “Tell me: was the door to my room just stuck, or had someone locked it?”
Jonathan winces and opens his mouth. It doesn’t matter; Chris already knows the answer. He wheels and storms towards the stage.
There Robert is, the bastard, playing the part he stole. He turns when Chris enters the set. “Ah, I’ve no need of a servant at present.”
Chris launches himself at Robert with what multiple audience members will later describe as a ‘feral scream’.
He knocks Robert to the boards and freezes on top of him, gripping the front of Robert’s tunic. He wants to make his displeasure known. But he doesn’t – he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.
That hesitation gives Robert the opportunity to get the upper hand. He grabs Chris’s shoulders and rolls with him, and an instant later Chris is flat on his back, trying to catch his breath, Robert pinning him to the stage.
“I invite you to explain yourself.” Robert smirks down at him. “Servant.”
“Robert,” Chris says, straining ineffectually against him, “how dare you—”
“My lord, I think you mean.”
Damn. Robert has a point; they’re on stage, they shouldn’t be using their real names. “My lord, how—”
Something odd sparks through Chris, looking into Robert’s eyes and calling him my lord with Robert’s weight pressing him into the floor, and he loses the thread of what he was about to say. All he can do is lie there and try to keep breathing.
It feels like the floor is falling away beneath him. He’s strangely aware of every point where their bodies are in contact. What happens next?
Sandra, playing Jocasta, clears her throat extremely loudly.
“My wife desires my attention,” Robert says, climbing to his feet. “Are we finished here?”
Chris has to fight the absurd impulse to say no, drag Robert back down to him. “Your wife? I am the true Oedipus; you are a mere impostor.”
The plot of Oedipus Rex does not end up playing out as planned. But Chris has to admit that some of his earlier changes to the script may rather have robbed the play of its teeth; the unintended ‘evil twin’ plotline does at least add a little friction back in.
Chris’s parents will occasionally invite both Chris and Robert to stay for a weekend. Robert’s company can be trying, and Chris often finds spending time with his parents slightly intense, but they combine surprisingly well; both of Chris’s parents seem to like Robert, oddly enough, and Robert’s presence takes a little of their focus off Chris.
Chris lingers in the dining room for a while after supper, talking to his father, before heading up to bed. He glances into the sitting room on the way, to check whether Robert needs any help setting up the sofa bed, but Robert seems to be elsewhere.
Chris’s bedroom door is closed, despite the fact that he’s not in there. That’s unusual, but it doesn’t occur to Chris to wonder about it until he’s halfway through pushing it open.
An instant later, he is hit by considerably larger concerns.
Someone is in his room. Someone is on his bed. Robert is on his bed, wearing a large red ribbon – tied in a carefully positioned bow, apparently in an effort to preserve some semblance of modesty – and very little else.
Chris and Robert look at each other for an indeterminate period of time. At Chris’s best guess, it is somewhere between three seconds and several thousand years. Robert is inexplicably wide-eyed, as if he has somehow ended up in this position by accident.
The slow, unsettling realisation dawns on Chris that Robert cannot possibly be here by accident.
“Robert,” Chris says, at last. “Why...?”
His mind baulks at the prospect of putting what he sees before him into words. He’ll just leave it at that.
“Ah,” Robert says. “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here.”
Chris’s eyes are once again drawn, suboptimally, to the large red bow only partly concealing Robert’s genitalia. “Among other things.”
It seems like some sort of explanation should follow that. There’s just more silence.
Chris braces himself, and then braces himself further. “Robert, is this some sort of... some sort of effort at seduction?”
Robert glances down at the ribbon. It’s a moment before he speaks. “I suppose there’s no other possible explanation.”
Chris sits down heavily on the floor, right there in his doorway. One of his parents might walk by at any moment, he’s vaguely aware, might see this bizarre and incriminating scene through his bedroom door. But, in this moment, he can’t operate his own body to close it.
Robert is attracted to him. Robert is attracted to him, and has apparently decided to declare this fact by... presenting himself to Chris on his bed, forcing Chris to decide not only ‘how do I feel about Robert?’ but ‘how do I feel about Robert, and do I want to have sex with him right now, today, here?’
“I,” Chris says, and then, “Um,” and then, “Robert, I—”
“I can imagine that this might be overwhelming,” Robert says. “You should take the time to think about it elsewhere.”
That’s... surprisingly considerate of Robert. Chris doesn’t want Robert to be considerate; he wants Robert to be his usual intolerable self, so Chris can remember why it would be ludicrous to want him.
