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Narrator wasn't weak. Far from it, in fact. He could hold himself in a fight (presumably), he was well aware of just how much control he had as the omnipotent being in charge of this reality, and his storytelling skills were possibly the best all around. Narrator was hands down the most powerful entity in his plane of existence… So why exactly was he currently being ordered around by his own creation, and worse, why was he liking it? Well…he's powerful, not perfect.
Stanley was a stubborn man, the Narrator's best mistake. If he wanted something, the Narrator would have to wrangle him like a toddler, either attempting to redirect him or hoping he'll become bored and wander over to something else.
Far worse was when Stanley was curious about something, and nothing would satisfy him but it, and worse further was when it involved the Narrator himself.
He could handle the bucket (a lie), he could handle his frankly disturbing obsession over the broom closet (another lie), but when it involved the Narrator himself, Stanley was particularly insufferable. His pestering about his current obsession wouldn't stop wherever they went, and if for a second he thought Stanley had moved on, he would be proven wrong immediately when the man would bring the story to a full stop again just for his own curiosity. When he discovered the Narrator had his own room, it's like nothing else entered his mind past it, perhaps getting a sick enjoyment out of his frustration. After a handful of runs, his insufferability paid off and the Narrator reluctantly let him explore his room.
And when he finally satisfies him, the cat with the cream, it's a few blissful minutes before Stanley finds another tree to bark up. After the initial victory faded away, the memory seemed to sink and resurface as a request to look at his journals. And the cycle starts anew.
He knew it was only a matter of time after entering a romantic relationship (another consequence of Stanley's own curiosity) till he wanted more. Till he picked up the scent of another secret and tore into the Narrator, teasing, driving him mad, until he finally revealed his own hand.
Narrator also wasn't “ordered around”. That was his job after all. Though something about giving up his part, his identity, and something about switching places for a second was… irresistible. Stepping down from his pedestal to be treated as equal, like he couldn't enact brutal consequences upon the protagonist if he wanted to. He couldn't help but entertain his own desire whenever Stanley would pull him, shove him, or manhandle him, because it was an action he knew thoroughly from his time as the Narrator yet never experienced the other end of.
And of course, within days of himself finally recognizing this, Stanley caught on.
It had started with an experimental pull into his space, it had led to being tugged by his tie around the parable like a damn dog, and this rabbit hole of Stanley's seemed to spiral all the way down to his room, with him lying with a wild flush on the bed and awaiting the will of the insatiable man in front of him. Insatiable is one of the best words to describe Stanley, he noted. Insatiable, meant to describe something that isn't satisfied no matter what it gets or much it gets, much like what the infinite hole was meant to be, much like what Stanley wasn't supposed to be. Perhaps there was a mixup between the codes of the two.
Stanley looks down on him from where he's straddling the Narrator's waist, smugly noting the heavy breathing from the storyteller when he's above him like this. When he's below him like this. “When were you planning to tell me about this?” Stanley asks, slightly tilting his head with mock innocence. Narrator attempts to slowly breathe to hide how embarrassingly out of breath he is, which only results in much more condemning long, shaky exhales. How could he act so casually, as if he wasn't putting the Narrator in one of the most shameful situations he could possibly think of; one where he's not in control.
“I- I beg your pardon?” He cringes inwardly. That word. Beg. Narrator didn't beg. Stanley clearly had other opinions though, bringing a hand underneath his chin to tilt it up to him. The throbbing below his belt is difficult to ignore, though he's sure Stanley is well aware by now of his situation. That was supposed to be his thing, knowing exactly what was going on with Stanley, but nothing felt normal right now.
Stanley smiles without amusement, a displeased gleam in his eyes. “You could at least be honest by now, but that's fine I guess,” His hand falls from his chin and grabs his tie, pulling him closer. His sharp grin grows with pleasure. “It only makes it more fun for me.”
