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stanley touches the water with his finger. nods to himself. it does work still. he smiles at the bubbly feeling, letting the water hit his hand. it's so warm. stanley's mind and body melt, not used to warmth after endless freezing corridors and cold words.
he doesn't know how they managed to afford this in the first place. he means, come on, a whole beaten down house and a jacuzzi? as a simple office worker? maybe he never did afford it. he doesn't remember much besides the rustling of grass and sunshine on his face, even if it was artificial. the narrator made a damn good imitation.
the narrator, the man, the mystery, the omnipotent being, controlling the entire complex in a snap of a finger, a puppeteer to stanley's puppet and the man who stands behind stanley's back now, hands gripping his shoulder, looking over it at the "blasted bubbly water thing". stanley leans back just a little. the narrator leans forth. both of them pretend not to notice.
stanley was always a good listener. at least people said as much. "thank you, stanley, I really needed this. you're such a good listener" or "stanley, we do need to meet up more! I really felt heard!" pointless remarks, really. stanley barely ever tuned into conversations, just nodding along. the only thing he ever listened to was orders. push this button. push that button. and stanley pushed buttons well. especially the buttons of the voice that was booming with skepticism next to stanley, shaking his shoulder.
stanley tuned back into the narrator's speech. orders wasn't exactly the only thing he listened to after all.
"now, stanley, this is just ridiculous! it looks like its boiling! stanley, are you trying to kill me? boil me ALIVE?" the narrator throws his hand up with the exclamation, but it lands right back down, fingers tapping and dancing on stanley's shoulder. "you are truly evil, you know. I should have never let you out of The Stanley Parable, look how dangerous you are! stanley, you- wh- what are you doing-"
stanley tilted his head to the side, unbuttoning his shirt. what did the narrator mean?
"well, stanley, you are being highly indecent right now, what rating are you trying to earn my game!?"
the narrator's spluttering forced a chuckle and a roll of stanley's eyes. the narrator seemed to pause at that, but only for a split second that no normal person would be able to notice. good thing stanley wasn't exactly a normal person.
[not a game anymore. do you want me to get into the jacuzzi in my office uniform?]
"now that would be very nonsensical, stanley."
exactly. so stanley continued, button by button, interrupting the narrator's rant. which kept going anyway. seemed to be even more fast paced and blabbery. hm. stanley popped another button open, narrator's speech entering his brain, swimming down, down, into his arms, running through his veins faster than blood. that's what powered his system. that's what kept his gears turning, heart beating, fingers unbuttoning more and more, until the last one.
the narrator's fingers, forgotten on stanley's shoulder twitched. so lost in his ranting he forgets his physical form.
stanley looks at the narrator and motions at the hand with his eyes. the narrator stares back at him before following stanley's gaze. an "oh" and the hand flinches away like it's been burned. stanley's shoulder does burn, like a claim pressed tightly into his skin. oh, the wonder of not so human touch.
he lets the shirt slide off. then go the pants. the narrator isn't looking. a strained chord tightens in stanley's chest. he clears his throat.
the jacuzzi is angelically skin melting, punching a soft sigh out of stanley as he lowers himself into it. he dips his hair into the water, slicking it back with his hand. same hand he extends to the narrator, which earns him a flabbergasted look.
"stanley, are you actually being serious right now? you want me, me, in this bloody thing, well that's just laughable, really."
the hand lingers in the air.
"you aren't seriously suggesting I just dive into this- this- pathetic pool?"
fingers open up more.
the narrator grumbles under his nose.
takes the hand.
"well this is just stupid, stanley, it really is. how do you expect me to-"
the hand pulls him closer, making him lean down. finds the collar of his shirt and tugs softly. trails down to the buttons of his suit.
and the process starts again.
for the first time in (actual) forever, it's quiet, save for popping of buttons. one. another. the narrator's eyes watch stanley's wet fingers, undoing his suit, running over the fabric. a long string pulled taut, buzzing pressure building, building, never ending building. the end is never the end after all.
narrator's hands lean onto the side of the jacuzzi, stanley's elbow resting on top of it, infinitely far. another button. once more. stanley can swear neither of them are breathing. stanley can swear their breathing is too loud.
the orchestra swells. eyes connect and a sharp exhale wheezes out of one of them. the suit is no longer on the narrator's shoulders.
they stare. the narrator's eyes leave phantom scratches as they trail down stanley's face, down to his lips. stanley wishes he would be a normal person, the likes that would not notice narrator's mouth opening slightly.
stanley has experienced many explosions, knows them down to the feeling of his skin ripping apart, the air sizzling with electricity before the final blow. this is not one. this is the feeling of his fingers leaving the "ON" button, solidifying his fate. something snapping in the air.
he shudders and he blames it on the wind. the narrator leans forth. stanley pulls back.
countdown start.