Right now, it’s hard to think of anything but that strange, intense moment on the stage, Robert pinning him to the floor, that sense that they were falling unstoppably towards something both tempting and terrifying.
“Can you—” Chris shakes his head. “I can’t think like this. Not with you dressed like that, if – if dressed is the right word.” He drags himself to his feet. It’s a challenge; his legs are shaking. “I’ll – I’ll give you a dressing gown.” He makes his way towards his wardrobe, with some difficulty. “Please just put it on, and then maybe I’ll be able to clear my—”
“Chris,” Robert says, sharply, just as Chris opens his wardrobe door.
Chris stares into the eyes of his own mother. Hiding in his wardrobe, wearing black lingerie.
Chris’s gaze travels, very much against his will, from his scantily clad mother in the wardrobe to the scantily clad form of Robert on his bed.
“Robert,” he says, and he could not have imagined making this request of Robert Grove twenty seconds ago, “please tell me you’re here to seduce me.”
Robert does at least have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “What you need to understand, Chris—”
“Please don’t explain this,” Chris says, desperately. “Please, just... just let me live in ignorance.”
There’s an audible stirring in the wings, and Chris looks up sharply from his position on the stage.
There’s no way to check the time here, tied to a post, but it must have been at least two hours since the play ended. He’d started to resign himself to being stuck here all night.
The plan was to end The Odyssey, Part Two on a cliffhanger, to tempt audiences back if they ever decide to put on a part three, or indeed a part one. Odysseus, played by Chris, was lashed to the mast of his ship; would he survive the sirens?
All well and good. The issue, as Chris has now very much realised, is that the script called for him to be tied to the mast, but at no point did the stage directions instruct anyone to untie him.
He’d assumed at first that Trevor would free him while clearing up the stage; it’s Trevor’s job to clean up after performances and leave apology money for the venue, in an effort to build goodwill. Trevor, the bastard, walked off whistling with the money in his pocket, leaving the mess untouched. He’s probably been doing that for years; it’s no wonder they never get invited back.
“Hello?” Chris calls. “Could you help me, please?”
Robert emerges onto the stage, and Chris has never been so relieved to see him.
“Jesus Christ,” Robert says. “Have you been stuck here this whole time?”
Given that Robert is an actor, Chris really feels he could have delivered that line with a little more concern. Perhaps a little less openly holding back laughter. “Did you realise I was missing?”
Robert shakes his head. “I just thought I could make use of the stage to rehearse a few monologues. Fortunate that I did, really.”
“Very,” Chris agrees. “Could you untie me?”
Robert makes his way behind Chris. Crouches or kneels or stoops behind him; it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s doing from this angle.
It shouldn’t be a surprise. Robert’s there to untie a rope around Chris’s hands; there’s going to be physical contact. But Chris jerks when Robert’s fingers brush the skin of his wrist; it sends a strange jolt through him.
“Hmm.” Robert lets go of the rope, almost as soon as he’s taken hold of it.
What? He can’t have untied it already; he hasn’t done anything. Chris tugs against the rope, experimentally, and winces when it only rubs his already-raw wrists rawer. “What’s wrong?”
“Just thinking.” Robert strolls back into Chris’s field of vision. “Perhaps there’s no need to untie you just yet.”
What the hell is he playing at? Perhaps more troublingly, why is this making Chris feel so strange?
Chris swallows, with sudden difficulty. “What possible reason...?”
The prospect of finishing the sentence is terrifying, somehow.
“Well,” Robert says. “There are... things one can do, perhaps, while someone is tied up.”
Chris is oddly aware of his own heartbeat, a little too vigorous, a little too fast. “Such as?”
Robert crouches in front of Chris. Looks into his eyes. All Chris can do is stare back at him, dry-mouthed, every second of suspense more agonising than the last.
“In exchange for your freedom,” Robert says, “perhaps you would consider casting me as Odysseus in the next instalment.”
It takes a moment for Chris to make sense of the words. He’s not sure exactly what he’s been bracing himself for, but he knows it isn’t that. “Robert, are you blackmailing me?”
“Of course not. This is a negotiation.”
“This is an abduction. You’re holding me prisoner.”
Robert somehow has the nerve to look outraged by this accusation. “I’m not the one who tied you up, am I? Annie abducted you, if anyone did. I’m just making use of the leverage at my disposal.”
Chris takes a breath, as deep and slow as he can manage under the circumstances. “For God’s sake, Robert, just untie me.”
“And you’ll give me Odysseus?” Robert asks.
“And perhaps I won’t call the police,” Chris says. “You can’t just leave me here. You won’t.”