Stanley didn't bother sliding his slacks all the way down, simply undoing his buckle and pulling down his boxers enough so his heavy cock would fall out atop Narrator's bottom lip. Narrator isn't exactly sure why he lets it rest there, like some sort of slut, instead of pushing off the protagonist like he definitely wants to. “Look at you, not whining and bickering for once. Have any idea why that is?” Narrator doesn't open his mouth, shame closing off his throat. “Still not there yet?” He clicks his tongue. “Real shame…” Stanley grins devilishly afterwards, silently saying that he'd get what he wanted. He always did.
Stanley sighs, impatient as ever. “We've been here long enough. Open.” He ordered. Narrator refused, pursing his lips for emphasis. Stanley fixes him with a stare, patiently waiting for the other man to back down. The grin fell, sending a small shiver up the Narrator's back. “Hurry up.”
He can't tell if he's so horny he's lightheaded or if he was about to throw up, but regardless, his stomach turns as he parts his lips and slowly opens his mouth. Stanley's sick grin stretches his features, meeting his eyes with a satisfied look. Of course it wouldn't be enough, but Narrator still couldn't help being somewhat grateful to satiate him momentarily. It was entirely humiliating, waiting for him to push in, sitting like a whore with his mouth open. Stanley wouldn't take mercy, of course, and instead took in the view of the storyteller..
“You're acting so strange today, Narry. If I didn't know better…” He tilts his head teasingly. “I'd say you're into this.” Narrator retorts, before he's cut off by Stanley finally pushing inside his mouth, entering into the warm, wetness with a groan.
Stanley waits, and that short, agonizing moment is almost worst than if he just immediately started fucking his mouth like he proceeded to a few seconds later.
He hates this, oh, how he hates this. No, he isn't harder than he's ever been in his life, and he certainly isn't moaning around his cock like some common bitch. Narrator is better than that. What else was he supposed to do, truly, when Stanley was looking down at him with those piercing eyes, somehow mocking his internal monologue.
The bastard bites his lip lightly, speeding up in pace and as if it couldn't get worse, Stanley pants out “You-mh, you look so fucking hot right now.” Narrator widens his eyes in disbelief, then narrows them. He did not like how his stomach flipped at that, or the small noise that he let out. “You love this, don't you? I-I know you, I've seen you lately Narry. If you just admit you like this kinda thing, I could treat you exactly the way you want…” God was that tempting. Having Stanley treat him like some common whore all night long. For one night, not to be the Narrator, but just his toy. “Just say the word, and you'll get what you want. No use being stubborn…” But he couldn't let up, not now. He could still keep his pride, even underneath him, swallowing his cock. Narrator hoped his small whines and moans sounded like rejections, and not like he was enjoying it. Which he wasn't.
“...”
Stanley pulled out of his mouth, keeping stony eye contact, exact emotions undeterminable. Narrator didn't exactly feel disappointed, but if Stanley backed off now, leaving him like this, then he swears he'll-
“S-Stanley!” Stanley's hand had been slowly drifting down without his knowledge, and now slid under his slacks and wrapped around his dick. “You-” He bites his tongue in an attempt to keep all the profanities (and worse, praises) from escaping his mouth.
Stanley slowly pulled him out of his pants, smiling knowingly as the flush from the wait continued to spread down his neck and across his ears. Narrator doesn't say aloud any of the thoughts in his head, begging him to move, to stop staring, to fuck him already. He simply sits back and watches helplessly, hoping the drunk look in his eyes was enough to convince him. Or at least to make him forget his original purpose.
Stanley simply tilts his head, waiting. When the Narrator's hips stuttered forward, searching for long awaited pleasure, his other hand shot out to hold them down, not breaking eye contact. 'Bastard.’ Narrator wouldn't let himself do this, wouldn't give in just like that for something like this. His morals were stronger than that, his pride even stronger. He can stand this. He can wait this out. Even Stanley's patience has to run thin at some point.
. . .
Stanley can see it in his eyes, resolution fading from the initially hardset determination that had filled him, like always. ‘'So much for that.” Stanley lightly teases in his head, unheard to the Narrator, whose head was thrown back onto the pillows, heavy panting sending his chest up and down. The hand around his cock occasionally twitched slightly, a finger accidentally moving up or palm tightening, and, among other things, this was keeping him rock hard in his hands for the past few minutes. His cock was already beading at the tip, shivering slightly when a drop of pre ran down his length.
