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My Candyman	By : LoonyLucifer Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 13234 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chap 1 // Razzle Dazzle
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Rating: NC-17
Author: Lucifer
Notes: Here we meet a new ‘character’ I guess you could say.
Additional Warning: Charlie is still around ten years old, he’s going to be portrayed in sexual situations with Mr. Wonka. :P
~*~
That night the entire family was more tired than they could ever remember being though for once it wasn‘t from hunger. The excitement had thoroughly worn the Buckets out, right down to the three old grandparents who had to be pushed along in their equally old bed. Charlie thought it was pleasantly hilarious how Mr. Wonka had been trying to show them things all day that they could never (or at least refused) to do, such as cross a tightrope of licorice or ride on the backs of giant honey bee shaped flying vehicles in a meadow of gigantic flowers, and it frustrated him to no end. He had flitted about them atop his bee insisting that they’d never taste anything quite like the sweet honeyed nectar in each flower and the only way to do so was to climb aboard another of these bees and fly up there. Charlie could see the temptation in their expressions and imagined their mouths drooling more than a few times, but still they’d refused any physical activity. Mr. and Mrs. Bucket and their son were a different case however, and for that Mr. Wonka seemed grateful.
His enthusiasm for everything was overwhelming, so much so in fact, that by the end of the day Charlie had forgotten that any other place but the factory had ever existed at all.
All too soon he felt exhausted, something Mr. Wonka picked up on rather quickly, and announced to the lot that it was time to visit the stars and Sandman. “To bed, to bed!” he exclaimed, shooing them into the elevator once more, just as zealously as ever. The man must never get tired, Charlie thought. He’d learned a great deal about the factory that day, though mostly only getting a layout of the place so far, and he thought about this as he stood between Grandpa Joe and Mr. Wonka, grasping both of their hands for support in the constantly twisting and turning elevator. After a little while of walking around without the other children and strange adults he didn‘t know, Charlie grew more at ease and was soon asking questions left and right, all of which Mr. Wonka answered delightedly. Even Grandpa Joe hadn’t been as talkative as Charlie, and when he thought about it, Wonka had seemed more keen on answering his questions than paying attention to Grandpa Joe. He supposed that made sense though, as he was doing all this for Charlie after all.
Once the elevator opened again they were presented with a great round forum, littered with couches, chairs, bookshelves, and a great fireplace already lit, crackling and warming the large space. Wonka led the group out, into and through the giant living room. They found several doors on each side, or about as far apart to seem on another ‘side’ as the room was in fact circular, leading to equally grand bedrooms.
“You may have approximately, close to, and almost (whichever suits your fancy) any room in the factory,” he told Mr. And Mrs. Bucket with warm generosity, “but these are some of the finest.”
He told no falsehood. The rooms were beautiful, containing ornate furniture of every kind. Rugs and silk were made of the most lovely material and design Mrs. Bucket had ever seen. She was smitten at once. Everyone was. The old grandparents who still refused to move, much to Mr. Wonka’s dismay, decided after a bit of a fuss that they would stay in the south side room, and Mr. And Mrs. Bucket would take the north room.
Charlie’s parents flopped down onto their big, luxurious bed at once, completely spent and not intending to move until morning. He was just about to follow them until a hand carefully placed on his shoulder halted his progress. He looked up at Mr. Wonka in question.
“I have just one more something or other to show you tonight, my dear Charlie,” he whispered with a wave of his hand and toss of his head towards the door. Charlie watched him flow with a kind of dazed awe. Just being in this room next to the huge bed of voluminous pillows and blankets made him drowsy. He glanced to his parents who most peculiarly bid their son and his accompanying chocolatier goodnight and began to drift off with contented smiles on their faces.
“Okay,” he replied, looking back to Wonka. It was strange indeed, though…only just so because Charlie simply assumed they were as sleepy as he was. He couldn’t ever remember being this tired. His eyelids felt like lead weights and his legs like Jell-O. The room now seemed to contain a soft red foggy haze, or maybe he was only seeing through his lowering eyelashes. He was too tired to tell. Wonka was as hazy as the rest of it until he stepped closer and with a welcoming gesture, let Charlie lean against his waist lest he sink down to the floor first.
“Let’s let them have some shut-eye, shall we?” Wonka said to the boy who was now barely conscious. He could feel himself slipping into slumber and half wondered if Wonka himself was a dream. If he was, he was surely a magnificent one, for he wrapped his arms around the boy and lifted him up, carrying him slowly out of the room. Charlie made a small noise, similar to “mmhhnnph….”, partially muffled by Wonka’s coat collar, but which was intended to mean “where are we going?”.
“My dear boy, you’ll sleep your life away if you stay in there,” was his only answer.
Charlie was confused , but once they were out of the room and a ways down another hallway, he felt some of the sleepiness leaving him. He began to wonder if it was something in those bedrooms that was making him so tired. He didn’t want to say anything, for fear of possibly insulting his newfound benefactor, but the man must have noticed his confusion anyway.
“Not to worry over your dear parents, Charlie,” he said. “they’ll be just fine in the morning. Best night’s sleep they’ve had in fact.” Charlie smiled and nodded to thank Wonka for putting his mind at ease. They stopped a ways down an adjacent hall in front of another large, ornate looking door. Charlie was set back on his feet while Mr. Wonka shuffled around in his (many) coat pockets for something. Charlie meanwhile looked down the hall. He could imagine himself getting lost in this place. All the same he longed to explore every corner of it, up and down the endless halls, through giant rooms filled with candy jungles, anything and everywhere he wanted to go. But not right now. He still felt too tired to go exploring, and the sound of a great jingle-jangling brought his attention back to Mr. Wonka. In his hand he held a giant metal ring with thousands of tiny keys attached. Charlie looked on with uncertainty as Wonka began to pick through them, looking for that special one which Charlie imagined would open the door. After about five minutes he was just going to ask if there was any way he could help, but Wonka beat him to it, plucking one out with an accompanying “Aha!”. Charlie was relieved, he thought they might be standing there for a couple of hours after looking at the key-ring, but then baffled as Mr. Wonka pulled out his pocket watch and used the key to wind it. He then replaced both watch and ring of keys and turned the door’s handle, entering with nary a problem.
“Important to stay on schedule,” he told Charlie. Once inside, Charlie found they were back in the room from earlier, the “brain” of the factory, Wonka’s study. This left Charlie more certain than ever that he would never be able to get his bearings in this place. He hadn’t realized they were anywhere near this room. Wonka twirled around, spinning his coat off his shoulders and tossing it atop a coat-rack in one fluid movement. His hat went the same way as the coat a second later, leaving Wonka free to flop himself into an armchair, one that spun around as he did so. “Make yourself comfortable,” he invited Charlie, beckoning him with open arms after setting his swirly cane down to rest against the nearby desk. Charlie eagerly took the invitation and went to Wonka’s side, leaning against the arm of his chair when he turned to the desk, upon which sat a large, flat monitor screen. “As you may or may not know, this factory, and myself along with everything inside of it included, have not had contact with the outside world for oh, about fifteen years now,” he told Charlie, who nodded, already knowing this from the stories he’d heard abut the legendary chocolate master and his factory, encouraging him to continue. Wonka’s eyes brightened. “That is, except for this.” His attention fell back to the screen, Charlie’s following. The monitor burst to life from a dead, black void. Colors swirled and bounced around it, making rainbow curly-Qs then twisting off in another direction like some crazy psychedelic TV show.
“Hello Mr. Wonka!” the computer said brightly in a melodic voice that Charlie couldn’t tell belonged to a boy or girl. Wonka laughed in delight and the rainbow of colors fled the screen to reveal something that looked more like a normal computer.
“Hello, hello, and good day to you to!” he replied cheerily. Charlie looked to Mr. Wonka then the screen and then back again, trying to figure out if he was actually having a conversation with it. “Charlie, I’d like you to meet MJ,”[2] he said. “MJ, Charlie. Charlie, MJ,” he added, gesturing with his hands between the boy and computer. The screen went into another swirly mess for a moment until the image of a man with just as swirly black hair sprung forth. He was all smiles when he saw (or seemed to see) the pair on the other side of the screen.
“Hi Charlie! Such a pleasure to meet you.” His eyes twinkled like Wonka’s, Charlie thought. He had pretty eyes. Also like Wonka.
“Hi,” Charlie replied, feeling just a little childish at the thought.
“MJ runs throughout the entire factory,” Mr. Wonka went on while the image of MJ zoomed out so that he could be seen sprinting about the screen in a miniature version of the factory, making Charlie laugh at the literal reenactment of Wonka’s words. “He keeps the power running and everything working properly. In fact, he’s not very unlike the Enterprise’s Computer.” At mention of this MJ donned a Star Trek uniform and saluted them. Charlie laughed again and wondered in the back of his mind if Wonka thought Star Trek was real, or in that case, if Star Trek actually wasreal. “He can find you anywhere inside the factory, and if you need anything, all you have to do is ask.” MJ was now back in his previous outfit that seemed to be made mostly of sequins, and though Charlie had assumed it to be a costume before, he now thought it must be his usual attire. “He can access the Internet, what a marvelous invention by the way, call anyone anywhere, tell you anything that is going on all the way on the other side of the factory, etcetera, etcetera; you name it, he can do it.” MJ folded his arms around himself an beamed proudly.