He won’t, will he?
“It’s my understanding,” Robert says, irritably, “that a good deed should be rewarded.” He moves behind Chris again, starts fumbling with the rope. “Of course I’m not going to leave you here. But it’s very short-sighted of you not to offer any incentive for me to do this in the future.”
“To be honest,” Chris says, “I don’t intend to end up in this situation again.”
“A pity. It doesn’t look bad on you.”
Chris moves too sharply, trying to twist around to look at him. Pulls something in his arm.
He’s too distracted by the pain to make much more conversation while he’s being freed.
Chris has been losing sleep. Strange dreams, strange thoughts when he’s halfway between waking and sleeping. He can’t—
He can’t stop thinking about Robert. And, in a way, that’s nothing new. Robert is a man who makes himself hard to ignore; it feels like Chris has spent a disproportionate amount of his time thinking about him ever since they first met.
Robert causes a lot of problems in the drama society. As Chris is the director, it often falls to him to solve those problems. It’s natural that Robert would take up space in his thoughts.
But Dennis also causes a lot of problems. And Chris isn’t fantasising about Dennis taking him against the wall of the rehearsal room, is he?
“Chris,” Robert says, “I was wondering if we could do some one-on-one work.”
This happens after almost every rehearsal: Robert will linger so that the two of them can work on some aspect of their plays or another. In theory, Chris is happy to devote a little more of his time to theatre. In practice...
Well, it’s becoming increasingly difficult to tolerate this time alone with Robert. Chris tends to return home from these sessions tense and stressed and feeling a little too warm. He should decline.
“What did you want to work on?” he asks.
“The sword fight in act three is feeling a little lifeless,” Robert says. “I thought we could work out some more dynamic choreography.”
Not a bad idea, perhaps. Their stage fights are consistently lacking; it’s admittedly an area that they could probably give a little more care to.
Twenty minutes later, Chris is cornered against the wall of the rehearsal room, panting and shaking, the point of Robert’s sword at his throat, and this was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake.
Chris can barely think. There’s nothing in his head but what-ifs, images spiralling out from this moment: Robert kissing him, Robert slowly cutting off the buttons of his shirt, Robert grabbing his hair and shoving him to his knees, Robert—
“That was considerably better,” Robert says, resheathing his sword. “Next week, then?”
“Wait, Robert,” Chris blurts out. “Do you ever...?”
What is he doing? He can’t say this.
“That’s not a full sentence, you know,” Robert remarks.
This is a terrible idea. But, in this moment, Chris can barely bring himself to care. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him; all he knows is that, when Robert just took the sword away, he felt sick with disappointment.
Chris steels himself. All he has to do is say a few words. He can do that; that’s his craft. “Do you ever feel something might... happen between us?”
“Vague, Chris.” Robert shakes his head. “The stage is no place for subtlety; even those in the back row must understand the events of the play. They’re part of the audience too, you know, even if they’re cheapskates.”
Speaking to Robert is impossible. A part of Chris wishes he had the courage just to grab him, to kiss him; it seems like this would be a lot easier without actually having to talk about it. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re talking about some sort of sexual event, I suppose.”
Chris tries to keep breathing steadily. It’s intimidating, the word sexual; it makes him want to deny it. But Robert’s not wrong, is he?
“You don’t seem surprised,” Chris says. “So it’s not just in my head, is it? It’s crossed your mind, too.”
“Of course it’s crossed my mind,” Robert says. “I’ve contemplated sex with every member of the drama society.”
“I suppose—” Hold on. “Every member?”
“Obviously. It’d be strange not to. Actors are always sleeping around with each other.”
Would it be strange not to? Is it strange that Chris doesn’t think about sex with more of the drama society? That doesn’t sound right, but he has a feeling that Sandra, at least, might agree with Robert; maybe Chris really is the odd one here.
“Anyway,” Robert says, “you’re bringing this up because you’re interested in sex, are you?”
“I – I don’t—” It’s thrown him, the revelation that Robert thinks about this sort of thing with everyone. “I don’t know.”
Have the others been having similar experiences with Robert, that sense that something might happen? Chris isn’t sure whether the thought is a disappointment or a relief. Perhaps there’s nothing special between them, but there’s a sort of comfort in knowing that he might not be alone.
“Well,” Robert says, producing several folded sheets of paper from an inside jacket pocket, “if you need some help thinking it through, I’ve written a short play that may assist.”
What?
Chris steps forward to take the sheets, unfolds them. On the front page is a typewritten title: ROBERT GROVE AND CHRIS BEAN: INTIMATE SCENE, by ROBERT GROVE.
This immediately raises a large number of questions, amongst which are ‘does Robert carry this everywhere?’ and ‘does he also possess similar scenes about the other members of the society?’, but there’s one in particular that stands out. “Robert, why on Earth would you write this?”
“As I said,” Robert says, with a shrug. “I contemplate these things. I often find that writing things out in dramatic form helps me to get my thoughts in order.”
Chris flicks through the pages. He’s skimming – he can’t face reading in detail – but certain phrases leap out with an alarming vividity. There’s a hot prickling along the back of his neck.
He pauses on one particular page.
“You once told me,” he says, “that I needed to be less detailed in my stage directions. You said that my specificity was the mark of a control freak and that I was artistically stifling the actors.”
“And I stand by it,” Robert says. “What’s your point?”
Chris clears his throat. “Well, for example, I suppose I’m wondering about the line – the line—” It’s no use; he can’t say it aloud. He gestures to the line in question: Robert fondles Chris’s testes for three to four seconds.
“Precisely,” Robert says, leaning over Chris’s shoulder to read it; Chris tenses at the contact. “Three to four seconds. Between three and four seconds. The precise length of time is left to the actor’s discretion.”
“Is it?” Chris asks, flatly.
“There’s also plenty of room for artistic interpretation in the word fondles, if you’d like me to demonstrate.”
Chris breathes, carefully. Flicks through the play again, just to make sure he hasn’t missed anything too outlandish. It’s intimidating, certainly, but he doesn’t think it depicts anything dangerous, and...
Well. If he’s going to venture into unknown new territory, he wouldn’t mind having a map. There’s something to be said for having his first sexual encounter with a man scripted in advance; if he knows what’s coming, he can prepare himself.
“Would you like to put this play on?” he asks, trying very hard to keep his voice level.
Robert lights up instantly. “I’d be delighted. I’ve already prepared a preliminary design for flyers, and—”
“No!” Chris exclaims, slightly horrified. “No, I don’t think we want to advertise this one. I’m – I’m very much proposing a private performance.”
“Hmm. I suppose.” Robert folds his arms, looking contemplative. “I’ll be playing Robert Grove, of course. We’ll need to hold auditions for the role of Chris.”
“Auditions?” Chris echoes.
“Well, we need to make sure we have the best person for the role.”
Chris stares at him. “Absolutely not. I refuse to be depicted by – by Max or Dennis or Jonathan in your pornographic play about me. No.”
“Any thoughts on Annie?” Robert asks. “Always willing to play male parts, and I think she’d bring a boldness to the role of Chris that—”
“Robert,” Chris says, “for God’s sake, will you just have sex with me?”
“Well, yes.” Robert shrugs off his jacket without hesitation, starts working on his shirt buttons. “Obviously. But I’d like to continue our discussion of the best actor for the role of Chris Bean afterwards.”
Chris sighs, deeply. “Fine.”
no subject
“Any thoughts on Annie?” Robert asks. “Always willing to play male parts, and I think she’d bring a boldness to the role of Chris that—”
“Robert,” Chris says, “for God’s sake, will you just have sex with me?”
AHAHA, this is the point that I lost it. What a delight! Of course Robert has written a play about it, and of course he intends to hold auditions for the other role. Wonderfully bonkers in the best way!
no subject
I love that!
Jonathan is fully aware of how difficult it is to get through a door!
Amazing!
Oh no, desires! Whatever shall he do? Surely ignoring it will solve everything!
It would certain allow for an element of surprise!
I love that Robert decides it would be easier to just sleep with Chris than tell him the truth.
That immediately became the least bad option!
Oh, this is perfectly Robert!
Oh no, desires keep happening! Ignoring them isn't working! What could possibly resolve this?
Robert Groves acting summed up right there!
This is utterly amazing!
Robert, you magnificently weird man!
I mean she'd play the part well! ...do you think Vanessa could play Chris if she found the script?
(Also Robert trying to do this play with Dennis playing Chris would be the funniest thing ever. Dennis would be fully on board with this and treat it like a normal play with no "Wait, this is just sex, isn't it?" moment, but he'd be totally unable to get the script right.)
no subject
RIONA.
“I was wondering where you were,” Jonathan says. “I thought you might be stuck in your dressing room, because, well...”
oh my goodness!!!!!!
Chris launches himself at Robert with what multiple audience members will later describe as a ‘feral scream’.
They're so professional.