Stanley would get exactly what he wanted, with his tried and true method of bothering the Narrator till he gave in. He knew what exactly the Narrator wanted, and could do everything he's been longing for, but what good would that do him? Beyond the simple pleasure of watching the Narrator enjoy himself? No, no, what he truly loved is to see the Narrator admit it, confess his shame for what he'd describe as 'an embarrassing human desire’. And after enough humiliation deserved, allow himself to indulge.
So he could wait. He could be patient.
Narrator couldn't hold out for long, even if he'd never admit it. The thought of keeping him waiting like this, for hours… that'll have to be for another time.
. . .
A small, shaky noise leaves the Narrator, and Stanley turns back to him expectantly.
“...How long are you going to do this for Stanley? I don't think you really want this enough to ignore your own satisfaction.” Stanley ignores this obvious attempt at manipulation. “Come on, I know you're just as pent up as I am.” He wasn't entirely wrong. Besides the obvious turn on of having your partner's cock in your hand, the sweet desperation on his face was wonderful, too wonderful for his tightened slacks apparently.
He needed a little more motivation. That's fine. We're all due it. “See? Told you, didn't I? Glad you could finally realize that.” His smugness fades away as Stanley's other hand travels down his own pants, and wraps around himself. “You're…what on Earth are you doing, Stanley?
“Think about it,” He pauses for effect as his hand travels up and down his cock. “If I come before you make up your mind, I won't be able to fuck you like you want.” He looks down at the Narrator's straining erection. “Neither of us want that, so…” He continues jerking off, the hopeless look in the other's face as the realization dawns is more than enough to get off successfully.
A few minutes pass, the Narrator switching between staring down the protagonist (as if that would be enough for Stanley, world class grudge holder) and avoiding his eyes like the plague. As the first taste of orgasm licks at his groin, shown in the light fluttering of his eyelashes, Narrator's hand lifts up and halts his own.
For a moment, nothing is said between the two as the Narrator visibly tries to work out his words. Stanley considers continuing his motions, before the Narrator grumbles “What exactly do you want?”
“Admitting you like being manhandled will do. Tell me exactly what you want from me.” Stanley watches the cogs turn in his head, weighing desires over pride. Two human sins fighting over the other…oh how far he's fallen.
Narrator looks at the corner of his room, fixed on not acknowledging the smug expression Stanley was wearing. “Bastard.” He forces himself to speak, spitting out the words before he loses the nerve. “I will admit that this human form likes to be… moved around by you.”
“Controlled, maybe?” He snarks.
Narrator glares. “Some might call those words…fitting enough. Or manhandled, in your own lacking terms.” Stanley waits, wanting one last thing. “And when it comes to our times in bed, I would not be against you doing such to me.”
…
“Goddamnit Stanley, yes, I'd like it-”
Stanley meets his lips eagerly, finally having his full and finally ready to give Narrator his. “Does intercourse always have to be this tedious with you?” Narrator's lips are quickly taken again, opening for Stanley's tongue to press in. He pushes back into the other with just as much eagerness, running a hand through the brown locks at his nape, where Stanley always shivered without fail. The protagonist gets payback by drifting a hand softly over the raging erection the other was still sporting, savoring how he choked into the kiss.
Right before he thinks his lips will be bruised, Stanley pulls away to whisper between the two of them “I dunno, are you always this stubborn?”
“Oh, says you!” Narrator cries in annoyance, despite clearly enjoying the hands spreading over his chest, pulling off his shirt. “I'd like to have intercourse for once-”
“For god's sake, just say sex.”
Narrator rolls his eyes. “Tch, yes Stanley, I'd like to have sex for once without you being the absolute imp you are!” Stanley just chuckles, unbuttoning his own shirt slowly for the others eyes to watch reverently.
“You know you love it.” Yes, unfortunately, he did. He loved everything about this; being fucked by Stanley, that is. He loves when the other finishes stripping and barely waits for him to finish tugging his own pants off his ankles before pushing him down on the mattress. He loves how he strokes his cock just enough to be maddening while stretching him, not knowing which to love more in the moment, the fingers stretching him open with practiced precision or the hand rubbing his tip and spreading the quickly amounting precum to the rest of his cock. He loved Stanley taking all of this from him, moving him for his ease, nothing beyond a quick look to check for comfortability. He loved Stanley.
His bleary eyes shot open when he felt himself being turned around roughly, his face pushed into the pillow and his cock pressed up against the mattress, rubbing against the sheet pleasurably. He turned around, adjusting his skewed glasses just in time to see Stanley position his cock and push into him.
A shocked moan falls out, partly at the lewd sight of Stanley entering him and the almost uncomfortable stretch. Like Stanley didn't prepare him enough on purpose, to savor the small hiss he let out as he continued to press in. After what seemed like an eternity, Stanley's base met the Narrator's skin.
Narrator had managed to keep a closed lid on all the groans amounting in his throat, but that ended as soon as Stanley realized. “Come on,” He pulled out and snapped his hips sharply, tearing a cry out. “You asked for this, you wanted this, and you're not even gonna show me how much you enjoy it?” He leaned over and bit down at the soft flesh where the neck met his shoulder, further satiated by the metallic tang that met him almost as much as he was by the low groan that rang out immediately. “There we go. So lenient today, aren't you?” Narrator would've told Stanley just how lenient he was feeling about the delete button, but the thought was swiftly erased with the next rough thrust rocking him back into the pillow.
He fucked like the world was ending, and as a small tear left him, it almost felt like it was. It was one of his good qualities, still railing him into the bed like it was their first heated time. Somehow even then, he knew all of the Narrator's small ticks. How if you rubbed his hips slowly he'd make the sweetest purring sounds in the back of his throat, or if you bit at the one special spot right below where his throat started, his hips would stutter and thrust up uselessly. Times like these reminded him of how painfully human he'd been made, how he was wrapped around Stanley's finger now, as he teased and fucked every last thought out of his mind.
Narrator couldn't keep the thought of shame in his head as he clawed at the pillow he was clutching, desperately trying not to grind into the mattress like his shaking hips clearly wanted to. Shame wasn't here in these sheets, thanks to the sweet relent of Stanley's mischief. He could almost accept this desire of his. Almost.
“S-Stanley, harder!” He whined, despite the pace that was almost certainly going to render him immobile for the next few hours.
It was at his next shaky moan that Stanley briefly pulled out, ignoring the begging whine that followed him, as he twisted Narrator's body around again to face him, where he was greeted by a wonderful sight.
Narrator's self consciousness had rapidly decreased as it did whenever they had sex, but this had to be the quickest it had ever left him. There's some steep competition, sure, but the dirty noises shamelessly coming out of the man’s parted lips and the way his eyes were hazily on the verge of crossing… Yeah, the Narrators never living this down, that's for certain. Most days, this would be when Stanley drops the roughness and fucks him with all the comforts and sweet nothing's he could think of whispered to him till they were done. But of course, today isn't like most days.
“Snap your fingers if it hurts or you need me to stop.” With those ominous words, Stanley slowly wrapped his hands around the others neck, watching transfixed as veins jumped when his fingers made their way to connect. Narrator made a stuttered noise of shock, blocked by the growing pressure around his air pipes. Stanley’s cock twitched inside him, and they both moaned, Narrator's being more garbled. As his throat tightened, Stanley's eyes gleamed with sadistic glee. All thoughts escaped his brain as Stanley fucked him harder and faster, shifting his hips as if searching for something.
“You like this? Fucking pervert, can't even deny it…” Stanley says this with a grimace, holding back his orgasm in favor of watching the other fall apart first.
