Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-22 11:42 am
rionaleonhart) wrote2026-04-22 11:42 am
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Adaptability (The Goes Wrong Show, Robert/Chris/Robert)
I have written a lot of stupid bullshit for this fandom, but this is the stupidest bullshit yet, and I apologise.
Title: Adaptability
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 15
Pairing: Robert/Chris, Robert/Robert, Robert/Chris/Robert
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: “In the end,” Robert says, “I concluded that I was also the most qualified person to play Juliet. Therefore, I have decided to summon myself from an alternate universe.”
Chris will occasionally allow Robert to take the directorial reins for a production, with a token show of protest; it helps to keep him under control. On this occasion, Robert has chosen Romeo and Juliet: a little overplayed, but they won’t have to pay for the rights, at least, and Chris can’t complain about that.
“Right,” Robert says. “The next matter on the agenda is casting. I will be playing Romeo, of course, but choosing a Juliet has been trickier.”
Sandra and Annie both sit forward a little.
“In the end,” Robert says, “I concluded that I was also the most qualified person to play Juliet. Therefore, I have decided to summon myself from an alternate universe.”
Of course he has. Chris doesn’t know why he expected anything else.
-
Chris was expecting the presence of two Roberts in the drama society to be a nightmare. It certainly increases the volume and aggression of their sessions, and it’s unfortunate that Robert can now give both of the lead roles to himself.
But, in some ways, it’s actually easier to handle than one Robert. The two Roberts draw each other’s ire to the point where there’s none left for the rest of them, like a pair of lightning rods made of lightning.
It’s strange. Robert usually spends so much time focused on Chris, criticising his every move; it’s an enormous pain. Now that Robert’s attention is taken up by someone else, though, Chris finds he almost misses it.
“Are you going back to your own universe after the play?” Chris asks the other universe’s Robert, after one rehearsal session. He’s come to think of this one as the spare Robert. It feels like it would be a bad idea to say that aloud.
“Is that hope I hear in your voice?” the spare Robert asks. “There’s still going to be one of me here, so you can’t let your standards slip in my absence.”
“I’m aware, believe me.” The thought of being left entirely Robertless is simultaneously tempting and disconcerting; there would be less friction in preparing for performances, certainly, but a part of Chris feels that it would be dull. “Out of curiosity, are there any particular differences between your universe and ours?”
The spare Robert shrugs. “Our drama society is a more cohesive unit, for one thing. More competent.”
“Bollocks,” Robert calls across the room. “I specifically chose a universe that was identical to this one.”
“Well,” Chris says, letting a small smile flicker across his face, “I suppose there’s one crucial difference that might affect your view of our competence: Robert is currently directing.”
“How dare you?” both Roberts demand.
Chris had thought it might be strange, spending time with another version of Robert, someone who’s simultaneously familiar and a stranger. It just feels like speaking to Robert, for better or worse.
-
“Chris.” It’s some Robert or another, hurrying across the playhouse car park towards him. “A word, please.”
“Which Robert are you?” Chris asks.
“The original, obviously,” Robert says, affronted. “The one from this universe. The Romeo. Look at the eyes, Chris.”
The other Robert refused to change his hair or beard to make himself more distinguishable. Robert eventually bought a pair of striking, ice-blue contact lenses for him, then became envious and demanded one himself. One Robert now wears a contact in his left eye, one in his right. To be honest, Chris struggles to remember which is which.
“I need to talk about Juliet’s actor,” Robert says. “He’s absolutely unreasonable.”
Chris takes a moment to double-check the facts in his mind. “He’s you.”
“He’s a nightmare. They’re both lead roles; who cares if Romeo has a few more lines?”
“He’s demanding Romeo?” Chris asks.
“Incessantly. It’s ridiculous.”
“If they’re equally good roles,” Chris says, “couldn’t you agree to switch with him, just to shut him up?”
“What are you talking about?” Robert demands. “Absolutely not.”
No surprise there. “Threaten to give Sandra the part instead, then.”
Robert shakes his head. “He’ll see through it. He knows very well that he’s the perfect person for the role, but he’s being very difficult about it.”
To be honest, it’s satisfying to see Robert get a taste of what Chris has to suffer through in every production. “Perhaps you could strike a bargain with him.”
