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Is It Scary	By : Idolhands Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 18205 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Please be aware that the volumes/chapters of this tale are out of order. Be sure to pick the NUMBER of the Volume, not the number assigned by Adultfanfiction.net. I cannot control this problem, sorry and thank you for reading.
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Title: Is It Scary, volume VII
By: Idol Hands
Rating: NC-17 (unless you’re Charlie or want to be him!)
Warnings: For dramatic themes, dark!Wonka, warped Paganism, explicit under-aged slash, discussion of religion and Nazi’s, slight discipline. It’s cute and kinky at the same time. If you like that, you’ll be in heaven, otherwise you’ll have to suck up the bitter with the sweet or vice versa! Why not, Willy does? Ha!
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Spare me! I beg of you! The fan girls made me do it!
Summary: Charlie gets more questions answered and gains several new ‘experiences’ while having his picture painted. Nothing is straightforward when Willy Wonka is involved! Oh yeah, and in case you didn't guess...Mr. Bucket was lied to in more ways than one! Double HA!

"Down the Rabbit-Hole!"

Mr. Wonka had once again managed to smack into the Great Glass Elevator. Whenever the chocolatier was particularly nervous, he had a tendency to become clumsy and smack into things. The elegantly dressed Bucket child attempted to help Mr. Wonka off of the Children’s Only Room floor, but he bounced up before he had a chance to completely reach him.
“I always swear I’m not going to do that again!” He announced followed by a strained chuckle.
“At least you never bruise, sir.” