#chris bean

Here's a tiny Robert/Chris ficlet for the No One Nuts November prompt 'safeword'! The ideal prompt list for The Goes Wrong Show, frankly.

5: I hate this.

14: I wanted to see you.

24: I'm terrified.

25: How long have you been out there?!

I'm a sucker for christrev (fork found in kitchen) but would be thrilled with any pairing/character you want to write! Thanks so much, and happy writing!!

I'VE DONE IT! MUAHAHAHA!

I decided to 1. combine 14 & 25 because my brain exploded with inspiration and 2. let the little drabbles be sort of open-ended, up for interpretation.

5: I hate this.

Trevor groaned dramatically. Chris and his stupid ideas were at it again. The stage manager dragged his feet as he made his way to the dressing rooms.

“Put this on.” Chris shoved a pile of clothes in Trevor’s arms, then darted off.

“Chris, you know I hate this!” Trevor grumbled. Nevertheless, he complied, and went behind the wall of the other section of the room to put the costume on.

Miraculously, everything seemed to fit. It was much more than Trevor would ever normally put on, what with the chaps and vest and bandana and gloves. It was also way more colourful. Although, the light blue button up matched well with the red bandana. Trevor reluctantly shoved the hat on, figuring Chris would bitch about it if he didn’t.

Hearing the click of the dressing room door, Trevor walked out.

“Woah.” Trevor froze in the doorway separating the two sections of the dressing room. Chris had come in with a full fancy ancient Roman outfit on. He looked stunning. Awkward and gangly as usual, yes, but he could have been straight out of a historical reenactment. Even his hair was curled slightly.

Chris clutched the absurdly large helmet at his side a little tighter.

“Surprise?” He shrugged, giving an uneasy smile.

Trevor pulled his hat off slowly.

“Y-you—you look…” he started. “You look…”

Well, Trevor’s crush had come back tenfold. ‘Fuck it.’

14: I wanted to see you. / 25: How long have you been out there?!

The rain had not let up a minute since the early afternoon. Now that it was well into the evening, Trevor resolved to let the rain carry him off to sleep. He’d just throw on a random movie from his collection and pass out on the couch. Was it potentially going to wreck his back? Yeah, but falling asleep to rain and a movie would be worth it.

Just when Trevor had nearly decked out his couch with plenty of pillows and a warm blanket, the buzzer in his flat rang out.

“Shit!” Trevor jumped up. His foot hit the couch, which pushed it an inch. “Argh! Fuck, mate!”

He staggered to the front door and yanked it open.

“Chris?!” Trevor stared agape at his director in front of him.

Said director was soaked head to toe. His usually neat hair lay completely flat, sticking to any purchase of skin allowed.

Without thinking, Trevor pulled Chris inside, bringing him away from the rain that had been angled toward the front door.

“How long have you been out there?!” Trevor inspected Chris over, brows knitting more and more every second. “Shit, Chris, the fuck were you doing? The fuck were you thinking?”

Trevor ran for the linen closet to pull out some towels whilst keeping an eye on his director, who hadn’t yet responded. Only after Trevor had begun wrapping Chris in towels did the man speak.

“I… I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck, Chris. You don’t have to stand in the rain like a fucking movie character ‘fore you come over.” Trevor’s hands worked on autopilot, rubbing one of the towels into Chris’s hair to dry it off.

The director hummed noncommittally.

“I’m making you a cuppa and you’re not going home.”

24: I’m terrified.

“I—I’m terrified. What if something happens to you?” Trevor read out the script monotonously. He squinted at the words on the page, which started swimming this way and that.

Chris sighed from his spot downstage right. Trevor ignored it, his head already throbbing from the harsh spotlight. He quietly groaned in pain.

The director started saying something, but Trevor couldn’t make it out. He assumed Chris had just continued the scene, so Trevor read out the next line.

“I’m not dis—discerned for myself,  ‘cause I can… er… ‘cause I can… ‘fend—fend…”

A voice murmured something. Trevor tried to resume the line.

“Trevor.” Chris was right in front of him now, his voice soft and patient. The director gently pulled the script away. “Trevor. Stop. What’s wrong?”

“No, I can—I can do it.” Trevor tried reaching for the script, but the way Chris pulled it up and shielded the stage manager from the spotlight gave him a welcome reprieve.

Chris turned to instruct someone of something, and the spotlight went out. He led Trevor into the wings and out of the house. “Let me do this for you.” Chris brought Trevor into his office for a well-deserved break. “I’ll bring some tea and medicine. Don’t move.”