Something odd sparks through Chris, looking into Robert’s eyes and calling him my lord with Robert’s weight pressing him into the floor, and he loses the thread of what he was about to say. All he can do is lie there and try to keep breathing.
Oh Chris you have so many problems.
Chris has to fight the absurd impulse to say no, drag Robert back down to him. “Your wife? I am the true Oedipus; you are a mere impostor.”
hahahahahahhfffff
the unintended ‘evil twin’ plotline does at least add a little friction back in.
Incredible
Chris lingers in the dining room for a while after supper, talking to his father, before heading up to bed. He glances into the sitting room on the way, to check whether Robert needs any help setting up the sofa bed, but Robert seems to be elsewhere.
Oh my god
Someone is in his room. Someone is on his bed. Robert is on his bed, wearing a large red ribbon – tied in a carefully positioned bow, apparently in an effort to preserve some semblance of modesty – and very little else.
RIONA. Be honest. Is this your fantasy.
Chris’s eyes are once again drawn, suboptimally, to the large red bow only partly concealing Robert’s genitalia. “Among other things.”
Skskskskskskksks
Robert glances down at the ribbon. It’s a moment before he speaks. “I suppose there’s no other possible explanation.”
IS THERE???
“I can imagine that this might be overwhelming,” Robert says. “You should take the time to think about it elsewhere.”
Hahahah oh NO.
“Chris,” Robert says, sharply, just as Chris opens his wardrobe door.
OH NO this is such a British thing to happen
Chris stares into the eyes of his own mother. Hiding in his wardrobe, wearing black lingerie.
Oh that's got to be worth at least six years in therapy
There’s no way to check the time here, tied to a post, but it must have been at least two hours since the play ended. He’d started to resign himself to being stuck here all night.
Oh nooooooooo
The issue, as Chris has now very much realised, is that the script called for him to be tied to the mast, but at no point did the stage directions instruct anyone to untie him.
See you really must bear these things in mind
Trevor, the bastard, walked off whistling with the money in his pocket, leaving the mess untouched. He’s probably been doing that for years; it’s no wonder they never get invited back.
Well that'll teach you not to delegate
Robert shakes his head. “I just thought I could make use of the stage to rehearse a few monologues. Fortunate that I did, really.”
Sure.
“Just thinking.” Robert strolls back into Chris’s field of vision. “Perhaps there’s no need to untie you just yet.”
Oh hell-o.
Chris is oddly aware of his own heartbeat, a little too vigorous, a little too fast. “Such as?”
Oh you horny piece of shit. *affectionate*
“This is an abduction. You’re holding me prisoner.”
Which you are horny about.
A pity. It doesn’t look bad on you.”
Hohwwhwioahocuashocasca
Robert is a man who makes himself hard to ignore
True say
But Dennis also causes a lot of problems.
Dennis doesn't cause them with quite Robert's level of conviction to be fair
“The sword fight in act three is feeling a little lifeless,” Robert says. “I thought we could work out some more dynamic choreography.”
Oh so he IS flirting
Twenty minutes later, Chris is cornered against the wall of the rehearsal room, panting and shaking, the point of Robert’s sword at his throat, and this was a mistake. This was a terrible mistake.
*points* go to horny jail right now
You’re talking about some sort of sexual event, I suppose.”
Sexual event.
“Of course it’s crossed my mind,” Robert says. “I’ve contemplated sex with every member of the drama society.”
Of course he has.
“Well,” Robert says, producing several folded sheets of paper from an inside jacket pocket, “if you need some help thinking it through, I’ve written a short play that may assist.”
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU AS A PERSON
“As I said,” Robert says, with a shrug. “I contemplate these things. I often find that writing things out in dramatic form helps me to get my thoughts in order.”
Sometimes I have this horrible thought that Robert is what I would've turned into were I a) cis and b) given any further encouragement in my bullshit theatrical ambitions as a child. What a horrifying window into an alternate timeline.
Chris clears his throat. “Well, for example, I suppose I’m wondering about the line – the line—” It’s no use; he can’t say it aloud. He gestures to the line in question: Robert fondles Chris’s testes for three to four seconds.
I'm going to die
“Any thoughts on Annie?” Robert asks. “Always willing to play male parts, and I think she’d bring a boldness to the role of Chris that—”
Yes but she would not be at all happy about not being allowed to USE the strap if she's wearing it
“Well, yes.” Robert shrugs off his jacket without hesitation, starts working on his shirt buttons. “Obviously. But I’d like to continue our discussion of the best actor for the role of Chris Bean afterwards.”
Oh good grief.