Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-18 10:55 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-18 10:55 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: The Robert/Everyone Agenda (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/everyone)
My usual policy is that, if I write fanfiction in the comments of someone else's journal or community, I'll repost it in an entry over here. If I write fanfiction in the comments of my own journal, though, I won't make an entry for it; it already exists on my journal in some capacity, after all.
However!wolfy_writing's prompt in the comments of this entry ('Robert's ideas for seducing every other member of the drama society') launched me into writing eight separate short fics in response, one pairing Robert of The Goes Wrong Show with each other member of the drama society. I think that's an ambitious enough project to warrant its own entry!
Do these fics technically fit the original prompt? Let's... let's not worry about that.
Much Ado, Robert/Annie
Chris is never thrilled to stoop to comedy. But Much Ado is at least a Shakespeare; he supposes he can allow that.
It’s just not coming together in rehearsals, though. Perhaps the most crucial element of Much Ado About Nothing is the chemistry between Beatrice and Benedick, and, despite Chris’s best efforts in the role of Benedick, it simply doesn’t seem to be there. Vanessa delivers all of Beatrice’s lines faithfully, but it feels like some sort of spark is missing between them.
“It’s obvious,” Robert says, when Chris expresses his frustration. “You and Vanessa aren’t right for the roles. What we need is a recasting.”
“I’m not giving you Benedick, Robert,” Chris says, wearily.
“Fine. Give me the cast list; I’ll sort this out.”
“Only if you promise you won’t cast yourself as Benedick. I need some assurance that you’re not acting out of pure self-interest here.”
“Everything I do,” Robert says, plainly offended, “is for the sake of theatre. But I’ll make your unreasonable promise, I suppose.”
-
Robert draws up his proposed new cast on the rehearsal room whiteboard. Chris nearly chokes at the first line.
Well. Robert has, at least, kept his promise; Chris supposes there’s no denying that. But...
“You’ve given yourself Beatrice?”
“Trust me, Chris. I’ve made these alterations to ensure we have the most passionate performance possible.” Robert turns back to the whiteboard.
Who on Earth has he cast as Benedick? Who does Robert think will give a passionate performance opposite his Beatrice? Not Dennis, obviously. Max? Jonathan? Maybe he’s left Chris in the role; that’s a daunting prospect, but...
“The trouble with Chris and Vanessa,” Robert says, “is that they aren’t taking pleasure in the roles. Chris despises comedy, and Vanessa plays every part in the apparent belief that there’s a sniper in the wings, ready to assassinate her if she departs from the script. The role of Benedick must go to the person who would most enjoy it.”
BENEDICK: ANNIE, he writes.
Annie shrieks with excitement and punches the air.
-
The performance of Much Ado About Nothing cannot be said to be a success. But the original problem – that Beatrice and Benedick’s relationship wasn’t compelling enough – certainly seems to have been fixed.
Perhaps the largest issue with the play is the fact that, whenever Robert and Annie are on stage together, everyone else ends up forgetting their lines and watching them, transfixed. In their opposing roles, the two of them are trying to out-act each other with ferocious energy and escalating volume, ad-libbing new lines and entire new conversations. On multiple occasions, Beatrice and Benedick are still bickering on the stage long after the scene is supposed to have ended.
Chris finds himself oddly fascinated to see how Benedick will manage to kiss Beatrice in the final scene; Robert is a full foot taller than Annie. In the event, Annie makes an ambitious and unsuccessful attempt to sweep Robert off his feet and dip him in her arms; she drops him to the stage with an alarming crash.
Undeterred, Annie straddles Robert and kisses him passionately; Robert kisses back with slightly more passion; Annie escalates in return, and Chris desperately has to signal to Trevor to drop the curtain when clothes start coming off.
-
“Good morning, Chris!” Annie greets him, when she comes in the next day. They always make an early start on the second day of a run; they’ll need at least eight hours to patch up all the issues that became apparent in the first performance. “Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”
Perhaps slightly too fun for some parties. Chris clears his throat. “Should I take it that your and Robert’s relationship has, ah, deepened?”
“Deepened?” Annie echoes, hanging up her coat.
“Well, are you... are you involved?”
“Wait,” Annie says, half-laughing. “Are you asking if I’m dating Robert?”
Dating might be the euphemistic term for it. “You were rather intimate on stage.”
“Yeah, ’cause we were playing lovers,” Annie says. “You know what acting is, right, Chris?”
Chris stares at her. He knows what he saw; he will not be made to feel insane for feeling there was something odd about it. “You seemed to be enjoying yourselves rather a lot.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Annie says. “We both love acting.”
“Good morning!” Robert booms from the doorway.
“Hi, Robert!” Annie calls to him. “Chris thinks we’re dating.”
Robert laughs. “Why on Earth would he think that?”
“You felt each other up on stage!” Chris snaps. “Far beyond what the script called for! I’m not imagining things!”
“Because it was appropriate for the characters, Chris,” Robert says, with exaggerated patience.
Annie nods. “That’s what I’m trying to tell him.”
“Nothing about that was appropriate. You came barely shy of on-stage penetration.”
“Thought about it,” Annie says, reflectively. “But the trousers had to stay on, or the audience would’ve seen that Benedick didn’t have the right parts. You can’t break the suspension of disbelief like that.”
“I knew we were on the same page there,” Robert agrees. “If we swap roles for tonight’s performance, we might be able to push things further.”
Annie grins. “Sounds fun.”
“You can’t – you cannot—” Chris can barely draw breath. “You can’t use this play as an excuse to – to fornicate on stage!”
Robert frowns at him. “For goodness’ sake, Chris, it’s not an excuse. We’re simply giving an authentic portrayal of the characters.”
“Yeah, seriously, Chris,” Annie says, shaking her head. “It’s like you’ve never heard of acting.”
This, Chris concludes, bitterly, is what happens when you attempt to put on a comedy.
With the Camera, Robert/Sandra
Sandra’s always enjoyed flirting. It’s a fun game, the playful tension of it, the ambiguity. Slipping in questions under the surface of a conversation, trying to strike the right balance of subtle and clear: where is this going? Where would you like it to go?
The trouble, in this drama society, is finding someone who’ll flirt back. Jonathan wasn’t bad at it, but that relationship has been and gone; it’s probably best not to reopen that door. Chris and Dennis wouldn’t notice they were being flirted with if their lives depended on it. Max certainly enjoys her attention, but he’s a little too clean-minded; innuendo tends to go over his head. Annie and Trevor are up for a flirt, at least, but that’s a disappointingly small proportion of the group.
And then there’s Robert.
It feels like Robert has promise. The issue is actually getting the damn man to listen to anyone other than himself; it’s hard to flirt with someone who keeps turning every conversation into a monologue. But surely she can get him to notice what she’s doing: a touch on the arm here, a wink there, the odd unnecessary adjustment of his clothing, an escalating barrage of ever-more-blatant double entendres—
“Sandra,” Robert says at last, frowning slightly, “are you trying to take me to bed?”
Sandra folds her arms. “Well, that’s no fun, is it?”
“What’s no fun? Sex?”
“You’re too direct,” Sandra says. “I thought we could have a mutually enjoyable flirtation, but no; you’ve taken all the ambiguity out of it.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Robert asks.
“Look,” Sandra says, “let’s try this: I have an acting role for you.”
Robert’s puzzled expression clears up instantly. “Ah, excellent! What’s the role?”
“You want to have sex with me.” Actually, she should probably clarify this before writing it into his role. Whatever his personal feelings, he’ll play Man Who Wants Sandra Wilkinson to the hilt if he’s asked to, sex scenes and all. She can’t say for certain that they’ll end up in a bed, but it’s a possibility she should account for. “Do you want to have sex with me, incidentally? You personally? Robert Grove?”
Robert shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t object. It’d probably be worthwhile.”
Good to know, although more enthusiasm wouldn’t go amiss. The trouble with associating with a bunch of thespians is that they all seem to value theatre above sex, whereas Sandra’s always felt the two complement each other.
“Right,” Sandra says. “Here’s your role. You want to have sex with me. But you can’t tell me that’s what you want, or you’ll explode.”
“Interesting,” Robert comments. “A little avant-garde.”
“So you have to imply it,” Sandra says. “Can you do that for me?”
“And our audience?” Robert asks.
Damn. He won’t be satisfied without one, will he? “You can film it, I suppose, if you must.”
-
Robert’s efforts at flirtation, under the constraints of his new role, are certainly spirited, even if he’s inexperienced with the indirect approach. When he strays a little too far into innuendo, he starts screaming and panicking that he’s going to explode, which does slightly impair the mood. But Sandra has fun, in the end: enough fun to bring Robert home with her after rehearsals, and that’s good fun as well.
A thought occurs to Sandra, in the aftermath, and she sits up in bed. “I said you could film this.”
“You did,” Robert agrees.
“Did you film it? Everything? Even what just happened?”
“Obviously,” Robert says. “I’m not going to leave out the dénouement.”
Sandra considers that for a moment.
“Can I watch it?” she asks.
-
The film is a masterpiece. They look fantastic together. Sandra has no idea why she’s never made a sex tape before.
By mutual agreement, she and Robert submit it for consideration for a BAFTA.
By mutual agreement, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts bars them from further communication.
In Position, Robert/Trevor
Another Monday, another meeting of the bloody drama society. Trevor keeps telling himself that he’s going to quit; he’s never been a theatre person, and the performances don’t exactly leave him brimming with the satisfaction of a job well done. But another week has rolled around, and here he is again.
“Now,” Chris says, “before we begin this production meeting, I believe Robert has something to say about his behaviour during The Spirit of Christmas. Robert?”
Robert stands from the table, clearing his throat. “I should not have been intoxicated on set. It was embarrassing behaviour, and I owe all of you an apology, except Trevor.”
“Except Trevor?” Trevor echoes.
“Well, it’s hardly surprising, is it?” Robert asks. “You’re responsible for the set. You’re the reason there was alcohol there in the first place; you’re accountable for the faulty liquor dispenser. Really, you should be the one up here apologising, but I have nobly—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Trevor holds up his palms. “Counterargument: that is horseshit. I was working my arse off to keep the bottle out of your hands.”
Robert folds his arms. “And I think we all know what a stellar job you did there, don’t we?”
Oh, fuck this guy.
“You slammed me into a glass window,” Trevor says. “I don’t even get a sodding apology?”
“Er, well,” Chris says. “That’s the first item on the agenda out of the way, so let’s move on.”
-
“You summoned me to the stage?” Robert asks.
“Need to check the fit of the flying harness.” Trevor nods at the harness in question, lying spotlit in the centre of the stage. “Put that on.”
The spotlight isn’t strictly necessary, if he’s honest. Maybe spending so much time with all these bloody actors has given him a taste for drama.
Robert goes straight over and puts on the harness. He’s weirdly trusting for someone who can’t be trusted. It’d be nice if he could be that obedient all the time, but maybe he just can’t resist stepping into that spotlight.
Trevor tests the harness thoroughly before doing anything else. He’s going to be in trouble after this, one way or another, but he’s hoping for ‘people are pissed off with him’ trouble rather than ‘accidentally breaking Robert’s neck’ trouble.
Right. It all seems secure. Trevor heads into his box and hoists Robert up, leaving him dangling a few feet above the stage.
“Feels fine,” Robert reports.
“Good.” Trevor strolls back onto the stage, hands in his pockets. “Get comfortable. You could be there for a while.”
“For Christ’s sake, Trevor,” Robert says, “is the mechanism stuck again? You’re absolutely incompetent.”
“What? No. That was meant to be, like, my villain line. It doesn’t work if you don’t get it.”
“Your villain – are you keeping me suspended here on purpose?”
Trevor folds his arms. “There it is.”
“For what possible reason?” Robert demands. “Let me down this instant! I’ve got places to be, you know! People to see! Well, solo rehearsals to do, at least.”
“Here’re your lines.” Trevor pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and shoves it into Robert’s hands. “You like having lines, don’t you?”
“How dare you—”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Trevor shakes his head. “That’s not in the script, is it?”
Robert bares his teeth at him.
“Look,” Trevor says, “just read it out and I’ll let you go. All right?”
Robert, glowering the entire time, smooths out the piece of paper. Scans through it. “You’re holding me prisoner for this?”
“I’d hold you prisoner for a Twix, mate,” Trevor says. “Say it and we’ll both be happy.”
“I won’t mean it, you know,” Robert says. “You’ll believe I mean it, because my pride as an actor will not allow me to deliver lines with anything other than perfect sincerity. But I won’t mean a word.”
“Fine. Say it anyway.”
Robert clears his throat. “I’m very sorry, Trevor, for being... such an arsehole on the set. You work hard for us, and I’ve never appreciated you enough. Even though every play ends up being a disaster, a large portion of which can be attributed to poor stage management, and—”
“No ad libbing,” Trevor says. “Again.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Again. I’ll keep you here all night if I have to.”
Something changes in the way Robert is staring at him; it’s as intense as before, but it feels different, somehow. He shifts a little in the harness. “I won’t say it.”
“You’re gonna,” Trevor says. “I control the stage, you know. Do you seriously not get how much power I have over you?”
Robert makes a weird noise at that; it’s almost a gulp. Is he finally starting to understand the situation he’s in?
Honestly, it feels good. Trevor’s not planning to go too mad with power, start doing this kind of thing during a play. But it’s nice to know it’s an option.
-
Robert gives the apology, eventually, although it’s another hour before he does. It’s weird; the anger seemed to soften out of him pretty early on. Trevor thought they were making progress; he wasn’t expecting Robert to keep dragging it out this long.
They got there in the end, though, and it felt pretty fucking fantastic to hear it. There’s a very real chance Trevor’s going to end up arrested for this, but, honestly, it might be worth it.
When Trevor lets him down, Robert approaches him, and Trevor braces himself for a punch in the face.
Robert just shakes his hand, inexplicably, and stumbles backstage on shaky legs.
-
Robert’s still as much trouble on the stage as ever, of course. In a way, he’s worse, constantly making demands of Trevor that are absolutely not his job. Is this supposed to be some kind of revenge?
“It’s like you’ve learnt fucking nothing,” Trevor mutters, when Robert passes him in the wings.
Robert turns a startlingly intense look on him. “I suppose you’re going to put me in my place again.”
“Thinking about it.”
“Fine. I’m free this evening.”
It startles Trevor into laughing. “I’m kidding. I’m not gonna hold you hostage every time you piss me off, y’know, or we’ll never get anything done.”
“All right. I’ll give you a Twix if you do it.”
Okay, there is definitely something weird going on here.
“Look, what’s this about?” Trevor asks. “Are you getting off on this?”
Robert coughs. “There... may be an element of sexual gratification, I suppose.”
Trevor looks at him for a moment.
“Yeah, all right, then,” he says at last.
Imparting Wisdom, Robert/Dennis
“Robert!” Dennis rushes into their shared flat in an apparent panic. “A lady talked to me! And she said she’d seen our plays and she liked me and she thought I was cute and now we’re having a date on Saturday, I think?”
“She’d seen our plays?” Robert demands. “Did she give an opinion on the other performers?”
“Robert, I don’t know how to have a date! What do I do?”
Hmm. On the one hand, Robert would very much like to press the question. On the other, Robert has a great deal of wisdom to impart, and it is his noble duty to impart it.
“I can take you on a practice date, I suppose,” Robert says.
Dennis turns pale. “I can’t have another date! I already don’t know how to have one of them!”
“Dennis,” Robert says, firmly. “Calm down. It will be a mock date. A pretend date, so I can teach you how dating works. There will be very little pressure, because I have absolutely no expectations of you.”
“Oh,” Dennis says. “Oh, right.” A moment passes. “That sounds good.”
“To be clear in advance,” Robert says, “you will be paying for the food.”
-
A date is essentially a two-person play, in which the person one is dating serves simultaneously as castmate and audience. It’s a state of affairs that Robert finds gratifying, and Dennis works surprisingly well in his opposing role. As a fellow actor, of course, Dennis is dire, but he’s a receptive audience member, and that’s the more important thing when he’s sitting across the dining table.
“That was amazing,” Dennis says, as they leave the restaurant. “It was so easy. I didn’t have to talk at all.”
“You see?” Robert asks. “When you’re on a date, all you have to do is tell her all about yourself. It takes the burden of conversation off your date, and it gives her a full profile to aid in casting her partner.” He considers Dennis for a moment. “I suppose there might not be enough about you to fill a solid two hours, but feel free to talk about me if you run out of material.”
-
“How was your date?” Robert asks, when Dennis returns to the flat.
“It was nice,” Dennis says. “It was good. But, um, there was a problem. I think you were a problem.”
Robert nods, solemnly. “Your date couldn’t stop thinking about me, I suppose. It’s a common issue.”
“It was me,” Dennis says. “I just wanted to still be dating you instead.”
Robert raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Dennis nods. “It was amazing. You were really interesting. And I didn’t have to worry about talking, because you took care of all that. And I liked looking at you. Looking at her was okay, but I think your face is more interesting.”
Fascinating turn of events. Understandable, but unexpected. Robert should have considered the risk that, by being too charming and interesting on their mock date, he would end up setting Dennis’s standards too high.
“Is this a proposition?” Robert asks.
Dennis shakes his head. “Nah, ‘this’ is... a pronoun or something, I think? A proposition’s a word that tells you where things are. Stuff like ‘on’ and ‘under’.”
“Not a – look, I’m asking whether you’re inviting me to date you.”
“Oh,” Dennis says. “Maybe? I thought maybe you could help me.”
“You want me to help you ask me out?” Robert asks.
“Not really,” Dennis says, which is a shame; Robert would be excellent at asking himself out. “It’s just... I’m bad at making decisions. Because there’s a lot I don’t really understand. But you understand everything, and you always know the right thing to do.”
“Well,” Robert says, adjusting his collar, “it’s good to have it recognised.”
“So... I want to kiss you, I think.” Dennis shifts a little on his feet. “Is that... right? Is that the right decision?”
Interesting prospect. As a general rule, Robert is happy to kiss more or less anyone whose company he doesn’t dislike; he enjoys kissing, and it’s all ultimately valuable acting experience. Romantic feelings are not a prerequisite; romantic feelings are, if anything, mildly inconvenient.
However, he should probably establish exactly how much Dennis he’d be letting himself in for.
“And?” Robert asks.
Dennis frowns. “And what?”
“Well, a kiss often precedes other things,” Robert says. “Do you want a relationship? Do you want a romp in bed? Do you want to marry me and then decide I’m apparently unbearable, like certain people?”
Dennis shakes his head. “I don’t think I want to marry you yet.”
“Narrows it down, I suppose.”
“Can I just kiss you? And maybe we could date a bit more?”
Kissing, and further opportunities for Robert to talk about himself? Ideal. Dennis was an excellent listener on their practice date, or at least he was excellent at remaining quiet and allowing Robert the floor, which is the same thing.
Robert strides towards Dennis and stoops. Dennis has never tried hard enough with his height, so stooping is necessary if Robert is to kiss him.
But – no, Dennis is backing away. Did he change his mind?
“No,” Dennis says. “I said I wanted to kiss you.”
“But you don’t want me to kiss you?” Robert asks, raising his eyebrows. “Rather odd.”
“That’s fine. I think – I think I’d like that. But I want to kiss you first. I’m, um, I’m doing initiative.”
“Taking initiative,” Robert corrects him.
Dennis nods. “Initiativing.”
“Well, then,” Robert says. As much as he likes taking the lead, he is forced to concede that Dennis should probably be considered the director of his own life. “Initiate away.”
Dennis hesitates, looking up at him. “You’re really tall.”
Robert folds his arms. “And you’ll have to take the initiative to close that gap. You’ve rejected my efforts.”
“Okay,” Dennis says. “I – I can do this, I’m doing this. Um...”
He ends up spending several minutes running around the flat, gathering and stacking books. Eventually, he climbs onto the pile and kisses Robert.
It’s tentative at first, chaste, awkward. But then Dennis slips off the book pile and Robert has to catch him, neither of them breaking the kiss, and suddenly there’s a genuine heat to it; it catches Robert by surprise.
“Oh, wow,” Dennis says at last, breaking away. He sounds a little breathless, as indeed he should. “That was great. Um, I might need more time to think about it, but... maybe I’d be interested in the bed stuff you mentioned as well?”
“The romp in bed?” Robert asks. “You know I meant sex, don’t you? I’m not talking about using the mattress as a trampoline.”
Dennis gives him an impressively scathing look. Maybe the man has some acting skills after all. “Of course I know it’s sex. I’m not an idiot.”
“Right,” Robert says. “So long as we’re clear.”
Dennis fidgets with his sleeves for a moment.
“Jumping on the mattress sounds like fun too, though,” he says.
Robert shrugs. “No reason we can’t do both.”
Problem-Solving, Robert/Jonathan
“Right.” Chris flips the whiteboard over. “For our next play, I thought we could consider—”
The words die on his lips as he registers what’s on the whiteboard. Robert’s bold, unmistakeable handwriting covers the surface, forming phrases like TELEPHONIC INTERCOURSE and GLORY HOLE? and OPEN-MINDED CARPENTER ON SITE. There are stick-figure diagrams that, although they may be slightly difficult to decipher, certainly appear at least mildly obscene.
“Robert,” Chris says, staring at the whiteboard. “What...?”
“Oh, just some brainstorming,” Robert says. “You can erase it if you’d like. Keep the illustration in the top left; I’m rather proud of that one.”
Chris is afraid to ask. He thinks he might have to. “Brainstorming what, exactly?”
“Ah,” Jonathan says, “I don’t think we need to—”
“Sexual intercourse with Jonathan,” Robert says, talking over him.
“Oh, right.” Sandra nods. “Yes, that is an issue.”
Chris, against his better judgement, meets Jonathan’s deer-in-the-headlights stare. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever tried to have sex with Jonathan?” Robert asks. “It’s impossible.”
“Why – why would I have tried to have sex with Jonathan?” Chris demands.
“Oh, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Annie asks. “Don’t worry, Jonathan. I’m sure loads of people want to have sex with you.”
“Me, for one,” Robert comments. “We’ve yet to find the method. He’s always trapped behind a door or wedged in something, if he’s not in the wrong place entirely.”
“As someone who’s rather an expert on sleeping with Jonathan,” Sandra says, “I could offer some tips.”
Jonathan has buried his face in his hands.
“The main thing,” Sandra continues, “is that you have to give up on the idea of meeting specifically for dates or sex. If you schedule an encounter, he’ll never make it. And, for obvious reasons, you won’t be able to shag on stage.”
“Did you try?” Chris asks, incredulous.
“So you have to take advantage of the times you happen to be in the same place,” Sandra says. “For example, Jonathan can usually make it to rehearsals and production meetings. You’re in the same room right now; you could probably fuck if you tried.”
“That,” Robert says, “is an excellent point. Thank you, Sandra. Right, Jonathan, bend over.”
“No!” Chris exclaims.
“It would be an interesting spectacle, I’m sure,” Sandra says, “but I was thinking perhaps after the meeting. You’ll just have to make sure you don’t pass through any doors in the meantime.”
“You will absolutely have to pass through doors,” Chris growls, “because I will not tolerate my actors having sex in the playhouse. It’s indecent.”
-
“Right,” Chris says, as the meeting wraps up, “I think that’s everything. See you all at the next session.”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes and sounds of acknowledgement.
Nobody moves.
“What, do you all want to watch?” Robert asks at last.
Chris sputters for a moment in indignation. “Absolutely not! What a concept! I’m here to ensure you don’t misuse the rehearsal room; I imagine everyone else has the same concern.”
Annie shakes her head. “Nah, I’d like to watch, actually.”
Robert claps his hands together. “An audience! Excellent.”
Jonathan clears his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I... think I could do without an audience, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Annie says. “I had to try, though, didn’t I?”
“Did you?” Chris asks. “Did you really?”
“Right,” Robert says. “As our director has such an unreasonable aversion to human sexuality—”
“My reaction is perfectly reasonable, and don’t—”
“—I suppose we could attempt to go back to my place.” Robert glances at Jonathan, who gives a small nod. “If I don’t get any sex today, Chris, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Fine,” Chris says, wearily.
-
“That’s about the size of it,” Robert informs the courtroom. “I really do apologise for breaking down all those playhouse doors, but I think you’ll agree it was an emergency.”
“I absolutely understand,” the judge says. “Case dismissed.”
Strictly speaking, from a legal perspective, the case should be tried by someone impartial, but it’s fortunate that the only judge in Cornley is Jonathan’s ex-wife.
Hands-On, Robert/Vanessa
“For today’s life coaching session,” Robert says, settling in the chair across from Vanessa, “I thought we could discuss something that hasn’t previously arisen. How would you describe your love life?”
Vanessa laughs, quiet and uncomfortable. “Well. Nonexistent, I suppose.”
“Nonexistent? You’re an attractive, intelligent young woman. When did you last have a partner?”
It’s strange. Praise from Robert Grove is usually so hard to come by. But occasionally he’ll throw out a compliment, perfectly sincere and matter-of-fact, and it leaves Vanessa reeling every time. “It... well, it depends on how you define partner.”
Robert nods. “All right; when did you last have a sexual relationship?”
Right. Yes. She was afraid that might be how he’d clarify. “I... suppose it’s never happened.”
“Really?” Robert raises his eyebrows. “Hmm. The trouble is finding someone who’s worthy of your attention, I suppose. It’s a struggle I know well.”
It’s a generous assumption, and Vanessa is slightly grateful for it. “No, actually. There’s been... mutual interest, at times. But...”
She takes in a deep breath. The prospect of talking about this makes her feel like her stomach is filled with gravel. But this is an aspect of her life that’s caused her frustration for a long time; she probably should bring it up with her life coach.
“The issue is sex,” she says.
Robert nods again, solemnly. “Not a fan?”
It surprises her a little; she wasn’t expecting that possibility to cross his mind, somehow. “That’s not it. Or... not in principle, I suppose. I’d like to have sex. It’s just...” She hesitates. “There’s no script for these things, you know? It’s supposed to be... intense and spontaneous, and I – I can’t, um...”
“I see,” Robert says. “This is your improvisation issue.”
Vanessa shrugs, awkwardly. “I suppose so.”
Robert folds his hands in his lap. “Well, the first thing to remember is that there’s a script for anything if you write a script for it. I, for example, have written a script for the perfect sexual encounter.”
“Really?” Vanessa asks, startled. “But... does that work? Your partner won’t know their lines, will they?”
“I have them read it when it becomes clear that our relationship may turn sexual, obviously,” Robert says. “They’re often terrible at following direction, though; that’s always a risk. You will need to refine your improvisational skills if sex is something you’re interested in.”
Honestly, Robert’s sexual partners don’t know how lucky they are; she’d kill to have a script to follow. “And... how do I do that? I don’t really see how I can learn to improvise in sex without... well, having sex.”
“I could offer some sexual guidance, I suppose,” Robert says, sitting back in his chair. “Explain the basics, demonstrate various principles and techniques. Once you know what you’re doing, you’ll be able to approach sexual encounters with more confidence. You’re staring.”
She is, isn’t she? She feels she can probably be forgiven for that.
“Are you—” Vanessa swallows. “Are you saying I should have sex with you?”
Robert looks slightly taken aback. “What? No, obviously not. It’s a lesson. No actual sex involved.”
Of course. Of course there’s no sex involved; she’s embarrassed with herself for asking. But it still feels like there are details here that she should clarify. “You said you were going to... demonstrate techniques.”
“Well, up to a point,” Robert says. “This isn’t some sort of sordid proposition. It might be a little intimate, but nothing beyond the love scenes we’ve done on stage.”
That’s all right. That gives her an idea of what to expect: some lying on top of each other, some miming. A bit of writhing against each other, perhaps, but nothing approaching actual penetration. And, if they’re not on a stage, there’s substantially less risk that a steel beam will fall from the rigging and knock Robert out, forcing the rest of the cast to haul Vanessa out from under his unconscious body.
She hesitates, for a long moment. But eventually she nods. “I’d appreciate a lesson. Thank you.”
Appreciate is understating it; she’s desperate for a lesson. One of the reasons sex is so intimidating is the fact that there are no rehearsals, there’s no way to practise the basics in a neutral setting. You can’t ask a friend to get into that kind of intimate position with you if you’re not planning to follow through. But apparently that’s not a problem for Robert.
Honestly, she wishes sometimes that she could keep Robert in her pocket and pull him out whenever she’s uncertain. Robert’s an alarming man, in some respects, but he does love to give instructions. It’s a trait Vanessa finds reassuring; when she’s faced with a new situation, she wants nothing more than a clear blueprint for how to deal with it.
-
“Sex,” Robert says, with great authority, “is a contest to determine who is the performer and who is the audience. Amateurs go into the bedroom thinking about their own pleasure. The true honour is in being the performer: the one delivering the pleasure.”
Vanessa can barely focus on what he’s saying. They’re lying on the bed, Robert on top of her, pinning her down against the bedsheets; he’s all she can see. She feels dizzy.
They’re both fully clothed, for now. Is it going to stay that way? Is she going to be expected to strip, at some point; is he going to undress her? She can’t bring herself to ask.
“I, of course, am always in the lead role in bed,” Robert says. “However, there may be times you find yourself with a more submissive partner, so you’ll need to know something about taking control.”
He forcibly rolls them both over, so Vanessa finds herself suddenly straddling him. She doesn’t feel especially in control.
“This is a skill you’ll need if you intend to sleep with Chris, for example,” Robert says. “Or Max, or Dennis.”
“I wasn’t really planning to—”
“Chris is gay, of course, but he hasn’t realised it yet, so you might still be in with a chance if you’re interested.”
“Are – are you su—”
“At this point,” Robert says, “I recommend making a comment about your partner’s acting, calculated to arouse them.”
Vanessa blinks down at him. “How does that work?”
“Well, for instance, Chris will get worked up if you tell him his acting is dire. Dennis and Max respond better to praise. Which is a pity, because they don’t deserve it.”
That’s... some surprisingly specific sexual advice about people they know. “How do you know these things?”
“Not important,” Robert says, breezily. “This part is called foreplay, formed of the words fore and play, meaning ‘things you would do before a play’. Go on, give it a try. Tell me what you think of my acting.”
Vanessa hesitates. “What should I say?”
“In my case? Praise, naturally. You’ll need to learn to use your own judgement with each partner.”
“Yes, but... what exactly? What words should I use?”
Robert frowns a little. “I won’t always be there, you know.”
“I know,” Vanessa says, unhappily. When she attempts to have sex for real, perhaps she could pay Robert to stand in the corner and give advice. “Just... while I’m trying to get the hang of it.”
“All right,” Robert says. “Tell me I’m an excellent actor and it’s an honour to work with me.”
Vanessa relaxes at once. She’s in a scene; she knows her lines. She looks deeply into Robert’s eyes. “You’re an excellent actor, Robert. It’s an honour to work with you.”
Robert groans dramatically.
“Are you all right?” Vanessa asks in alarm.
“What? I’m fine, obviously. That was a noise of arousal. You’ll need to rehearse those; it’s very important to make them so your partner knows they’re putting on a good performance.”
“Oh,” Vanessa says, faintly. “I hadn’t realised they were so loud.”
Is he just demonstrating? Or is he genuinely aroused, here, now, underneath her? The thought is making her feel strange.
“They’re essentially the coital equivalent of applause,” Robert explains. “Alternatively, of course, you can simply applaud when you’re aroused, if you find that more comfortable. For example, if I tell you that you’re one of the best actors in the drama society, you go...?”
“Do you – do you mean that?”
“Incorrect,” Robert says. “You’re aroused, so you must make a noise of arousal. But, as it happens, I do mean that. You’re a strong actor, in spite of your issues with responding to the unforeseen, and I was extremely pleased when you joined the society. It’s an unusual pleasure to be able to pay a sincere compliment in bed.”
Vanessa can feel herself flushing, embarrassingly deeply, and her own awareness of it just makes it worse. She sits back a little, so she can applaud without losing her stability and falling face-first onto Robert.
And that’s embarrassing too, of course. She is a little aroused in this situation, feeling a little too warm, a little tight in the stomach, and clapping means she’s announcing it. Does he know there’s something real there; does he suspect? Does he have no idea?
“Very good,” Robert says. “We can work on volume, but you’ve got the principle. What else, let’s see... ah, positioning.”
“Wait.” It’s hard to speak, somehow; it’s hard to focus enough to form the words. “What if I’m sleeping with someone who isn’t an actor?”
Robert looks blank. “What?”
“You told me I should make a comment about their acting,” Vanessa says. “What if they’re not an actor? What do I say?”
“Just say how you think they’d do if they were an actor, I suppose,” Robert says. “Honestly, I recommend sticking to actors; it simplifies things. Now, are you ready for positioning?”
She’s not sure she’s ready for any of this, really. But some part of her isn’t ready for it to end, either. All she can do is nod.
“There are various sexual positions,” Robert says, “but the important thing is to choose one you can kiss comfortably in. Kissing is essential. Otherwise you might as well just be wrestling nude, which has its own appeal, naturally, but it is not sex.” He flips Vanessa briskly onto her back. “For example, when I’m on top of you like this...”
He leans down towards her, and Vanessa feels her heart stop.
“See?” Robert asks, raising his head again. “It’d be easy for us to kiss. Therefore, this is an acceptable sexual position. Is that enough for you to get on with, or would you like me to demonstrate a few more?”
She’s lightheaded; she feels insane. “Could you – a few more, maybe?”
He pulls her into his lap; he pins her against the wall; he has her straddle him on a chair. He demonstrates each time how they would kiss in that position, getting so close before pulling away, and every time there’s just one thought blocking out everything else in Vanessa’s mind: if I just moved a little, we’d be kissing for real.
And then he pulls back, and the chance is gone again.
She should have been applauding solidly for the last few minutes, really.
“Right,” Robert says, eventually. “I think that’s enough covered for now. If you want to climb off me, we can pick this up at a later date.”
Does she want to climb off him?
“That script you mentioned.” She takes a breath; it feels hard to take in enough oxygen, somehow. “For sex. Could I read it?”
Robert nods. “I could call it up on my phone, if you’d like.”
“Could we—” She’s going to say this. “Could we act it out?”
“Well, it’s fairly specific about actual sexual acts,” Robert says. “Might be tricky to keep it appropriate for a lesson. I suppose it could be an interesting test of our miming skills, but—”
Vanessa shakes her head. “No miming. Let’s just – can you—? Can we...?”
She wants, in this moment, more than she thinks she’s ever wanted anything. She wants sex; she wants Robert; she wants, above and beyond all of that, to go into her first real experience of sex with a goddamn script in her hands, and somehow she actually knows someone with the vision to have written one.
Robert looks slightly thrown. “Oh.” And, after a moment, “And you’d actually be willing to follow the script? To be honest, most people refuse to even read it.”
“Robert.” Vanessa kisses him; it’s spontaneous, unplanned, and she’s at once shocked and thrilled by herself. “It’s the only thing I want.”
Robert applauds thunderously. “Perfect. You start reading, and I’ll call Trevor in the meantime.”
He’ll – what? “You’ll... call Trevor?”
“Well, we’ll need Trevor here, obviously,” Robert says. “To operate the lighting and such. Raise and lower the curtain, you know. I suppose we’ll need to rig some sort of curtain.”
Vanessa stares at him for a very, very long moment. She’s in this deep already; how much deeper is she prepared to go? The daylight of her regular life behind her feels almost further away than the inviting darkness ahead.
“Fine,” she says at last. “Call Trevor.”
Chemistry Testing, Robert/Max
“Annie told me about this thing called shipping,” Max says. “Basically, it means that the audience want us to kiss.”
Vanessa blinks. “And, by us, you mean...?”
“Us,” Annie says. “The members of the drama society. We got a bit of an audience with all the stuff we did on the BBC. And now people think some of us should get together.”
“Some of us?” Robert echoes. “Which of us?”
“No idea,” Max says, brightly. “Me and Trevor, maybe? You remember when I kissed him in the murder mystery play?”
“Some of us wish we could forget, mate,” Trevor mutters.
Max nods. “The audience got really excited. I think that means they shipped us. That’s how it works, right, Annie?”
Annie shrugs. “Close enough.”
“Great,” Trevor says. “If this is you asking me out, the answer’s no.”
“Why are you bringing this up?” Chris asks. “If the audience want to speculate inappropriately about our personal lives, what can we possibly do about it? I suppose I could start asking them to knock it off in my pre-show speeches.”
“What, no, I thought we could lean into it,” Max says. “I thought it’d make us more popular.”
“Lean into it?” Chris asks. “It doesn’t sound to me like it’s something we’d want to encourage.”
“No, look, we could find out who people ship, right?” Max asks. “And then we could cast them as love interests, and maybe we’d get bigger audiences.”
Robert raises his eyebrows. “Could be worth a shot. Find out how, exactly?”
Max and Sandra glance at each other.
“Me and Sandra have been talking about this,” Max says.
“Our upcoming play is a romance,” Sandra says. “If we have a different pair of actors play the couple every evening, we’ll get an idea of what the audience responds best to.” She winks. “Plus it could be fun.”
“Are you mad?” Chris asks. “We have enough performance issues as it is. Do you imagine that things will go smoother if we change the casting every night?”
“We have been struggling to get the audiences in,” Annie says. “It might be worth giving them what they want.”
Chris sighs, deep and longsuffering.
“Fine,” he says at last. “But I won’t be in the rotation. If people do have opinions on what my love life should look like, I don’t think I want to know.”
-
“What’s the verdict so far?” Robert asks Annie, in the interval. She’s been talking to members of the audience each evening, gathering their opinions on the casting of the lovers in that performance.
Annie shakes her head. “I don’t think you and Max are a hit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, you’ve noticed, right? The audience is way less into your scenes than they were when Max was with Sandra. Or me, or Vanessa, or even Dennis. They just don’t seem to think you have much chemistry.”
“And what,” Robert says, bristling, “does the audience know?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what they know, does it?” Annie asks. “This whole thing’s about the audience’s opinion. If they like a casting, that’s the right casting to get people in seats, whether they’re right or not.”
“I see.” Robert folds his arms. “I suppose I’ll just have to change the audience’s opinion.”
“I mean, even if they like other people more with Max, it doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t get the romantic parts,” Annie says. “We’ve still got all the combinations with everyone else to go once we’re through with the Max ones. Maybe you and me will blow Max and Sandra out of the water.”
Robert shakes his head. “That’s no use to me if we put on a homosexual love story. I must have chemistry with everyone; it’s essential.”
“All right,” Annie says. “Show us what you’ve got, then.”
-
“Right,” Chris says, wiping EXCESS OF BEES off the board. “That’s the first half more or less covered. Now, let’s discuss the issues in the second half of the play.”
All eyes turn to Robert and Max.
“The second half was fine,” Robert says. “I think we put on a very passionate performance.”
“Too passionate, some might say,” Chris says. “You do realise that, if you two are feeling each other up centre stage, the audience won’t be paying any attention to what the other actors say?”
“Sounds like an issue with the other actors,” Robert says. “If the audience aren’t paying attention to you, it’s your responsibility to put on a more engaging performance.”
“You can’t just break from the script like—”
“We followed the script to the letter,” Robert says, indignant. “They kiss. That’s what the stage direction said. It said nothing about the manner of kiss, or how long they should kiss. That sort of thing is left to the judgement of the actors.”
“Right,” Chris says. “Well, if a kiss lasts through the next two scenes, I think you can safely assume that it’s taking too long. Max, anything to say for yourself?”
Max says nothing. He looks a little dazed.
“Max?” Chris asks, relenting slightly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Max says, gazing into space. “I’m... amazing.”
“You know,” Chris says, “I’m not sure this ‘shipping’ experiment is good for us. I’m calling a halt to the rotating cast.”
Max blinks, twice. Focuses on Chris with a sudden, startling intensity. “So that means we stick with me and Robert in the roles, right? Right?”
“No,” Sandra says, firmly, before Chris can give the same reply. “But we can have a talk with Robert about where we want to take this, all right, Max?”
“Perfect,” Chris says. “If you promise never to tell me what you mean by that, Sandra, the protagonist is yours.”
“Excuse me, where’s my bribe?” Robert asks. “Where’s my incentive not to tell you in full detail?”
And that’s how Sandra and Robert end up cast as the lovers. It’s not an especially popular combination with the audience, but some sacrifices must be made.
Rehearsals, Robert/Chris
Where are you, Robert?
Are you all right?
Sandra and Max are no surprise, but you’re usually so prompt for rehearsals.
(ACT CDXVII, SCENE I)
Oh, please don’t do this.
(Robert’s bedroom, mid-morning. The sun slants through the gap in the curtains and onto the counterpane.)
It’s such a waste of time. If you overslept, just say so.
(And, by ‘the gap in the curtains’, I mean the entire half of my window that is not covered by a curtain, on account of Dennis accidentally pulling it down.)
(This peaceful scene is interrupted by the incessant buzzing of phones.)
I’m glad you’re apparently alive, Robert, but please be aware that I am becoming less glad with every one of these messages.
mmph
I know for a fact that you do not need to write out your waking-up noises. Talk to me properly, or I am shutting off my phone.
Fine.
Apologies for my absence. Interesting night.
The next message from Robert is a photograph: a selfie, wholly unnecessary. Chris had already deduced that Robert was still in bed; he doesn’t need to see the man lying there, plainly nude under the covers, with—
Chris almost drops his phone.
Oh, God.
Is that Sandra??
Are you in bed with Sandra???
Three question marks, Chris? I think that’s a record.
Robert, did you sleep with Sandra?
Oh, God.
How could you do this to Max? Do you have any idea how the fallout from this could affect the drama society?
Why would you send me an incriminating photograph?
I’m going to delete these messages. I suggest you do the same.
For Christ’s sake, Chris, there’s no need to panic.
There is every need to panic! This is one of the worst things you’ve ever done!
Another photograph. Chris doesn’t want to look. But he finds his eyes drawn to it, all the same: to Robert and Sandra and—
And Max. Also in the bed, also apparently nude, previously obscured by the angle. Smiling and waving at the camera.
Chris is still gaping at the screen when another message comes through: Good to know you’d have been prepared to cover it up, though. A true friend. Not to Max, obviously.
“Chris? You all right?”
Chris jolts like it’s a gunshot. It’s Annie, coming up to check on him, Trevor close behind.
“I, um.” How is he supposed to have a normal conversation under these circumstances? “I’m fine, thank you, Annie.”
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Trevor asks. “Not feeling well?”
He’s not, especially. Or... he doesn’t know what he’s feeling.
“I’ve been speaking to Robert,” Chris says. “I... don’t think he’s coming.”
“Oh, no, is he okay?” Annie asks.
“He’s fine,” Chris says. “He’s still in – um, in bed. Max and Sandra...”
He tails off. Annie and Trevor exchange meaningful glances.
“They might not be coming either,” Chris says, at the same time Annie asks, “They’re with him?”
“What?” Chris asks, the moment he’s processed that. “How did you – are you saying you know about—?”
Trevor laughs, quietly. “Got to those two, did he? That’s ambitious. I thought he was just trying it with the single people.”
“He mentioned to me he might go for them next,” Annie says. “I thought he and Sandra might clash, though. He didn’t like it when I tried to top.”
Trevor snorts. “Could’ve told you that. I didn’t bother trying. Do you think he had them both roleplaying, or just the one?”
Annie laughs at that. “Oh, I hope it was both. I’d like to see that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Chris demands. “What on Earth are you saying? I know for a fact I’m misunderstanding this conversation; will you please explain it to me?”
“He hasn’t tried to shag you, then?” Trevor asks.
Annie shakes her head. “Of course he hasn’t shagged Chris! You’d know that if you thought about it for a moment.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” Trevor says. “Guess he wouldn’t’ve.”
What does—
Annie and Trevor wander back towards the others, leaving Chris standing there, stunned, his phone still in his hand.
What does that mean?
-
Robert’s the first to their Monday evening rehearsal session, as is his wont. Chris pushes open the door of the rehearsal room to find him already there.
It’s... well, it’s jarring to see him, to be honest. Since their exchange on Saturday morning, Chris has spent much of the weekend fighting off mental images of Robert and other members of the drama society that – well, that he really could have done without. Being alone in a room with him now—
It’s fine. There’s nothing strange about it; it’s a rehearsal session like any other, and that is how Chris will treat it. In fact, it’s convenient that the two of them are alone; it gives Chris the opportunity to address Robert’s unacceptable behaviour. “Must you—”
“Good evening, Chris,” Robert greets him.
“Good evening,” Chris says, a little thrown.
Robert raises his eyebrows and makes a go on gesture. Honestly, Chris almost lost his nerve with the interruption, but he supposes he’s committed to saying something now.
“Must you sleep your way through the drama society?” Chris asks. “It’s inappropriate, and it’s likely to cause... well, drama.”
“I doubt there’ll be any trouble,” Robert says. “Everyone fully understands that they’re aiding in rehearsals.”
“Rehearsals? What could you possibly be rehearsing for?”
“The performance,” Robert says, ominously.
Annie shows up then, and the opportunity to ask any more questions is lost. Perhaps that’s for the best.
-
Thursday is mainly admin-focused; it’s only Chris, Annie and Trevor who are actually supposed to be at the playhouse. But for some reason Dennis is also here, getting under Chris’s feet at every turn.
“You know you don’t have to be here, don’t you?” Chris asks at last, when he comes out of the toilets and almost runs straight into Dennis, waiting anxiously outside the door. “You don’t have to be at the playhouse at all, and you certainly don’t have to follow me everywhere.”
“Sorry!” Dennis exclaims. “I, um, I was just studying my role. I really want to do a good job.”
“Your role?” Chris echoes.
Dennis nods. “I’m playing you. In bed, you know. With Robert.”
Chris stares at him.
“For sex,” Dennis adds, helpfully.
Chris takes a few seconds to take that in, and then he whirls around and storms out of the playhouse.
-
“Ah, Chris, good evening,” Robert says, opening his door to him. “Thought you’d be at the playhouse for—”
Chris pushes past him, into the living room. Robert raises his eyebrows and shuts the door.
“Robert,” Chris says.
That’s really all he has, for the moment. On the way here, he was constantly running through what he was about to say in his head. But, now that Robert’s actually standing there, as striking and vibrant as ever, all the words seem to have abandoned him.
“What brings you here?” Robert asks. “Bringing Dennis home?”
A compassionate person might have offered Dennis a lift, rather than leaving him to navigate the quagmire of Cornley public transport. But Chris needed to speak to Robert immediately, and he needed to speak to Robert alone.
“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing,” Chris says. “I know you’ve somehow seduced half the drama society. Fine. But Dennis says you’re – he says he’s playing me, he says you’re – I need you to explain—”
“It’s a poor casting, I know,” Robert says. “Max wasn’t great, either. Trevor failed to take the role seriously, and Annie was too fundamentally different in demeanour. Sandra was a little more successful at being you, but there are physical differences that did become rather apparent in bed.”
What on Earth—
“What are you doing?” Chris demands. “What are you doing? You’re jumping into bed with everyone, you’re getting me involved as some sort of – some sort of sick power play or something, goodness knows, I can’t fathom where I come into this, given that I’m apparently the only person you don’t want in your bed—”
“Chris, I think you’ll find—”
“Were you having Max and Sandra play me at the same time? God, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. You’re showing up late to rehearsals, you’re disrespecting the drama society, you’re taking advantage of Dennis—”
“Taking advantage? He’s not a child, for God’s sake; the man’s in his mid-thirties. He approached me, if you must know.”
That brings Chris to a screeching halt.
“He approached you,” Chris repeats. “Dennis asked to have sex with you. While pretending to be me.”
“He’d noticed I was bringing various members of the drama society into my bed,” Robert says. “He expressed interest. I’m the one who asked him to play you, obviously, but he was happy enough to oblige.”
“Fine.” There’s a building pressure in Chris’s head. “Fine. Why not? Why not roleplay sex with me with Dennis, of all people?”
“Dennis would not be my first choice to depict you,” Robert says, “or indeed to depict anyone, but we must work with the talent we have.”
“And who would be your first choice to depict me?” Chris demands. In the moment, it feels like the only thing he can ask.
“Well, you,” Robert says. “Obviously.”
The pressure spills from Chris’s head into his throat, his stomach, tensing his entire body. It takes him a couple of efforts to speak. “But that’s not true, is it?”
Robert frowns. “Of course it’s true. You’re the obvious choice, from a method acting perspective.”
“Then why,” Chris says, forcing the words out, “are you sleeping with all these other people instead?”
It feels painfully vulnerable to say it. It stings that Robert’s reaction isn’t any stronger than a slight deepening of his frown. “I’ve told you already. I’m rehearsing.”
“Rehearsing for what?” Chris asks, desperately.
“What do you think, Chris?” Robert asks. “I’m having other people play you in bed. I think what I’m preparing for is fairly self-evident.”
Chris stares at him, trying to make sense of that. It’s probably only a few seconds; it feels like at least a month. “If you...”
The words slip through his fingers. He needs a moment to find his voice again.
“If you wanted to sleep with me,” Chris says at last – this can’t be real, he can’t possibly be saying this – “why didn’t you just ask me?”
“For God’s sake, Chris, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I needed rehearsals. I wasn’t going to fling myself straight onto the stage like a madman.”
“This...” Any antagonism has drained out of Chris; he’s too bewildered to be angry. Too bewildered, and too unsettled by the sudden question of where this is going, a wave rushing in from the horizon. “This isn’t how normal people go about these things. Surely you know that.”
“Normal people have no dedication. They do not understand the preparation required for a performance that will truly go down in history.”
Chris presses both hands over his face. Breathes, deeply. Tries to steady himself, tries to stop shaking. Or to shake a little less, at least.
He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this. He’s been shunted suddenly from the sense that Robert is snubbing him to the revelation that Robert apparently wants to fuck him into the history books, and that’s not really something he’s equipped to cope with.
“Jonathan’s probably the candidate best suited to the role, you excluded,” Robert is saying, apparently oblivious to the tsunami in Chris’s mind, “but sleeping with him does generally require being in the same room as him, which presents the obvious issue. Vanessa turned me down, believe it or not, but I doubt she’d be right for the part in any case.” A moment passes. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” Chris says, letting his hands fall. “I, um.”
He takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Robert’s eyes. They’re waist-deep in this conversation; there’s no way to back out of it, which means he’s just going to have to force his way through.
“I was envious, I think, when I came here.” It’s humiliating to even let himself think it; it’s worse to say it aloud. “I didn’t understand why you weren’t approaching me. But, now that that’s an actual possibility... I think I might be terrified.”
“That’s a rejection, then?” Robert asks, frowning. “A shame. I’ve practised hard for this audition.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Chris says. “I can honestly say no one has ever put more effort into—” A small, strangled laugh escapes him, startling him. “Into trying to sleep with me.”
It is a rejection. He’s saying no. Isn’t he?
“I could have another go at Jonathan,” Robert offers, “if the issue is that I need more rehearsals.”
It lands like a punch, it leaves Chris breathless. No. Robert wants to sleep with him; that’s how this whole thing started. He’s the one who should be in bed with Robert. Him. Chris. Not Jonathan.
Oh, God. This is the worst decision Chris has ever made, including the time their costumes for Cats were shipped without arm holes and Chris opted to rebrand the musical as Furry Slugs.
“No,” Chris says. “You’ve rehearsed enough. We’re doing this.”
Robert smiles broadly at that, and it’s strange how hard that hits as well; he’s smiling, he wants this, he genuinely wants Chris. “Is that so?”
“Now.” Chris moves closer to him. His heart is beating like he’s been running. “Here. Before I change my mind.”
“Now?” Robert asks. “I’ve had more rehearsals than you, you know. For a satisfactory final performance, you really should sleep with a few other members of the drama society first.”
“Robert.” Chris kisses him, at length. “Shut up.”
For once, remarkably, Robert does.
However!
wolfy_writing's prompt in the comments of this entry ('Robert's ideas for seducing every other member of the drama society') launched me into writing eight separate short fics in response, one pairing Robert of The Goes Wrong Show with each other member of the drama society. I think that's an ambitious enough project to warrant its own entry!Do these fics technically fit the original prompt? Let's... let's not worry about that.
Chris is never thrilled to stoop to comedy. But Much Ado is at least a Shakespeare; he supposes he can allow that.
It’s just not coming together in rehearsals, though. Perhaps the most crucial element of Much Ado About Nothing is the chemistry between Beatrice and Benedick, and, despite Chris’s best efforts in the role of Benedick, it simply doesn’t seem to be there. Vanessa delivers all of Beatrice’s lines faithfully, but it feels like some sort of spark is missing between them.
“It’s obvious,” Robert says, when Chris expresses his frustration. “You and Vanessa aren’t right for the roles. What we need is a recasting.”
“I’m not giving you Benedick, Robert,” Chris says, wearily.
“Fine. Give me the cast list; I’ll sort this out.”
“Only if you promise you won’t cast yourself as Benedick. I need some assurance that you’re not acting out of pure self-interest here.”
“Everything I do,” Robert says, plainly offended, “is for the sake of theatre. But I’ll make your unreasonable promise, I suppose.”
Robert draws up his proposed new cast on the rehearsal room whiteboard. Chris nearly chokes at the first line.
Well. Robert has, at least, kept his promise; Chris supposes there’s no denying that. But...
“You’ve given yourself Beatrice?”
“Trust me, Chris. I’ve made these alterations to ensure we have the most passionate performance possible.” Robert turns back to the whiteboard.
Who on Earth has he cast as Benedick? Who does Robert think will give a passionate performance opposite his Beatrice? Not Dennis, obviously. Max? Jonathan? Maybe he’s left Chris in the role; that’s a daunting prospect, but...
“The trouble with Chris and Vanessa,” Robert says, “is that they aren’t taking pleasure in the roles. Chris despises comedy, and Vanessa plays every part in the apparent belief that there’s a sniper in the wings, ready to assassinate her if she departs from the script. The role of Benedick must go to the person who would most enjoy it.”
BENEDICK: ANNIE, he writes.
Annie shrieks with excitement and punches the air.
The performance of Much Ado About Nothing cannot be said to be a success. But the original problem – that Beatrice and Benedick’s relationship wasn’t compelling enough – certainly seems to have been fixed.
Perhaps the largest issue with the play is the fact that, whenever Robert and Annie are on stage together, everyone else ends up forgetting their lines and watching them, transfixed. In their opposing roles, the two of them are trying to out-act each other with ferocious energy and escalating volume, ad-libbing new lines and entire new conversations. On multiple occasions, Beatrice and Benedick are still bickering on the stage long after the scene is supposed to have ended.
Chris finds himself oddly fascinated to see how Benedick will manage to kiss Beatrice in the final scene; Robert is a full foot taller than Annie. In the event, Annie makes an ambitious and unsuccessful attempt to sweep Robert off his feet and dip him in her arms; she drops him to the stage with an alarming crash.
Undeterred, Annie straddles Robert and kisses him passionately; Robert kisses back with slightly more passion; Annie escalates in return, and Chris desperately has to signal to Trevor to drop the curtain when clothes start coming off.
“Good morning, Chris!” Annie greets him, when she comes in the next day. They always make an early start on the second day of a run; they’ll need at least eight hours to patch up all the issues that became apparent in the first performance. “Last night was fun, wasn’t it?”
Perhaps slightly too fun for some parties. Chris clears his throat. “Should I take it that your and Robert’s relationship has, ah, deepened?”
“Deepened?” Annie echoes, hanging up her coat.
“Well, are you... are you involved?”
“Wait,” Annie says, half-laughing. “Are you asking if I’m dating Robert?”
Dating might be the euphemistic term for it. “You were rather intimate on stage.”
“Yeah, ’cause we were playing lovers,” Annie says. “You know what acting is, right, Chris?”
Chris stares at her. He knows what he saw; he will not be made to feel insane for feeling there was something odd about it. “You seemed to be enjoying yourselves rather a lot.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Annie says. “We both love acting.”
“Good morning!” Robert booms from the doorway.
“Hi, Robert!” Annie calls to him. “Chris thinks we’re dating.”
Robert laughs. “Why on Earth would he think that?”
“You felt each other up on stage!” Chris snaps. “Far beyond what the script called for! I’m not imagining things!”
“Because it was appropriate for the characters, Chris,” Robert says, with exaggerated patience.
Annie nods. “That’s what I’m trying to tell him.”
“Nothing about that was appropriate. You came barely shy of on-stage penetration.”
“Thought about it,” Annie says, reflectively. “But the trousers had to stay on, or the audience would’ve seen that Benedick didn’t have the right parts. You can’t break the suspension of disbelief like that.”
“I knew we were on the same page there,” Robert agrees. “If we swap roles for tonight’s performance, we might be able to push things further.”
Annie grins. “Sounds fun.”
“You can’t – you cannot—” Chris can barely draw breath. “You can’t use this play as an excuse to – to fornicate on stage!”
Robert frowns at him. “For goodness’ sake, Chris, it’s not an excuse. We’re simply giving an authentic portrayal of the characters.”
“Yeah, seriously, Chris,” Annie says, shaking her head. “It’s like you’ve never heard of acting.”
This, Chris concludes, bitterly, is what happens when you attempt to put on a comedy.
Sandra’s always enjoyed flirting. It’s a fun game, the playful tension of it, the ambiguity. Slipping in questions under the surface of a conversation, trying to strike the right balance of subtle and clear: where is this going? Where would you like it to go?
The trouble, in this drama society, is finding someone who’ll flirt back. Jonathan wasn’t bad at it, but that relationship has been and gone; it’s probably best not to reopen that door. Chris and Dennis wouldn’t notice they were being flirted with if their lives depended on it. Max certainly enjoys her attention, but he’s a little too clean-minded; innuendo tends to go over his head. Annie and Trevor are up for a flirt, at least, but that’s a disappointingly small proportion of the group.
And then there’s Robert.
It feels like Robert has promise. The issue is actually getting the damn man to listen to anyone other than himself; it’s hard to flirt with someone who keeps turning every conversation into a monologue. But surely she can get him to notice what she’s doing: a touch on the arm here, a wink there, the odd unnecessary adjustment of his clothing, an escalating barrage of ever-more-blatant double entendres—
“Sandra,” Robert says at last, frowning slightly, “are you trying to take me to bed?”
Sandra folds her arms. “Well, that’s no fun, is it?”
“What’s no fun? Sex?”
“You’re too direct,” Sandra says. “I thought we could have a mutually enjoyable flirtation, but no; you’ve taken all the ambiguity out of it.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Robert asks.
“Look,” Sandra says, “let’s try this: I have an acting role for you.”
Robert’s puzzled expression clears up instantly. “Ah, excellent! What’s the role?”
“You want to have sex with me.” Actually, she should probably clarify this before writing it into his role. Whatever his personal feelings, he’ll play Man Who Wants Sandra Wilkinson to the hilt if he’s asked to, sex scenes and all. She can’t say for certain that they’ll end up in a bed, but it’s a possibility she should account for. “Do you want to have sex with me, incidentally? You personally? Robert Grove?”
Robert shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t object. It’d probably be worthwhile.”
Good to know, although more enthusiasm wouldn’t go amiss. The trouble with associating with a bunch of thespians is that they all seem to value theatre above sex, whereas Sandra’s always felt the two complement each other.
“Right,” Sandra says. “Here’s your role. You want to have sex with me. But you can’t tell me that’s what you want, or you’ll explode.”
“Interesting,” Robert comments. “A little avant-garde.”
“So you have to imply it,” Sandra says. “Can you do that for me?”
“And our audience?” Robert asks.
Damn. He won’t be satisfied without one, will he? “You can film it, I suppose, if you must.”
Robert’s efforts at flirtation, under the constraints of his new role, are certainly spirited, even if he’s inexperienced with the indirect approach. When he strays a little too far into innuendo, he starts screaming and panicking that he’s going to explode, which does slightly impair the mood. But Sandra has fun, in the end: enough fun to bring Robert home with her after rehearsals, and that’s good fun as well.
A thought occurs to Sandra, in the aftermath, and she sits up in bed. “I said you could film this.”
“You did,” Robert agrees.
“Did you film it? Everything? Even what just happened?”
“Obviously,” Robert says. “I’m not going to leave out the dénouement.”
Sandra considers that for a moment.
“Can I watch it?” she asks.
The film is a masterpiece. They look fantastic together. Sandra has no idea why she’s never made a sex tape before.
By mutual agreement, she and Robert submit it for consideration for a BAFTA.
By mutual agreement, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts bars them from further communication.
Another Monday, another meeting of the bloody drama society. Trevor keeps telling himself that he’s going to quit; he’s never been a theatre person, and the performances don’t exactly leave him brimming with the satisfaction of a job well done. But another week has rolled around, and here he is again.
“Now,” Chris says, “before we begin this production meeting, I believe Robert has something to say about his behaviour during The Spirit of Christmas. Robert?”
Robert stands from the table, clearing his throat. “I should not have been intoxicated on set. It was embarrassing behaviour, and I owe all of you an apology, except Trevor.”
“Except Trevor?” Trevor echoes.
“Well, it’s hardly surprising, is it?” Robert asks. “You’re responsible for the set. You’re the reason there was alcohol there in the first place; you’re accountable for the faulty liquor dispenser. Really, you should be the one up here apologising, but I have nobly—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Trevor holds up his palms. “Counterargument: that is horseshit. I was working my arse off to keep the bottle out of your hands.”
Robert folds his arms. “And I think we all know what a stellar job you did there, don’t we?”
Oh, fuck this guy.
“You slammed me into a glass window,” Trevor says. “I don’t even get a sodding apology?”
“Er, well,” Chris says. “That’s the first item on the agenda out of the way, so let’s move on.”
“You summoned me to the stage?” Robert asks.
“Need to check the fit of the flying harness.” Trevor nods at the harness in question, lying spotlit in the centre of the stage. “Put that on.”
The spotlight isn’t strictly necessary, if he’s honest. Maybe spending so much time with all these bloody actors has given him a taste for drama.
Robert goes straight over and puts on the harness. He’s weirdly trusting for someone who can’t be trusted. It’d be nice if he could be that obedient all the time, but maybe he just can’t resist stepping into that spotlight.
Trevor tests the harness thoroughly before doing anything else. He’s going to be in trouble after this, one way or another, but he’s hoping for ‘people are pissed off with him’ trouble rather than ‘accidentally breaking Robert’s neck’ trouble.
Right. It all seems secure. Trevor heads into his box and hoists Robert up, leaving him dangling a few feet above the stage.
“Feels fine,” Robert reports.
“Good.” Trevor strolls back onto the stage, hands in his pockets. “Get comfortable. You could be there for a while.”
“For Christ’s sake, Trevor,” Robert says, “is the mechanism stuck again? You’re absolutely incompetent.”
“What? No. That was meant to be, like, my villain line. It doesn’t work if you don’t get it.”
“Your villain – are you keeping me suspended here on purpose?”
Trevor folds his arms. “There it is.”
“For what possible reason?” Robert demands. “Let me down this instant! I’ve got places to be, you know! People to see! Well, solo rehearsals to do, at least.”
“Here’re your lines.” Trevor pulls a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and shoves it into Robert’s hands. “You like having lines, don’t you?”
“How dare you—”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Trevor shakes his head. “That’s not in the script, is it?”
Robert bares his teeth at him.
“Look,” Trevor says, “just read it out and I’ll let you go. All right?”
Robert, glowering the entire time, smooths out the piece of paper. Scans through it. “You’re holding me prisoner for this?”
“I’d hold you prisoner for a Twix, mate,” Trevor says. “Say it and we’ll both be happy.”
“I won’t mean it, you know,” Robert says. “You’ll believe I mean it, because my pride as an actor will not allow me to deliver lines with anything other than perfect sincerity. But I won’t mean a word.”
“Fine. Say it anyway.”
Robert clears his throat. “I’m very sorry, Trevor, for being... such an arsehole on the set. You work hard for us, and I’ve never appreciated you enough. Even though every play ends up being a disaster, a large portion of which can be attributed to poor stage management, and—”
“No ad libbing,” Trevor says. “Again.”
“Oh, come on!”
“Again. I’ll keep you here all night if I have to.”
Something changes in the way Robert is staring at him; it’s as intense as before, but it feels different, somehow. He shifts a little in the harness. “I won’t say it.”
“You’re gonna,” Trevor says. “I control the stage, you know. Do you seriously not get how much power I have over you?”
Robert makes a weird noise at that; it’s almost a gulp. Is he finally starting to understand the situation he’s in?
Honestly, it feels good. Trevor’s not planning to go too mad with power, start doing this kind of thing during a play. But it’s nice to know it’s an option.
Robert gives the apology, eventually, although it’s another hour before he does. It’s weird; the anger seemed to soften out of him pretty early on. Trevor thought they were making progress; he wasn’t expecting Robert to keep dragging it out this long.
They got there in the end, though, and it felt pretty fucking fantastic to hear it. There’s a very real chance Trevor’s going to end up arrested for this, but, honestly, it might be worth it.
When Trevor lets him down, Robert approaches him, and Trevor braces himself for a punch in the face.
Robert just shakes his hand, inexplicably, and stumbles backstage on shaky legs.
Robert’s still as much trouble on the stage as ever, of course. In a way, he’s worse, constantly making demands of Trevor that are absolutely not his job. Is this supposed to be some kind of revenge?
“It’s like you’ve learnt fucking nothing,” Trevor mutters, when Robert passes him in the wings.
Robert turns a startlingly intense look on him. “I suppose you’re going to put me in my place again.”
“Thinking about it.”
“Fine. I’m free this evening.”
It startles Trevor into laughing. “I’m kidding. I’m not gonna hold you hostage every time you piss me off, y’know, or we’ll never get anything done.”
“All right. I’ll give you a Twix if you do it.”
Okay, there is definitely something weird going on here.
“Look, what’s this about?” Trevor asks. “Are you getting off on this?”
Robert coughs. “There... may be an element of sexual gratification, I suppose.”
Trevor looks at him for a moment.
“Yeah, all right, then,” he says at last.
“Robert!” Dennis rushes into their shared flat in an apparent panic. “A lady talked to me! And she said she’d seen our plays and she liked me and she thought I was cute and now we’re having a date on Saturday, I think?”
“She’d seen our plays?” Robert demands. “Did she give an opinion on the other performers?”
“Robert, I don’t know how to have a date! What do I do?”
Hmm. On the one hand, Robert would very much like to press the question. On the other, Robert has a great deal of wisdom to impart, and it is his noble duty to impart it.
“I can take you on a practice date, I suppose,” Robert says.
Dennis turns pale. “I can’t have another date! I already don’t know how to have one of them!”
“Dennis,” Robert says, firmly. “Calm down. It will be a mock date. A pretend date, so I can teach you how dating works. There will be very little pressure, because I have absolutely no expectations of you.”
“Oh,” Dennis says. “Oh, right.” A moment passes. “That sounds good.”
“To be clear in advance,” Robert says, “you will be paying for the food.”
A date is essentially a two-person play, in which the person one is dating serves simultaneously as castmate and audience. It’s a state of affairs that Robert finds gratifying, and Dennis works surprisingly well in his opposing role. As a fellow actor, of course, Dennis is dire, but he’s a receptive audience member, and that’s the more important thing when he’s sitting across the dining table.
“That was amazing,” Dennis says, as they leave the restaurant. “It was so easy. I didn’t have to talk at all.”
“You see?” Robert asks. “When you’re on a date, all you have to do is tell her all about yourself. It takes the burden of conversation off your date, and it gives her a full profile to aid in casting her partner.” He considers Dennis for a moment. “I suppose there might not be enough about you to fill a solid two hours, but feel free to talk about me if you run out of material.”
“How was your date?” Robert asks, when Dennis returns to the flat.
“It was nice,” Dennis says. “It was good. But, um, there was a problem. I think you were a problem.”
Robert nods, solemnly. “Your date couldn’t stop thinking about me, I suppose. It’s a common issue.”
“It was me,” Dennis says. “I just wanted to still be dating you instead.”
Robert raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”
Dennis nods. “It was amazing. You were really interesting. And I didn’t have to worry about talking, because you took care of all that. And I liked looking at you. Looking at her was okay, but I think your face is more interesting.”
Fascinating turn of events. Understandable, but unexpected. Robert should have considered the risk that, by being too charming and interesting on their mock date, he would end up setting Dennis’s standards too high.
“Is this a proposition?” Robert asks.
Dennis shakes his head. “Nah, ‘this’ is... a pronoun or something, I think? A proposition’s a word that tells you where things are. Stuff like ‘on’ and ‘under’.”
“Not a – look, I’m asking whether you’re inviting me to date you.”
“Oh,” Dennis says. “Maybe? I thought maybe you could help me.”
“You want me to help you ask me out?” Robert asks.
“Not really,” Dennis says, which is a shame; Robert would be excellent at asking himself out. “It’s just... I’m bad at making decisions. Because there’s a lot I don’t really understand. But you understand everything, and you always know the right thing to do.”
“Well,” Robert says, adjusting his collar, “it’s good to have it recognised.”
“So... I want to kiss you, I think.” Dennis shifts a little on his feet. “Is that... right? Is that the right decision?”
Interesting prospect. As a general rule, Robert is happy to kiss more or less anyone whose company he doesn’t dislike; he enjoys kissing, and it’s all ultimately valuable acting experience. Romantic feelings are not a prerequisite; romantic feelings are, if anything, mildly inconvenient.
However, he should probably establish exactly how much Dennis he’d be letting himself in for.
“And?” Robert asks.
Dennis frowns. “And what?”
“Well, a kiss often precedes other things,” Robert says. “Do you want a relationship? Do you want a romp in bed? Do you want to marry me and then decide I’m apparently unbearable, like certain people?”
Dennis shakes his head. “I don’t think I want to marry you yet.”
“Narrows it down, I suppose.”
“Can I just kiss you? And maybe we could date a bit more?”
Kissing, and further opportunities for Robert to talk about himself? Ideal. Dennis was an excellent listener on their practice date, or at least he was excellent at remaining quiet and allowing Robert the floor, which is the same thing.
Robert strides towards Dennis and stoops. Dennis has never tried hard enough with his height, so stooping is necessary if Robert is to kiss him.
But – no, Dennis is backing away. Did he change his mind?
“No,” Dennis says. “I said I wanted to kiss you.”
“But you don’t want me to kiss you?” Robert asks, raising his eyebrows. “Rather odd.”
“That’s fine. I think – I think I’d like that. But I want to kiss you first. I’m, um, I’m doing initiative.”
“Taking initiative,” Robert corrects him.
Dennis nods. “Initiativing.”
“Well, then,” Robert says. As much as he likes taking the lead, he is forced to concede that Dennis should probably be considered the director of his own life. “Initiate away.”
Dennis hesitates, looking up at him. “You’re really tall.”
Robert folds his arms. “And you’ll have to take the initiative to close that gap. You’ve rejected my efforts.”
“Okay,” Dennis says. “I – I can do this, I’m doing this. Um...”
He ends up spending several minutes running around the flat, gathering and stacking books. Eventually, he climbs onto the pile and kisses Robert.
It’s tentative at first, chaste, awkward. But then Dennis slips off the book pile and Robert has to catch him, neither of them breaking the kiss, and suddenly there’s a genuine heat to it; it catches Robert by surprise.
“Oh, wow,” Dennis says at last, breaking away. He sounds a little breathless, as indeed he should. “That was great. Um, I might need more time to think about it, but... maybe I’d be interested in the bed stuff you mentioned as well?”
“The romp in bed?” Robert asks. “You know I meant sex, don’t you? I’m not talking about using the mattress as a trampoline.”
Dennis gives him an impressively scathing look. Maybe the man has some acting skills after all. “Of course I know it’s sex. I’m not an idiot.”
“Right,” Robert says. “So long as we’re clear.”
Dennis fidgets with his sleeves for a moment.
“Jumping on the mattress sounds like fun too, though,” he says.
Robert shrugs. “No reason we can’t do both.”
“Right.” Chris flips the whiteboard over. “For our next play, I thought we could consider—”
The words die on his lips as he registers what’s on the whiteboard. Robert’s bold, unmistakeable handwriting covers the surface, forming phrases like TELEPHONIC INTERCOURSE and GLORY HOLE? and OPEN-MINDED CARPENTER ON SITE. There are stick-figure diagrams that, although they may be slightly difficult to decipher, certainly appear at least mildly obscene.
“Robert,” Chris says, staring at the whiteboard. “What...?”
“Oh, just some brainstorming,” Robert says. “You can erase it if you’d like. Keep the illustration in the top left; I’m rather proud of that one.”
Chris is afraid to ask. He thinks he might have to. “Brainstorming what, exactly?”
“Ah,” Jonathan says, “I don’t think we need to—”
“Sexual intercourse with Jonathan,” Robert says, talking over him.
“Oh, right.” Sandra nods. “Yes, that is an issue.”
Chris, against his better judgement, meets Jonathan’s deer-in-the-headlights stare. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you ever tried to have sex with Jonathan?” Robert asks. “It’s impossible.”
“Why – why would I have tried to have sex with Jonathan?” Chris demands.
“Oh, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Annie asks. “Don’t worry, Jonathan. I’m sure loads of people want to have sex with you.”
“Me, for one,” Robert comments. “We’ve yet to find the method. He’s always trapped behind a door or wedged in something, if he’s not in the wrong place entirely.”
“As someone who’s rather an expert on sleeping with Jonathan,” Sandra says, “I could offer some tips.”
Jonathan has buried his face in his hands.
“The main thing,” Sandra continues, “is that you have to give up on the idea of meeting specifically for dates or sex. If you schedule an encounter, he’ll never make it. And, for obvious reasons, you won’t be able to shag on stage.”
“Did you try?” Chris asks, incredulous.
“So you have to take advantage of the times you happen to be in the same place,” Sandra says. “For example, Jonathan can usually make it to rehearsals and production meetings. You’re in the same room right now; you could probably fuck if you tried.”
“That,” Robert says, “is an excellent point. Thank you, Sandra. Right, Jonathan, bend over.”
“No!” Chris exclaims.
“It would be an interesting spectacle, I’m sure,” Sandra says, “but I was thinking perhaps after the meeting. You’ll just have to make sure you don’t pass through any doors in the meantime.”
“You will absolutely have to pass through doors,” Chris growls, “because I will not tolerate my actors having sex in the playhouse. It’s indecent.”
“Right,” Chris says, as the meeting wraps up, “I think that’s everything. See you all at the next session.”
There’s a chorus of goodbyes and sounds of acknowledgement.
Nobody moves.
“What, do you all want to watch?” Robert asks at last.
Chris sputters for a moment in indignation. “Absolutely not! What a concept! I’m here to ensure you don’t misuse the rehearsal room; I imagine everyone else has the same concern.”
Annie shakes her head. “Nah, I’d like to watch, actually.”
Robert claps his hands together. “An audience! Excellent.”
Jonathan clears his throat, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I... think I could do without an audience, actually.”
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Annie says. “I had to try, though, didn’t I?”
“Did you?” Chris asks. “Did you really?”
“Right,” Robert says. “As our director has such an unreasonable aversion to human sexuality—”
“My reaction is perfectly reasonable, and don’t—”
“—I suppose we could attempt to go back to my place.” Robert glances at Jonathan, who gives a small nod. “If I don’t get any sex today, Chris, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Fine,” Chris says, wearily.
“That’s about the size of it,” Robert informs the courtroom. “I really do apologise for breaking down all those playhouse doors, but I think you’ll agree it was an emergency.”
“I absolutely understand,” the judge says. “Case dismissed.”
Strictly speaking, from a legal perspective, the case should be tried by someone impartial, but it’s fortunate that the only judge in Cornley is Jonathan’s ex-wife.
“For today’s life coaching session,” Robert says, settling in the chair across from Vanessa, “I thought we could discuss something that hasn’t previously arisen. How would you describe your love life?”
Vanessa laughs, quiet and uncomfortable. “Well. Nonexistent, I suppose.”
“Nonexistent? You’re an attractive, intelligent young woman. When did you last have a partner?”
It’s strange. Praise from Robert Grove is usually so hard to come by. But occasionally he’ll throw out a compliment, perfectly sincere and matter-of-fact, and it leaves Vanessa reeling every time. “It... well, it depends on how you define partner.”
Robert nods. “All right; when did you last have a sexual relationship?”
Right. Yes. She was afraid that might be how he’d clarify. “I... suppose it’s never happened.”
“Really?” Robert raises his eyebrows. “Hmm. The trouble is finding someone who’s worthy of your attention, I suppose. It’s a struggle I know well.”
It’s a generous assumption, and Vanessa is slightly grateful for it. “No, actually. There’s been... mutual interest, at times. But...”
She takes in a deep breath. The prospect of talking about this makes her feel like her stomach is filled with gravel. But this is an aspect of her life that’s caused her frustration for a long time; she probably should bring it up with her life coach.
“The issue is sex,” she says.
Robert nods again, solemnly. “Not a fan?”
It surprises her a little; she wasn’t expecting that possibility to cross his mind, somehow. “That’s not it. Or... not in principle, I suppose. I’d like to have sex. It’s just...” She hesitates. “There’s no script for these things, you know? It’s supposed to be... intense and spontaneous, and I – I can’t, um...”
“I see,” Robert says. “This is your improvisation issue.”
Vanessa shrugs, awkwardly. “I suppose so.”
Robert folds his hands in his lap. “Well, the first thing to remember is that there’s a script for anything if you write a script for it. I, for example, have written a script for the perfect sexual encounter.”
“Really?” Vanessa asks, startled. “But... does that work? Your partner won’t know their lines, will they?”
“I have them read it when it becomes clear that our relationship may turn sexual, obviously,” Robert says. “They’re often terrible at following direction, though; that’s always a risk. You will need to refine your improvisational skills if sex is something you’re interested in.”
Honestly, Robert’s sexual partners don’t know how lucky they are; she’d kill to have a script to follow. “And... how do I do that? I don’t really see how I can learn to improvise in sex without... well, having sex.”
“I could offer some sexual guidance, I suppose,” Robert says, sitting back in his chair. “Explain the basics, demonstrate various principles and techniques. Once you know what you’re doing, you’ll be able to approach sexual encounters with more confidence. You’re staring.”
She is, isn’t she? She feels she can probably be forgiven for that.
“Are you—” Vanessa swallows. “Are you saying I should have sex with you?”
Robert looks slightly taken aback. “What? No, obviously not. It’s a lesson. No actual sex involved.”
Of course. Of course there’s no sex involved; she’s embarrassed with herself for asking. But it still feels like there are details here that she should clarify. “You said you were going to... demonstrate techniques.”
“Well, up to a point,” Robert says. “This isn’t some sort of sordid proposition. It might be a little intimate, but nothing beyond the love scenes we’ve done on stage.”
That’s all right. That gives her an idea of what to expect: some lying on top of each other, some miming. A bit of writhing against each other, perhaps, but nothing approaching actual penetration. And, if they’re not on a stage, there’s substantially less risk that a steel beam will fall from the rigging and knock Robert out, forcing the rest of the cast to haul Vanessa out from under his unconscious body.
She hesitates, for a long moment. But eventually she nods. “I’d appreciate a lesson. Thank you.”
Appreciate is understating it; she’s desperate for a lesson. One of the reasons sex is so intimidating is the fact that there are no rehearsals, there’s no way to practise the basics in a neutral setting. You can’t ask a friend to get into that kind of intimate position with you if you’re not planning to follow through. But apparently that’s not a problem for Robert.
Honestly, she wishes sometimes that she could keep Robert in her pocket and pull him out whenever she’s uncertain. Robert’s an alarming man, in some respects, but he does love to give instructions. It’s a trait Vanessa finds reassuring; when she’s faced with a new situation, she wants nothing more than a clear blueprint for how to deal with it.
“Sex,” Robert says, with great authority, “is a contest to determine who is the performer and who is the audience. Amateurs go into the bedroom thinking about their own pleasure. The true honour is in being the performer: the one delivering the pleasure.”
Vanessa can barely focus on what he’s saying. They’re lying on the bed, Robert on top of her, pinning her down against the bedsheets; he’s all she can see. She feels dizzy.
They’re both fully clothed, for now. Is it going to stay that way? Is she going to be expected to strip, at some point; is he going to undress her? She can’t bring herself to ask.
“I, of course, am always in the lead role in bed,” Robert says. “However, there may be times you find yourself with a more submissive partner, so you’ll need to know something about taking control.”
He forcibly rolls them both over, so Vanessa finds herself suddenly straddling him. She doesn’t feel especially in control.
“This is a skill you’ll need if you intend to sleep with Chris, for example,” Robert says. “Or Max, or Dennis.”
“I wasn’t really planning to—”
“Chris is gay, of course, but he hasn’t realised it yet, so you might still be in with a chance if you’re interested.”
“Are – are you su—”
“At this point,” Robert says, “I recommend making a comment about your partner’s acting, calculated to arouse them.”
Vanessa blinks down at him. “How does that work?”
“Well, for instance, Chris will get worked up if you tell him his acting is dire. Dennis and Max respond better to praise. Which is a pity, because they don’t deserve it.”
That’s... some surprisingly specific sexual advice about people they know. “How do you know these things?”
“Not important,” Robert says, breezily. “This part is called foreplay, formed of the words fore and play, meaning ‘things you would do before a play’. Go on, give it a try. Tell me what you think of my acting.”
Vanessa hesitates. “What should I say?”
“In my case? Praise, naturally. You’ll need to learn to use your own judgement with each partner.”
“Yes, but... what exactly? What words should I use?”
Robert frowns a little. “I won’t always be there, you know.”
“I know,” Vanessa says, unhappily. When she attempts to have sex for real, perhaps she could pay Robert to stand in the corner and give advice. “Just... while I’m trying to get the hang of it.”
“All right,” Robert says. “Tell me I’m an excellent actor and it’s an honour to work with me.”
Vanessa relaxes at once. She’s in a scene; she knows her lines. She looks deeply into Robert’s eyes. “You’re an excellent actor, Robert. It’s an honour to work with you.”
Robert groans dramatically.
“Are you all right?” Vanessa asks in alarm.
“What? I’m fine, obviously. That was a noise of arousal. You’ll need to rehearse those; it’s very important to make them so your partner knows they’re putting on a good performance.”
“Oh,” Vanessa says, faintly. “I hadn’t realised they were so loud.”
Is he just demonstrating? Or is he genuinely aroused, here, now, underneath her? The thought is making her feel strange.
“They’re essentially the coital equivalent of applause,” Robert explains. “Alternatively, of course, you can simply applaud when you’re aroused, if you find that more comfortable. For example, if I tell you that you’re one of the best actors in the drama society, you go...?”
“Do you – do you mean that?”
“Incorrect,” Robert says. “You’re aroused, so you must make a noise of arousal. But, as it happens, I do mean that. You’re a strong actor, in spite of your issues with responding to the unforeseen, and I was extremely pleased when you joined the society. It’s an unusual pleasure to be able to pay a sincere compliment in bed.”
Vanessa can feel herself flushing, embarrassingly deeply, and her own awareness of it just makes it worse. She sits back a little, so she can applaud without losing her stability and falling face-first onto Robert.
And that’s embarrassing too, of course. She is a little aroused in this situation, feeling a little too warm, a little tight in the stomach, and clapping means she’s announcing it. Does he know there’s something real there; does he suspect? Does he have no idea?
“Very good,” Robert says. “We can work on volume, but you’ve got the principle. What else, let’s see... ah, positioning.”
“Wait.” It’s hard to speak, somehow; it’s hard to focus enough to form the words. “What if I’m sleeping with someone who isn’t an actor?”
Robert looks blank. “What?”
“You told me I should make a comment about their acting,” Vanessa says. “What if they’re not an actor? What do I say?”
“Just say how you think they’d do if they were an actor, I suppose,” Robert says. “Honestly, I recommend sticking to actors; it simplifies things. Now, are you ready for positioning?”
She’s not sure she’s ready for any of this, really. But some part of her isn’t ready for it to end, either. All she can do is nod.
“There are various sexual positions,” Robert says, “but the important thing is to choose one you can kiss comfortably in. Kissing is essential. Otherwise you might as well just be wrestling nude, which has its own appeal, naturally, but it is not sex.” He flips Vanessa briskly onto her back. “For example, when I’m on top of you like this...”
He leans down towards her, and Vanessa feels her heart stop.
“See?” Robert asks, raising his head again. “It’d be easy for us to kiss. Therefore, this is an acceptable sexual position. Is that enough for you to get on with, or would you like me to demonstrate a few more?”
She’s lightheaded; she feels insane. “Could you – a few more, maybe?”
He pulls her into his lap; he pins her against the wall; he has her straddle him on a chair. He demonstrates each time how they would kiss in that position, getting so close before pulling away, and every time there’s just one thought blocking out everything else in Vanessa’s mind: if I just moved a little, we’d be kissing for real.
And then he pulls back, and the chance is gone again.
She should have been applauding solidly for the last few minutes, really.
“Right,” Robert says, eventually. “I think that’s enough covered for now. If you want to climb off me, we can pick this up at a later date.”
Does she want to climb off him?
“That script you mentioned.” She takes a breath; it feels hard to take in enough oxygen, somehow. “For sex. Could I read it?”
Robert nods. “I could call it up on my phone, if you’d like.”
“Could we—” She’s going to say this. “Could we act it out?”
“Well, it’s fairly specific about actual sexual acts,” Robert says. “Might be tricky to keep it appropriate for a lesson. I suppose it could be an interesting test of our miming skills, but—”
Vanessa shakes her head. “No miming. Let’s just – can you—? Can we...?”
She wants, in this moment, more than she thinks she’s ever wanted anything. She wants sex; she wants Robert; she wants, above and beyond all of that, to go into her first real experience of sex with a goddamn script in her hands, and somehow she actually knows someone with the vision to have written one.
Robert looks slightly thrown. “Oh.” And, after a moment, “And you’d actually be willing to follow the script? To be honest, most people refuse to even read it.”
“Robert.” Vanessa kisses him; it’s spontaneous, unplanned, and she’s at once shocked and thrilled by herself. “It’s the only thing I want.”
Robert applauds thunderously. “Perfect. You start reading, and I’ll call Trevor in the meantime.”
He’ll – what? “You’ll... call Trevor?”
“Well, we’ll need Trevor here, obviously,” Robert says. “To operate the lighting and such. Raise and lower the curtain, you know. I suppose we’ll need to rig some sort of curtain.”
Vanessa stares at him for a very, very long moment. She’s in this deep already; how much deeper is she prepared to go? The daylight of her regular life behind her feels almost further away than the inviting darkness ahead.
“Fine,” she says at last. “Call Trevor.”
“Annie told me about this thing called shipping,” Max says. “Basically, it means that the audience want us to kiss.”
Vanessa blinks. “And, by us, you mean...?”
“Us,” Annie says. “The members of the drama society. We got a bit of an audience with all the stuff we did on the BBC. And now people think some of us should get together.”
“Some of us?” Robert echoes. “Which of us?”
“No idea,” Max says, brightly. “Me and Trevor, maybe? You remember when I kissed him in the murder mystery play?”
“Some of us wish we could forget, mate,” Trevor mutters.
Max nods. “The audience got really excited. I think that means they shipped us. That’s how it works, right, Annie?”
Annie shrugs. “Close enough.”
“Great,” Trevor says. “If this is you asking me out, the answer’s no.”
“Why are you bringing this up?” Chris asks. “If the audience want to speculate inappropriately about our personal lives, what can we possibly do about it? I suppose I could start asking them to knock it off in my pre-show speeches.”
“What, no, I thought we could lean into it,” Max says. “I thought it’d make us more popular.”
“Lean into it?” Chris asks. “It doesn’t sound to me like it’s something we’d want to encourage.”
“No, look, we could find out who people ship, right?” Max asks. “And then we could cast them as love interests, and maybe we’d get bigger audiences.”
Robert raises his eyebrows. “Could be worth a shot. Find out how, exactly?”
Max and Sandra glance at each other.
“Me and Sandra have been talking about this,” Max says.
“Our upcoming play is a romance,” Sandra says. “If we have a different pair of actors play the couple every evening, we’ll get an idea of what the audience responds best to.” She winks. “Plus it could be fun.”
“Are you mad?” Chris asks. “We have enough performance issues as it is. Do you imagine that things will go smoother if we change the casting every night?”
“We have been struggling to get the audiences in,” Annie says. “It might be worth giving them what they want.”
Chris sighs, deep and longsuffering.
“Fine,” he says at last. “But I won’t be in the rotation. If people do have opinions on what my love life should look like, I don’t think I want to know.”
“What’s the verdict so far?” Robert asks Annie, in the interval. She’s been talking to members of the audience each evening, gathering their opinions on the casting of the lovers in that performance.
Annie shakes her head. “I don’t think you and Max are a hit.”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, you’ve noticed, right? The audience is way less into your scenes than they were when Max was with Sandra. Or me, or Vanessa, or even Dennis. They just don’t seem to think you have much chemistry.”
“And what,” Robert says, bristling, “does the audience know?”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter what they know, does it?” Annie asks. “This whole thing’s about the audience’s opinion. If they like a casting, that’s the right casting to get people in seats, whether they’re right or not.”
“I see.” Robert folds his arms. “I suppose I’ll just have to change the audience’s opinion.”
“I mean, even if they like other people more with Max, it doesn’t necessarily mean you won’t get the romantic parts,” Annie says. “We’ve still got all the combinations with everyone else to go once we’re through with the Max ones. Maybe you and me will blow Max and Sandra out of the water.”
Robert shakes his head. “That’s no use to me if we put on a homosexual love story. I must have chemistry with everyone; it’s essential.”
“All right,” Annie says. “Show us what you’ve got, then.”
“Right,” Chris says, wiping EXCESS OF BEES off the board. “That’s the first half more or less covered. Now, let’s discuss the issues in the second half of the play.”
All eyes turn to Robert and Max.
“The second half was fine,” Robert says. “I think we put on a very passionate performance.”
“Too passionate, some might say,” Chris says. “You do realise that, if you two are feeling each other up centre stage, the audience won’t be paying any attention to what the other actors say?”
“Sounds like an issue with the other actors,” Robert says. “If the audience aren’t paying attention to you, it’s your responsibility to put on a more engaging performance.”
“You can’t just break from the script like—”
“We followed the script to the letter,” Robert says, indignant. “They kiss. That’s what the stage direction said. It said nothing about the manner of kiss, or how long they should kiss. That sort of thing is left to the judgement of the actors.”
“Right,” Chris says. “Well, if a kiss lasts through the next two scenes, I think you can safely assume that it’s taking too long. Max, anything to say for yourself?”
Max says nothing. He looks a little dazed.
“Max?” Chris asks, relenting slightly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Max says, gazing into space. “I’m... amazing.”
“You know,” Chris says, “I’m not sure this ‘shipping’ experiment is good for us. I’m calling a halt to the rotating cast.”
Max blinks, twice. Focuses on Chris with a sudden, startling intensity. “So that means we stick with me and Robert in the roles, right? Right?”
“No,” Sandra says, firmly, before Chris can give the same reply. “But we can have a talk with Robert about where we want to take this, all right, Max?”
“Perfect,” Chris says. “If you promise never to tell me what you mean by that, Sandra, the protagonist is yours.”
“Excuse me, where’s my bribe?” Robert asks. “Where’s my incentive not to tell you in full detail?”
And that’s how Sandra and Robert end up cast as the lovers. It’s not an especially popular combination with the audience, but some sacrifices must be made.
Where are you, Robert?
Are you all right?
Sandra and Max are no surprise, but you’re usually so prompt for rehearsals.
(ACT CDXVII, SCENE I)
Oh, please don’t do this.
(Robert’s bedroom, mid-morning. The sun slants through the gap in the curtains and onto the counterpane.)
It’s such a waste of time. If you overslept, just say so.
(And, by ‘the gap in the curtains’, I mean the entire half of my window that is not covered by a curtain, on account of Dennis accidentally pulling it down.)
(This peaceful scene is interrupted by the incessant buzzing of phones.)
I’m glad you’re apparently alive, Robert, but please be aware that I am becoming less glad with every one of these messages.
mmph
I know for a fact that you do not need to write out your waking-up noises. Talk to me properly, or I am shutting off my phone.
Fine.
Apologies for my absence. Interesting night.
The next message from Robert is a photograph: a selfie, wholly unnecessary. Chris had already deduced that Robert was still in bed; he doesn’t need to see the man lying there, plainly nude under the covers, with—
Chris almost drops his phone.
Oh, God.
Is that Sandra??
Are you in bed with Sandra???
Three question marks, Chris? I think that’s a record.
Robert, did you sleep with Sandra?
Oh, God.
How could you do this to Max? Do you have any idea how the fallout from this could affect the drama society?
Why would you send me an incriminating photograph?
I’m going to delete these messages. I suggest you do the same.
For Christ’s sake, Chris, there’s no need to panic.
There is every need to panic! This is one of the worst things you’ve ever done!
Another photograph. Chris doesn’t want to look. But he finds his eyes drawn to it, all the same: to Robert and Sandra and—
And Max. Also in the bed, also apparently nude, previously obscured by the angle. Smiling and waving at the camera.
Chris is still gaping at the screen when another message comes through: Good to know you’d have been prepared to cover it up, though. A true friend. Not to Max, obviously.
“Chris? You all right?”
Chris jolts like it’s a gunshot. It’s Annie, coming up to check on him, Trevor close behind.
“I, um.” How is he supposed to have a normal conversation under these circumstances? “I’m fine, thank you, Annie.”
“Jesus, what happened to you?” Trevor asks. “Not feeling well?”
He’s not, especially. Or... he doesn’t know what he’s feeling.
“I’ve been speaking to Robert,” Chris says. “I... don’t think he’s coming.”
“Oh, no, is he okay?” Annie asks.
“He’s fine,” Chris says. “He’s still in – um, in bed. Max and Sandra...”
He tails off. Annie and Trevor exchange meaningful glances.
“They might not be coming either,” Chris says, at the same time Annie asks, “They’re with him?”
“What?” Chris asks, the moment he’s processed that. “How did you – are you saying you know about—?”
Trevor laughs, quietly. “Got to those two, did he? That’s ambitious. I thought he was just trying it with the single people.”
“He mentioned to me he might go for them next,” Annie says. “I thought he and Sandra might clash, though. He didn’t like it when I tried to top.”
Trevor snorts. “Could’ve told you that. I didn’t bother trying. Do you think he had them both roleplaying, or just the one?”
Annie laughs at that. “Oh, I hope it was both. I’d like to see that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Chris demands. “What on Earth are you saying? I know for a fact I’m misunderstanding this conversation; will you please explain it to me?”
“He hasn’t tried to shag you, then?” Trevor asks.
Annie shakes her head. “Of course he hasn’t shagged Chris! You’d know that if you thought about it for a moment.”
“Oh, right, yeah,” Trevor says. “Guess he wouldn’t’ve.”
What does—
Annie and Trevor wander back towards the others, leaving Chris standing there, stunned, his phone still in his hand.
What does that mean?
Robert’s the first to their Monday evening rehearsal session, as is his wont. Chris pushes open the door of the rehearsal room to find him already there.
It’s... well, it’s jarring to see him, to be honest. Since their exchange on Saturday morning, Chris has spent much of the weekend fighting off mental images of Robert and other members of the drama society that – well, that he really could have done without. Being alone in a room with him now—
It’s fine. There’s nothing strange about it; it’s a rehearsal session like any other, and that is how Chris will treat it. In fact, it’s convenient that the two of them are alone; it gives Chris the opportunity to address Robert’s unacceptable behaviour. “Must you—”
“Good evening, Chris,” Robert greets him.
“Good evening,” Chris says, a little thrown.
Robert raises his eyebrows and makes a go on gesture. Honestly, Chris almost lost his nerve with the interruption, but he supposes he’s committed to saying something now.
“Must you sleep your way through the drama society?” Chris asks. “It’s inappropriate, and it’s likely to cause... well, drama.”
“I doubt there’ll be any trouble,” Robert says. “Everyone fully understands that they’re aiding in rehearsals.”
“Rehearsals? What could you possibly be rehearsing for?”
“The performance,” Robert says, ominously.
Annie shows up then, and the opportunity to ask any more questions is lost. Perhaps that’s for the best.
Thursday is mainly admin-focused; it’s only Chris, Annie and Trevor who are actually supposed to be at the playhouse. But for some reason Dennis is also here, getting under Chris’s feet at every turn.
“You know you don’t have to be here, don’t you?” Chris asks at last, when he comes out of the toilets and almost runs straight into Dennis, waiting anxiously outside the door. “You don’t have to be at the playhouse at all, and you certainly don’t have to follow me everywhere.”
“Sorry!” Dennis exclaims. “I, um, I was just studying my role. I really want to do a good job.”
“Your role?” Chris echoes.
Dennis nods. “I’m playing you. In bed, you know. With Robert.”
Chris stares at him.
“For sex,” Dennis adds, helpfully.
Chris takes a few seconds to take that in, and then he whirls around and storms out of the playhouse.
“Ah, Chris, good evening,” Robert says, opening his door to him. “Thought you’d be at the playhouse for—”
Chris pushes past him, into the living room. Robert raises his eyebrows and shuts the door.
“Robert,” Chris says.
That’s really all he has, for the moment. On the way here, he was constantly running through what he was about to say in his head. But, now that Robert’s actually standing there, as striking and vibrant as ever, all the words seem to have abandoned him.
“What brings you here?” Robert asks. “Bringing Dennis home?”
A compassionate person might have offered Dennis a lift, rather than leaving him to navigate the quagmire of Cornley public transport. But Chris needed to speak to Robert immediately, and he needed to speak to Robert alone.
“I want to know what the hell you think you’re doing,” Chris says. “I know you’ve somehow seduced half the drama society. Fine. But Dennis says you’re – he says he’s playing me, he says you’re – I need you to explain—”
“It’s a poor casting, I know,” Robert says. “Max wasn’t great, either. Trevor failed to take the role seriously, and Annie was too fundamentally different in demeanour. Sandra was a little more successful at being you, but there are physical differences that did become rather apparent in bed.”
What on Earth—
“What are you doing?” Chris demands. “What are you doing? You’re jumping into bed with everyone, you’re getting me involved as some sort of – some sort of sick power play or something, goodness knows, I can’t fathom where I come into this, given that I’m apparently the only person you don’t want in your bed—”
“Chris, I think you’ll find—”
“Were you having Max and Sandra play me at the same time? God, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know. You’re showing up late to rehearsals, you’re disrespecting the drama society, you’re taking advantage of Dennis—”
“Taking advantage? He’s not a child, for God’s sake; the man’s in his mid-thirties. He approached me, if you must know.”
That brings Chris to a screeching halt.
“He approached you,” Chris repeats. “Dennis asked to have sex with you. While pretending to be me.”
“He’d noticed I was bringing various members of the drama society into my bed,” Robert says. “He expressed interest. I’m the one who asked him to play you, obviously, but he was happy enough to oblige.”
“Fine.” There’s a building pressure in Chris’s head. “Fine. Why not? Why not roleplay sex with me with Dennis, of all people?”
“Dennis would not be my first choice to depict you,” Robert says, “or indeed to depict anyone, but we must work with the talent we have.”
“And who would be your first choice to depict me?” Chris demands. In the moment, it feels like the only thing he can ask.
“Well, you,” Robert says. “Obviously.”
The pressure spills from Chris’s head into his throat, his stomach, tensing his entire body. It takes him a couple of efforts to speak. “But that’s not true, is it?”
Robert frowns. “Of course it’s true. You’re the obvious choice, from a method acting perspective.”
“Then why,” Chris says, forcing the words out, “are you sleeping with all these other people instead?”
It feels painfully vulnerable to say it. It stings that Robert’s reaction isn’t any stronger than a slight deepening of his frown. “I’ve told you already. I’m rehearsing.”
“Rehearsing for what?” Chris asks, desperately.
“What do you think, Chris?” Robert asks. “I’m having other people play you in bed. I think what I’m preparing for is fairly self-evident.”
Chris stares at him, trying to make sense of that. It’s probably only a few seconds; it feels like at least a month. “If you...”
The words slip through his fingers. He needs a moment to find his voice again.
“If you wanted to sleep with me,” Chris says at last – this can’t be real, he can’t possibly be saying this – “why didn’t you just ask me?”
“For God’s sake, Chris, have you not heard a word I’ve said? I needed rehearsals. I wasn’t going to fling myself straight onto the stage like a madman.”
“This...” Any antagonism has drained out of Chris; he’s too bewildered to be angry. Too bewildered, and too unsettled by the sudden question of where this is going, a wave rushing in from the horizon. “This isn’t how normal people go about these things. Surely you know that.”
“Normal people have no dedication. They do not understand the preparation required for a performance that will truly go down in history.”
Chris presses both hands over his face. Breathes, deeply. Tries to steady himself, tries to stop shaking. Or to shake a little less, at least.
He doesn’t know how to deal with any of this. He’s been shunted suddenly from the sense that Robert is snubbing him to the revelation that Robert apparently wants to fuck him into the history books, and that’s not really something he’s equipped to cope with.
“Jonathan’s probably the candidate best suited to the role, you excluded,” Robert is saying, apparently oblivious to the tsunami in Chris’s mind, “but sleeping with him does generally require being in the same room as him, which presents the obvious issue. Vanessa turned me down, believe it or not, but I doubt she’d be right for the part in any case.” A moment passes. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know,” Chris says, letting his hands fall. “I, um.”
He takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet Robert’s eyes. They’re waist-deep in this conversation; there’s no way to back out of it, which means he’s just going to have to force his way through.
“I was envious, I think, when I came here.” It’s humiliating to even let himself think it; it’s worse to say it aloud. “I didn’t understand why you weren’t approaching me. But, now that that’s an actual possibility... I think I might be terrified.”
“That’s a rejection, then?” Robert asks, frowning. “A shame. I’ve practised hard for this audition.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Chris says. “I can honestly say no one has ever put more effort into—” A small, strangled laugh escapes him, startling him. “Into trying to sleep with me.”
It is a rejection. He’s saying no. Isn’t he?
“I could have another go at Jonathan,” Robert offers, “if the issue is that I need more rehearsals.”
It lands like a punch, it leaves Chris breathless. No. Robert wants to sleep with him; that’s how this whole thing started. He’s the one who should be in bed with Robert. Him. Chris. Not Jonathan.
Oh, God. This is the worst decision Chris has ever made, including the time their costumes for Cats were shipped without arm holes and Chris opted to rebrand the musical as Furry Slugs.
“No,” Chris says. “You’ve rehearsed enough. We’re doing this.”
Robert smiles broadly at that, and it’s strange how hard that hits as well; he’s smiling, he wants this, he genuinely wants Chris. “Is that so?”
“Now.” Chris moves closer to him. His heart is beating like he’s been running. “Here. Before I change my mind.”
“Now?” Robert asks. “I’ve had more rehearsals than you, you know. For a satisfactory final performance, you really should sleep with a few other members of the drama society first.”
“Robert.” Chris kisses him, at length. “Shut up.”
For once, remarkably, Robert does.
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“Look, what’s this about?” Trevor asks. “Are you getting off on this?”
Robert coughs. “There... may be an element of sexual gratification, I suppose.”
Trevor looks at him for a moment.
“Yeah, all right, then,” he says at last.
And I was not expecting to find Robert/Vanessa poignant, but I did, especially Vanessa yearning for a pocket Robert to confidently tell her what to do in any unfamiliar situation.
“Sex,” Robert says, with great authority, “is a contest to determine who is the performer and who is the audience.
That is... so Robert XD As is this:
“They’re essentially the coital equivalent of applause,” Robert explains.
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I can definitely see how Vanessa ended up with Robert as her life coach. She wants to be told what to do; he loves telling people what to do! It's... probably not the best decision she's ever made, but it is, in its own weird way, mutually beneficial.
Thank you so much; this is a lovely comment! I'm really glad you enjoyed these. ♥!
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These were a delightful read for a rainy Sunday <3
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Jesus leave the woman some SCALP, Robert
In the event, Annie makes an ambitious and unsuccessful attempt to sweep Robert off his feet and dip him in her arms; she drops him to the stage with an alarming crash.
AStonishingly erotic thank you
“Thought about it,” Annie says, reflectively. “But the trousers had to stay on, or the audience would’ve seen that Benedick didn’t have the right parts. You can’t break the suspension of disbelief like that.”
Annie you could've worn strap
it’s probably best not to reopen that door
Riona that was savage
When he strays a little too far into innuendo, he starts screaming and panicking that he’s going to explode
Exciting premise
“Can I watch it?” she asks.
That is very in-character...
By mutual agreement, the British Academy of Film and Television Arts bars them from further communication.
LOL
Robert goes straight over and puts on the harness. He’s weirdly trusting for someone who can’t be trusted. It’d be nice if he could be that obedient all the time, but maybe he just can’t resist stepping into that spotlight.
Well THAT tracks
“Ah-ah-ah.” Trevor shakes his head. “That’s not in the script, is it?”
Oh he's GOOD
“I’d hold you prisoner for a Twix, mate,” Trevor says. “Say it and we’ll both be happy.”
Incredible. Very stage managerial, actually
“You’re gonna,” Trevor says. “I control the stage, you know. Do you seriously not get how much power I have over you?”
Ohohohoho
Robert just shakes his hand, inexplicably, and stumbles backstage on shaky legs.
*shrieky giggle*
Robert coughs. “There... may be an element of sexual gratification, I suppose.”
Ehehehehe
“Dennis,” Robert says, firmly. “Calm down. It will be a mock date. A pretend date, so I can teach you how dating works. There will be very little pressure, because I have absolutely no expectations of you.”
Ouch
“I suppose there might not be enough about you to fill a solid two hours, but feel free to talk about me if you run out of material.”
*giggle*
“It was me,” Dennis says. “I just wanted to still be dating you instead.”
Oh noooooo
Looking at her was okay, but I think your face is more interesting.
Awwww
Dennis shakes his head. “Nah, ‘this’ is... a pronoun or something, I think? A proposition’s a word that tells you where things are. Stuff like ‘on’ and ‘under’.”
Sometimes I think you should be writing for BBC radio comedy
Dennis nods. “Initiativing.”
Amazing
He ends up spending several minutes running around the flat, gathering and stacking books. Eventually, he climbs onto the pile and kisses Robert.
This is adorable
“Jumping on the mattress sounds like fun too, though,” he says.
Robert shrugs. “No reason we can’t do both.”
Genuinely fun. I think that should be an option more often.
“Have you ever tried to have sex with Jonathan?” Robert asks. “It’s impossible.”
... I suspect it is yes
Jonathan has buried his face in his hands.
This poor man
“It would be an interesting spectacle, I’m sure,” Sandra says, “but I was thinking perhaps after the meeting. You’ll just have to make sure you don’t pass through any doors in the meantime.”
they need lube, Sandra, unless you're planning on bringing it to them
Annie shakes her head. “Nah, I’d like to watch, actually.”
Perfect!
Strictly speaking, from a legal perspective, the case should be tried by someone impartial, but it’s fortunate that the only judge in Cornley is Jonathan’s ex-wife.
ahahahahahha
But occasionally he’ll throw out a compliment, perfectly sincere and matter-of-fact, and it leaves Vanessa reeling every time.
Like it's blatantly obvious to the point of barely being a compliment, right?
Robert folds his hands in his lap. “Well, the first thing to remember is that there’s a script for anything if you write a script for it. I, for example, have written a script for the perfect sexual encounter.”
Of course you fucking have. World's most normal and neurotypical man.
Appreciate is understating it; she’s desperate for a lesson. One of the reasons sex is so intimidating is the fact that there are no rehearsals, there’s no way to practise the basics in a neutral setting. You can’t ask a friend to get into that kind of intimate position with you if you’re not planning to follow through. But apparently that’s not a problem for Robert.
It's possible people could do with more Robert in their lives.
“Sex,” Robert says, with great authority, “is a contest to determine who is the performer and who is the audience. Amateurs go into the bedroom thinking about their own pleasure. The true honour is in being the performer: the one delivering the pleasure.”
... Maybe not that much Robert.
“Chris is gay, of course, but he hasn’t realised it yet, so you might still be in with a chance if you’re interested.”
I love that this is now a Thing.
“They’re essentially the coital equivalent of applause,” Robert explains.
... I suppose they are.
It’s an unusual pleasure to be able to pay a sincere compliment in bed.
That is oddly sweet
“There are various sexual positions,” Robert says, “but the important thing is to choose one you can kiss comfortably in. Kissing is essential. Otherwise you might as well just be wrestling nude, which has its own appeal, naturally, but it is not sex.”
Robert I think you might actually be a romantic
“Robert.” Vanessa kisses him; it’s spontaneous, unplanned, and she’s at once shocked and thrilled by herself. “It’s the only thing I want.”
Perfect! So sweet!
“No, look, we could find out who people ship, right?” Max asks. “And then we could cast them as love interests, and maybe we’d get bigger audiences.”
Max! You're a genius.
Robert shakes his head. “That’s no use to me if we put on a homosexual love story. I must have chemistry with everyone; it’s essential.”
Robert must be bisexual for the SAKE OF THEATRE.
“Right,” Chris says, wiping EXCESS OF BEES off the board. “That’s the first half more or less covered. Now, let’s discuss the issues in the second half of the play.”
This board is getting a lot of play.
Max blinks, twice. Focuses on Chris with a sudden, startling intensity. “So that means we stick with me and Robert in the roles, right? Right?”
Someone enjoyed himself hah
Annie and Trevor wander back towards the others, leaving Chris standing there, stunned, his phone still in his hand.
I'm enjoying the melodrama of this one.
“The performance,” Robert says, ominously.
h my GOD
Dennis nods. “I’m playing you. In bed, you know. With Robert.”
Chris stares at him.
“For sex,” Dennis adds, helpfully.
*lies down on the floor to laugh more efficiently*
as striking and vibrant as ever
Riona buddy that is YOUR thought.
Sandra was a little more successful at being you, but there are physical differences that did become rather apparent in bed.
Well you should've thought of that before.
“He’d noticed I was bringing various members of the drama society into my bed,” Robert says. “He expressed interest. I’m the one who asked him to play you, obviously, but he was happy enough to oblige.”
Oh bless, his poor FOMO
Robert frowns. “Of course it’s true. You’re the obvious choice, from a method acting perspective.”
Once again the blindingly obvious answer
“Jonathan’s probably the candidate best suited to the role, you excluded,” Robert is saying, apparently oblivious to the tsunami in Chris’s mind, “but sleeping with him does generally require being in the same room as him, which presents the obvious issue. Vanessa turned me down, believe it or not, but I doubt she’d be right for the part in any case.” A moment passes. “Are you all right?”
Fuck him in the park, Robert, then you get the audience as well
“I don’t doubt it,” Chris says. “I can honestly say no one has ever put more effort into—” A small, strangled laugh escapes him, startling him. “Into trying to sleep with me.”
Deranged effort but effort all the same.
Oh, God. This is the worst decision Chris has ever made, including the time their costumes for Cats were shipped without arm holes and Chris opted to rebrand the musical as Furry Slugs.
*honk of unexpected laughter*