“That’s amazing,” Charlie said feeling only slightly odd about talking to a computer. “You can really do all that?”
“Of course. Anything you need,” MJ replied.
“Wow, I’ve never seen a computer like this before.”
Wonka laughed. “Why of course you haven’t. No one has! MJ is one of a kind, and the only kind fit to run my factory.” MJ took a graceful bow at the compliment.
“Now now, is there anything I can do for you, Charlie?” MJ asked.
Charlie didn’t have to think long on the matter. “Is there a map of the factory?” Wonka chuckled softly at his side.
“A map? Of this factory?” MJ put on a digitally puzzled face.
“My, a map like that would be impossible to read!” Wonka answered.
“Indeed,” MJ added, “However, I can guide you anywhere you want to go until you learn it by heart. You wouldn’t need a map at all!”
“That’ll do just as well,” Charlie replied gratefully, wondering just how confusing the factory must be if it couldn’t be read from a map and how he would ever learn to remember something like that.
“Well then,” Mr. Wonka interjected, “I think it’s time for me to catch some Zs.” He yawned and stretched his arms far out above his head to illustrate his point. Charlie had forgotten how tired he was up until this point, and since yawns are contagious, he found himself mimicking Wonka.
“Looks like Charlie’s just as tired,” Wonka mused, and Charlie couldn’t tell whether he was talking to himself or MJ, or even Charlie because he was looking at him, but it didn’t matter. It got the point across. Wonka stood, stretching some more and bid MJ goodnight. Charlie did as well even though he felt a tiny bit silly doing so.
“Where shall I--” Charlie wondered if he was going to go back to his parents’ room again. He remembered the walk taking a while.
“This way, Charlie,” Wonka interrupted. He led the boy to a door on the far side of the room, one which was locked. It was a bedroom, and Charlie could immediately tell it belonged to Mr. Wonka. The first thing he noticed was that it was…rather messy actually. Clothes and other brightly colored things were strewn about every here and there. It wasn’t ridiculously messy, but on the contrary Charlie found the messiness quite welcoming, even comfortable. Everywhere else in the factory was immaculate. While he was wondering over this, Mr. Wonka sat down on the foot of the bed in front of them. Like the previous two bedrooms Charlie had seen, this bed was grand, four posters, with dark violet curtains draped down the sides. He had more giant feather blankets and pillows than any one person could ever need. Charlie imagined what Wonka must look like in the morning, buried in a storm of blankets and pillows. He probably had to crawl his way out every day, and that image almost made Charlie giggle. His mind however, was beset with a more serious composure as his eyes fell upon the real Mr. Wonka, sitting before him, rather than his imaginary morning-Wonka. The real Wonka wore a much less lighthearted expression, not angry, nor upset as far as Charlie could see, but one that seemed more intent. For a moment he wondered if something was wrong, or if he really wasn’t supposed to be in here. But Mr. Wonka had called for him to follow. He could sense his hands fidget uncertainly with the hem of his shirt though he wasn’t aware of ever telling them to.
“Come here Charlie.” Wonka’s voice was soft, and he offered a hand out to the boy to show he was welcome. Some of Charlie’s apprehension went away at this offer and he came to Mr. Wonka, climbing up on the large bed and sitting down beside him. “Would you like to stay here for the night?” he asked. One of his arms found its way around Charlie in a friendly manner and massaged his shoulder, working out some of the tiredness there. Charlie could feel himself relaxing already. He let himself sink into Wonka’s lap when he shifted back and allowed Charlie more room. Both of his hands were skillfully luring the knots out of Charlie’s muscles and it felt wonderful.
“Yes, I’d like that,” he answered. He’d have liked to stay that way for a long time.
Wonka made a sound of agreement behind him, surprising Charlie at just how close he was. He leaned them both back until thy were lying side by side.
It wasn’t until then that it really occurred to Charlie (and he still didn’t know all that it entailed) that he was actually going to sleep here, in Willy Wonka’s bed…..with Willy Wonka in it.
~*~
[2] That’s right ladies and gentlemen, Michael Jackson is Willy Wonka’s computer! :P Where this idea came from, I haven’t a clue.
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My Candyman