“I’ve tried,” Robert says. “He’s not interested in food or sex or money. Well, he’s interested, but he’s more interested in the lead.”
Not much to be done; that’s about all the Robert-wrangling tips Chris can—
Wait. “Could you repeat that?”
“Hm?” Robert asks.
“What did you say you bargained with?”
“I suppose you’re wondering about the sex, are you?”
Chris clears his throat. “That... was indeed the part I was wondering about, as it happens.”
“It had the potential for success, I thought,” Robert says, “but there were certain insurmountable obstacles.” He tilts his head, considering Chris. “You might be able to help, actually.”
“What?” Chris asks. “No. What? No.”
“What do you mean, no? You haven’t even heard what the issue is yet.”
Chris has the sudden, vivid sense that he’s strapped into a slowly climbing rollercoaster. “I don’t think I need to. I don’t – I don’t think there’s any possible way I can help with... with that. Let’s just move on, let’s... look, the weather’s been interestingly mild; let’s just discuss that instead.”
“The trouble is that we’re both sexually dominant people, of course,” Robert says. “It makes it very difficult to find a mutually satisfactory arrangement. The plug and the socket are incompatible, so to speak.”
There’s a heat spreading under Chris’s collar. His clothes are uncomfortable, suddenly; he’s far too aware of everything he’s wearing. “I beg you to stop talking about this.”
“In that situation, what do you need?” Robert asks. “An adaptor. A sexual go-between, a means to make a physical connection without connecting directly.” And then he adds the most ominous sentence Chris has heard in his life: “Which is where you come in.”
Chris stares at him. Trying, with limited success, to keep breathing.
“Have you ever heard of spitroasting?” Robert asks.
-
“Jesus Christ,” Trevor says. “What’d you say?”
“I said that I had heard of spitroasting,” Chris says, “and that I hoped he was using the term in a culinary sense.”
Trevor shakes his head. “Nah, I mean... how’d you turn him down? I bet he was a pain about it.”
Chris takes a breath and hesitates. He should just make an ambiguous noise, move things swiftly along.
But somehow he’s still hesitating, and Trevor’s expression is shifting from amused curiosity to something closer to amused horror.
Oh, God. He knows.
“Chris,” Trevor says.
“Please don’t...” What is he going to say? Please don’t judge me? Of course Trevor is going to judge him; frankly, Chris deserves it.
He’d thought he was going to say no. He’d been so sure he was going to say no. He still can’t say for certain what glitch occurred in his brain, what fuse burnt out, what mental safeguard failed him at such a critical moment. All he remembers is looking at Robert, his mouth dry and his head swimming, picturing—
Well.
“Chris,” Trevor says. “Seriously?”
“I wasn’t going to talk about this,” Chris says, miserably. “This was just supposed to be an anecdote about Robert being absurd.”
“You think you’re gonna fuck two Roberts and get to stay quiet about it?” Trevor asks, raising his eyebrows. “No way. You’re telling me everything.”
“I am absolutely not telling you everything. I will tell you no more than is appropriate for polite conversation.”
“Think we’re already past that,” Trevor says. “How was it?”
Chris considers that.
“Loud,” he says.
Trevor snorts. “I bet.”
A moment passes.
“So why’d you do it?” Trevor asks. “I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna bend over just so Robert doesn’t have to deal with himself complaining.”
Chris shifts, uncomfortably. “Do we have to discuss this?”
“Just curious, y’know. Was this just a wild night, or are you gonna get married to two Roberts and build a house in the countryside?”
Chris shakes his head. “I doubt marriage is on the cards. The Roberts mainly seemed interested in each other. I... honestly, I might as well not have been there.”
“But you did get fucked,” Trevor says. It’s a question.
“I did get fucked,” Chris concedes, hating the way the words feel in his mouth. “But I wasn’t their focus. I...” How has it reached the point where he’s saying these things? “I was an object, essentially.”
“And that bothers you,” Trevor says, clearly fascinated.
Chris glares. “Oh, I’m sorry, does it sound desirable? Do people traditionally want to be objects?”
“You don’t spend much time online, do you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Sorry,” Trevor says. “I’m not laughing at you for having a bad time. Just, you know, it’s interesting that you want Robert to want you.”
Does he want Robert to want him? Chris’s head is a mess; it seems impossible that what’s going on inside him could be phrased so simply. He wants to deny it. He’s not sure if he can.
“I’m not so sure I did have a bad time,” Chris says, reluctantly. “That might be part of the problem.”
It takes Trevor a moment to respond to that. “Yeah?”
Chris is horrified by himself, suddenly. “Sorry, I – I shouldn’t be talking about this, I – this is absolutely inappropriate, I’m so sorry for making you listen to—”
“Chris,” Trevor is saying. “Chris, calm down. You know I’m the one who asked, right?”
Chris shakes his head, fiercely. “I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. I shouldn’t have let myself get into that situation, and, if I did, I certainly should have kept it to myself.”
“Chris,” Trevor says, “the world’s not gonna end ’cause you talked about sex. How the hell did you end up with a Robert in both ends if you can’t even discuss this stuff?”
Chris winces. “Do you have to phrase it like that?”
Trevor shrugs. “Gotta phrase it somehow. If you’re into Robert, y’know, rather you than me, but maybe you should just talk to him.”
The thought of talking to Robert about this is, frankly, horrifying. “What on Earth would that achieve?”
“Better sex, for one thing,” Trevor says. “Or some kind of actual relationship, if that’s what you want. God knows why you would.”
“I sincerely doubt Robert wants to hear any sort of... of expression of interest from me.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance he’s interested in you?” Trevor asks. “Both of him fucked you.”
He wishes Trevor wouldn’t speak quite so bluntly. “I... I happened to be there. I was convenient.”
“Maybe,” Trevor says. “I don’t think he’d’ve asked just anyone.”
It unsettles Chris, the breathless, anticipatory way that thought makes him feel. There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there?
“It’s our one you’re into, right?” Trevor adds. “Not the other one?”
“I don’t... I don’t know,” Chris says. “They’re both Robert, aren’t they?”
He hadn’t been thinking, when they were... involved, in terms of his Robert or some other Robert. It was just Robert, everywhere, intense and overwhelming.
“Well, if you’re going for one of ’em, go for ours,” Trevor says. “We don’t wanna lose you to some other universe.”
-
Robert’s Romeo and Juliet is certainly passionate, if nothing else. The two Roberts kiss at length, with an intense, fierce physicality, on rather more occasions than the script strictly calls for; it makes Chris feel a little strange. The audience, who have naturally assumed that identical twins are involved, seem concerned.
“A successful production,” Robert announces afterwards, slinging an arm around Chris’s shoulders.
It sends a shiver through Chris’s entire body; he’s embarrassed by himself. “I suppose we made it to the curtain, at least.”
“Any interest in a private celebration?” Robert asks. The Robert of this universe; it’s a lot easier to tell them apart when they’re in costume.
This feels like an opportunity to talk about his feelings. But Chris would strongly prefer not to talk about his feelings; he’d much rather go home and have a cup of tea, or... or say yes and get fucked and not have to think about anything.
“When you say private,” Chris says, “do you mean just us, or will you be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there. I’m the one suggesting it.”
“No, I mean – I mean the other you.”
“I thought that went without saying,” Robert says. “That’s the purpose behind your presence. You’re the adaptor.”
“I see,” Chris says. It’s hard to say whether he’s disappointed or not. It means he’s likely to end up feeling ignored again, but two Roberts – that was an intense experience, and one he can’t entirely bring himself to turn down. “Just... making sure.”
“Why are you so keen on making sure he’s there?” Robert asks, frowning. “You’re not interested in the other Robert, are you?”
It occurs to Chris, suddenly, that there might be a way to get Robert to pay more attention to him after all.
“I suppose perhaps I am,” he says. “There’s something rather attractive about him, isn’t there? Something compelling.”
Robert’s frown deepens. “He’s an insufferable arsehole.”
“He’s you,” Chris points out. “And you’re attempting to arrange sex with him right now.”
“That does not invalidate the point. Why would you be interested in him? We’re the ones with all that history between us.”
“He has exactly the same history with me, doesn’t he?” Chris asks. “You said he’s from an identical universe.”
“Yes, well. Not you, really, is it? He’s got his own Chris already; it’s not fair if he has you as well.”
Chris has been the full focus of Robert’s attention before, but never quite as intensely as he feels in this instant. It’s a strange experience, thrilling and frightening at once. “The heart wants what the heart wants, as they say.”
“I’m better in bed, you know,” Robert says.
“You’re exactly the same person.”
“I am. I’ll prove it to you.”
Breathing is taking an increasingly conscious effort. Chris looks straight into Robert’s mismatched eyes and chooses his words with care. “We’ll see.”
-
The second Robert returns to his own universe the next morning, which is probably just as well; Chris isn’t sure he’d survive another night like the one before. Being in bed with two Roberts who saw him as a means to an end was emotionally difficult. Being in bed with two Roberts who were competing over him...
Well, ‘physically difficult’ might be the phrase. Walking is going to be interesting for a while. Chris leans uncomfortably against Robert’s bathroom wall, watching Robert remove his contact lens in the mirror.
“You’re not going to follow the other me back to his universe, are you?” Robert asks, washing his face. “You won’t hear me say this twice, but we do need you here.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Chris says. “I prefer to stay securely at home. Besides, I doubt he’d be interested in me.”
Robert fixes Chris with an incredulous look. “You don’t think we’re interested in you? Both of us fucked you.”
Oh. Well. It’s possible that Trevor may have had a point.
“Trevor said the same thing,” Chris admits.
Robert’s eyes widen. “Two of Trevor fucked you?”
“No, I—” What? “No, I didn’t mean that—”
“Were we better?” Robert asks. “It was better with us, wasn’t it? Hold on; I’ll call Trevor up and get him over here, and we can compare—”
“Robert,” Chris says. “No. Please don’t take this as a negative comment on your performance, but I don’t think I want any more sex for at least a week.”
“Oh,” Robert says. “Fair enough, I suppose. Shall we provisionally pencil some in for next Saturday? You’re all right with kissing in the meantime?”
Chris stares at him. Robert just looks back, with no apparent awareness that he might have said anything of particular significance.
“Robert,” Chris says, carefully, “are we in a relationship?”
Robert shrugs. “I assume so. Why not?”
They look at each other for a moment longer.
Chris swallows, wets his lips. “Kissing is fine, I suppose.”
“Excellent,” Robert says. “I’ll ask Trevor if he’s available on Saturday.”
Chris shakes his head. “Let’s... let’s not worry about that for now.”
Title: Adaptability
Fandom: The Goes Wrong Show
Rating: 15
Pairing: Robert/Chris, Robert/Robert, Robert/Chris/Robert
Wordcount: 2,700
Summary: “In the end,” Robert says, “I concluded that I was also the most qualified person to play Juliet. Therefore, I have decided to summon myself from an alternate universe.”
Chris will occasionally allow Robert to take the directorial reins for a production, with a token show of protest; it helps to keep him under control. On this occasion, Robert has chosen Romeo and Juliet: a little overplayed, but they won’t have to pay for the rights, at least, and Chris can’t complain about that.
“Right,” Robert says. “The next matter on the agenda is casting. I will be playing Romeo, of course, but choosing a Juliet has been trickier.”
Sandra and Annie both sit forward a little.
“In the end,” Robert says, “I concluded that I was also the most qualified person to play Juliet. Therefore, I have decided to summon myself from an alternate universe.”
Of course he has. Chris doesn’t know why he expected anything else.
Chris was expecting the presence of two Roberts in the drama society to be a nightmare. It certainly increases the volume and aggression of their sessions, and it’s unfortunate that Robert can now give both of the lead roles to himself.
But, in some ways, it’s actually easier to handle than one Robert. The two Roberts draw each other’s ire to the point where there’s none left for the rest of them, like a pair of lightning rods made of lightning.
It’s strange. Robert usually spends so much time focused on Chris, criticising his every move; it’s an enormous pain. Now that Robert’s attention is taken up by someone else, though, Chris finds he almost misses it.
“Are you going back to your own universe after the play?” Chris asks the other universe’s Robert, after one rehearsal session. He’s come to think of this one as the spare Robert. It feels like it would be a bad idea to say that aloud.
“Is that hope I hear in your voice?” the spare Robert asks. “There’s still going to be one of me here, so you can’t let your standards slip in my absence.”
“I’m aware, believe me.” The thought of being left entirely Robertless is simultaneously tempting and disconcerting; there would be less friction in preparing for performances, certainly, but a part of Chris feels that it would be dull. “Out of curiosity, are there any particular differences between your universe and ours?”
The spare Robert shrugs. “Our drama society is a more cohesive unit, for one thing. More competent.”
“Bollocks,” Robert calls across the room. “I specifically chose a universe that was identical to this one.”
“Well,” Chris says, letting a small smile flicker across his face, “I suppose there’s one crucial difference that might affect your view of our competence: Robert is currently directing.”
“How dare you?” both Roberts demand.
Chris had thought it might be strange, spending time with another version of Robert, someone who’s simultaneously familiar and a stranger. It just feels like speaking to Robert, for better or worse.
“Chris.” It’s some Robert or another, hurrying across the playhouse car park towards him. “A word, please.”
“Which Robert are you?” Chris asks.
“The original, obviously,” Robert says, affronted. “The one from this universe. The Romeo. Look at the eyes, Chris.”
The other Robert refused to change his hair or beard to make himself more distinguishable. Robert eventually bought a pair of striking, ice-blue contact lenses for him, then became envious and demanded one himself. One Robert now wears a contact in his left eye, one in his right. To be honest, Chris struggles to remember which is which.
“I need to talk about Juliet’s actor,” Robert says. “He’s absolutely unreasonable.”
Chris takes a moment to double-check the facts in his mind. “He’s you.”
“He’s a nightmare. They’re both lead roles; who cares if Romeo has a few more lines?”
“He’s demanding Romeo?” Chris asks.
“Incessantly. It’s ridiculous.”
“If they’re equally good roles,” Chris says, “couldn’t you agree to switch with him, just to shut him up?”
“What are you talking about?” Robert demands. “Absolutely not.”
No surprise there. “Threaten to give Sandra the part instead, then.”
Robert shakes his head. “He’ll see through it. He knows very well that he’s the perfect person for the role, but he’s being very difficult about it.”
To be honest, it’s satisfying to see Robert get a taste of what Chris has to suffer through in every production. “Perhaps you could strike a bargain with him.”
“I’ve tried,” Robert says. “He’s not interested in food or sex or money. Well, he’s interested, but he’s more interested in the lead.”
Not much to be done; that’s about all the Robert-wrangling tips Chris can—
Wait. “Could you repeat that?”
“Hm?” Robert asks.
“What did you say you bargained with?”
“I suppose you’re wondering about the sex, are you?”
Chris clears his throat. “That... was indeed the part I was wondering about, as it happens.”
“It had the potential for success, I thought,” Robert says, “but there were certain insurmountable obstacles.” He tilts his head, considering Chris. “You might be able to help, actually.”
“What?” Chris asks. “No. What? No.”
“What do you mean, no? You haven’t even heard what the issue is yet.”
Chris has the sudden, vivid sense that he’s strapped into a slowly climbing rollercoaster. “I don’t think I need to. I don’t – I don’t think there’s any possible way I can help with... with that. Let’s just move on, let’s... look, the weather’s been interestingly mild; let’s just discuss that instead.”
“The trouble is that we’re both sexually dominant people, of course,” Robert says. “It makes it very difficult to find a mutually satisfactory arrangement. The plug and the socket are incompatible, so to speak.”
There’s a heat spreading under Chris’s collar. His clothes are uncomfortable, suddenly; he’s far too aware of everything he’s wearing. “I beg you to stop talking about this.”
“In that situation, what do you need?” Robert asks. “An adaptor. A sexual go-between, a means to make a physical connection without connecting directly.” And then he adds the most ominous sentence Chris has heard in his life: “Which is where you come in.”
Chris stares at him. Trying, with limited success, to keep breathing.
“Have you ever heard of spitroasting?” Robert asks.
“Jesus Christ,” Trevor says. “What’d you say?”
“I said that I had heard of spitroasting,” Chris says, “and that I hoped he was using the term in a culinary sense.”
Trevor shakes his head. “Nah, I mean... how’d you turn him down? I bet he was a pain about it.”
Chris takes a breath and hesitates. He should just make an ambiguous noise, move things swiftly along.
But somehow he’s still hesitating, and Trevor’s expression is shifting from amused curiosity to something closer to amused horror.
Oh, God. He knows.
“Chris,” Trevor says.
“Please don’t...” What is he going to say? Please don’t judge me? Of course Trevor is going to judge him; frankly, Chris deserves it.
He’d thought he was going to say no. He’d been so sure he was going to say no. He still can’t say for certain what glitch occurred in his brain, what fuse burnt out, what mental safeguard failed him at such a critical moment. All he remembers is looking at Robert, his mouth dry and his head swimming, picturing—
Well.
“Chris,” Trevor says. “Seriously?”
“I wasn’t going to talk about this,” Chris says, miserably. “This was just supposed to be an anecdote about Robert being absurd.”
“You think you’re gonna fuck two Roberts and get to stay quiet about it?” Trevor asks, raising his eyebrows. “No way. You’re telling me everything.”
“I am absolutely not telling you everything. I will tell you no more than is appropriate for polite conversation.”
“Think we’re already past that,” Trevor says. “How was it?”
Chris considers that.
“Loud,” he says.
Trevor snorts. “I bet.”
A moment passes.
“So why’d you do it?” Trevor asks. “I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna bend over just so Robert doesn’t have to deal with himself complaining.”
Chris shifts, uncomfortably. “Do we have to discuss this?”
“Just curious, y’know. Was this just a wild night, or are you gonna get married to two Roberts and build a house in the countryside?”
Chris shakes his head. “I doubt marriage is on the cards. The Roberts mainly seemed interested in each other. I... honestly, I might as well not have been there.”
“But you did get fucked,” Trevor says. It’s a question.
“I did get fucked,” Chris concedes, hating the way the words feel in his mouth. “But I wasn’t their focus. I...” How has it reached the point where he’s saying these things? “I was an object, essentially.”
“And that bothers you,” Trevor says, clearly fascinated.
Chris glares. “Oh, I’m sorry, does it sound desirable? Do people traditionally want to be objects?”
“You don’t spend much time online, do you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Sorry,” Trevor says. “I’m not laughing at you for having a bad time. Just, you know, it’s interesting that you want Robert to want you.”
Does he want Robert to want him? Chris’s head is a mess; it seems impossible that what’s going on inside him could be phrased so simply. He wants to deny it. He’s not sure if he can.
“I’m not so sure I did have a bad time,” Chris says, reluctantly. “That might be part of the problem.”
It takes Trevor a moment to respond to that. “Yeah?”
Chris is horrified by himself, suddenly. “Sorry, I – I shouldn’t be talking about this, I – this is absolutely inappropriate, I’m so sorry for making you listen to—”
“Chris,” Trevor is saying. “Chris, calm down. You know I’m the one who asked, right?”
Chris shakes his head, fiercely. “I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. I shouldn’t have let myself get into that situation, and, if I did, I certainly should have kept it to myself.”
“Chris,” Trevor says, “the world’s not gonna end ’cause you talked about sex. How the hell did you end up with a Robert in both ends if you can’t even discuss this stuff?”
Chris winces. “Do you have to phrase it like that?”
Trevor shrugs. “Gotta phrase it somehow. If you’re into Robert, y’know, rather you than me, but maybe you should just talk to him.”
The thought of talking to Robert about this is, frankly, horrifying. “What on Earth would that achieve?”
“Better sex, for one thing,” Trevor says. “Or some kind of actual relationship, if that’s what you want. God knows why you would.”
“I sincerely doubt Robert wants to hear any sort of... of expression of interest from me.”
“You don’t think there’s any chance he’s interested in you?” Trevor asks. “Both of him fucked you.”
He wishes Trevor wouldn’t speak quite so bluntly. “I... I happened to be there. I was convenient.”
“Maybe,” Trevor says. “I don’t think he’d’ve asked just anyone.”
It unsettles Chris, the breathless, anticipatory way that thought makes him feel. There’s something wrong with him, isn’t there?
“It’s our one you’re into, right?” Trevor adds. “Not the other one?”
“I don’t... I don’t know,” Chris says. “They’re both Robert, aren’t they?”
He hadn’t been thinking, when they were... involved, in terms of his Robert or some other Robert. It was just Robert, everywhere, intense and overwhelming.
“Well, if you’re going for one of ’em, go for ours,” Trevor says. “We don’t wanna lose you to some other universe.”
Robert’s Romeo and Juliet is certainly passionate, if nothing else. The two Roberts kiss at length, with an intense, fierce physicality, on rather more occasions than the script strictly calls for; it makes Chris feel a little strange. The audience, who have naturally assumed that identical twins are involved, seem concerned.