“M-nh-'' Only nonsense could be babbled out, cut off by groans and such. The pace was brutal, the mattress creaking and groaning underneath the two. Narrator gasped for breath, stars blinking in the corner of his vision, ridiculously turned on. His cock weeped precum, like a drooling puppy, and it was clear to see he was desperately close after all the teasing. As Stanley’s hand routinely loosened and tightened just enough to keep his consciousness just barely tied to his fucked out body, Narrator wondered why on earth he didn't just tell Stanley to begin with. Clearly it must've all been worth it anyway, he thought to himself, as Stanley finally found the bundle of nerves.
“F-fuck Stanley, harder, god, harder!” He rasped out, throat raw from moaning and choking. Oh, he hoped this wouldn't affect his narration later on. His hands dragged red lines down the others back, pleasure too much for his body to handle, jumping out at any and all nerve endings.
Stanley’s cock nailed on his prostate dead on over and over again, drawing out lewder and more degenerate noises he'd never thought he'd hear in all of his wildest dreams. “Who would've thought that the big bad Narrator moaned like a total slut, huh?” A sharper thrust punched an obscene groan out of the older man, which accompanied by the mattress’s complaints made a quite wonderful euphony. “I wouldn't have, but I guess I was wrong.” He brought one hand down to jack off his dripping cock, tightening his hand around his throat one last time. All the sensations rang around his head like bells, writhing as he tried to thrust back on his dick and grind into his hand at the same time pathetically. His whole body tightened up, ready to release. Giving one last hard thrust, Stanley released into him and bit down hard, right next to the other purpling mark.
As he felt the odd warmth spread inside him, Narrator finally shuddered through an orgasm, seeing white as he came between both of their chests. Aftershocks powered through his body as the hand against his throat finally let up. Stars danced in his vision as his eyes rolled up, and he let out one last low, ragged whine.
And promptly passed out.
. . .
Narrator awoke to the warmth of covers around him, and warm, moist towelette around his aching throat. Blinking away the sleep, he reached a hand out to his neck, flinching away as he touched the fresh hickeys that had formed. God that burned, damn Stanley-
The whole ‘night’ (time is a suggestion here) came rushing back to him with that thought and the light sting of the bite. A hot flush came over his body remembering the…less than composed way he acted. The perverted things he let Stanley do, what would the man think of him now? He acted so pathetic, he'd be lucky if Stanley had even a morsel of respect left for him. Worse, how he practically fainted at the end…
“Overthinking?” Stanley walked into the room, holding two steaming cups, one with lemon tea and the other with oversweetened coffee. He placed the cup of tea in his hands, letting him cradle the warmth as he sat down beside him, watching him knowingly as he sipped his own disgustingly sweet caffeine. Narrator gulped down the hot drink, soothing his abused throat from… god, he didn't even want to say it. “You do it every time, you know.”
Narrator scoffed, despite the panic unsubtly flooding his voice. “I do not pass out every time. First time, last time, never again -”
“No, no, not that. Don't worry though, I haven't forgotten about that.” He grinned impishly at Narrator’s immediate fluster, stopping the angry rant by continuing. “You get all embarrassed after sex. You're overthinking it, and whatever you're making up, it isn't true.” He moved next to the Narrator, resting his head on his shoulder and nosing his face into his neck. He felt him smile against his neck. “It's fine to be a total masochistic freak.” He pressed a kiss against the hickey, bringing a shocked gasp out of the Narrator. Despite the initial burn, it faded into pleasure as Stanley kissed both bites, gently, like an animal licking its wounds.
He lets Stanley mouth at the marks a bit longer, before pulling the man off before he got too aroused to even look back. “I'd love to continue this, but at least let me finish my tea.” Stanley sighed at that, but relented his attacks. “Surprised you're not the one stopping this to drink your… cream with a hint of coffee.” He cuts himself off with a yelp as Stanley flicks him on the neck.
Stanley chuckles as he sips his coffee, eyeing him over the rim. “Hmm, thought you liked it rough?”
Narrator set down his cup with a loud clatter, doing the same with Stanley’s. Pulling the man over by his tie, he connected their lips passionately. He bit and tugged at his bottom lip, pushing him against their pillows. “I hope you like it rough too, cause it's about time someone shut you up.”