“A successful production,” Robert announces afterwards, slinging an arm around Chris’s shoulders.
It sends a shiver through Chris’s entire body; he’s embarrassed by himself. “I suppose we made it to the curtain, at least.”
“Any interest in a private celebration?” Robert asks. The Robert of this universe; it’s a lot easier to tell them apart when they’re in costume.
This feels like an opportunity to talk about his feelings. But Chris would strongly prefer not to talk about his feelings; he’d much rather go home and have a cup of tea, or... or say yes and get fucked and not have to think about anything.
“When you say private,” Chris says, “do you mean just us, or will you be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there. I’m the one suggesting it.”
“No, I mean – I mean the other you.”
“I thought that went without saying,” Robert says. “That’s the purpose behind your presence. You’re the adaptor.”
“I see,” Chris says. It’s hard to say whether he’s disappointed or not. It means he’s likely to end up feeling ignored again, but two Roberts – that was an intense experience, and one he can’t entirely bring himself to turn down. “Just... making sure.”
“Why are you so keen on making sure he’s there?” Robert asks, frowning. “You’re not interested in the other Robert, are you?”
It occurs to Chris, suddenly, that there might be a way to get Robert to pay more attention to him after all.
“I suppose perhaps I am,” he says. “There’s something rather attractive about him, isn’t there? Something compelling.”
Robert’s frown deepens. “He’s an insufferable arsehole.”
“He’s you,” Chris points out. “And you’re attempting to arrange sex with him right now.”
“That does not invalidate the point. Why would you be interested in him? We’re the ones with all that history between us.”
“He has exactly the same history with me, doesn’t he?” Chris asks. “You said he’s from an identical universe.”
“Yes, well. Not you, really, is it? He’s got his own Chris already; it’s not fair if he has you as well.”
Chris has been the full focus of Robert’s attention before, but never quite as intensely as he feels in this instant. It’s a strange experience, thrilling and frightening at once. “The heart wants what the heart wants, as they say.”
“I’m better in bed, you know,” Robert says.
“You’re exactly the same person.”
“I am. I’ll prove it to you.”
Breathing is taking an increasingly conscious effort. Chris looks straight into Robert’s mismatched eyes and chooses his words with care. “We’ll see.”
The second Robert returns to his own universe the next morning, which is probably just as well; Chris isn’t sure he’d survive another night like the one before. Being in bed with two Roberts who saw him as a means to an end was emotionally difficult. Being in bed with two Roberts who were competing over him...
Well, ‘physically difficult’ might be the phrase. Walking is going to be interesting for a while. Chris leans uncomfortably against Robert’s bathroom wall, watching Robert remove his contact lens in the mirror.
“You’re not going to follow the other me back to his universe, are you?” Robert asks, washing his face. “You won’t hear me say this twice, but we do need you here.”
“You don’t have to worry,” Chris says. “I prefer to stay securely at home. Besides, I doubt he’d be interested in me.”
Robert fixes Chris with an incredulous look. “You don’t think we’re interested in you? Both of us fucked you.”
Oh. Well. It’s possible that Trevor may have had a point.
“Trevor said the same thing,” Chris admits.
Robert’s eyes widen. “Two of Trevor fucked you?”
“No, I—” What? “No, I didn’t mean that—”
“Were we better?” Robert asks. “It was better with us, wasn’t it? Hold on; I’ll call Trevor up and get him over here, and we can compare—”
“Robert,” Chris says. “No. Please don’t take this as a negative comment on your performance, but I don’t think I want any more sex for at least a week.”
“Oh,” Robert says. “Fair enough, I suppose. Shall we provisionally pencil some in for next Saturday? You’re all right with kissing in the meantime?”
Chris stares at him. Robert just looks back, with no apparent awareness that he might have said anything of particular significance.
“Robert,” Chris says, carefully, “are we in a relationship?”
Robert shrugs. “I assume so. Why not?”
They look at each other for a moment longer.
Chris swallows, wets his lips. “Kissing is fine, I suppose.”
“Excellent,” Robert says. “I’ll ask Trevor if he’s available on Saturday.”
Chris shakes his head. “Let’s... let’s not worry about that for now.”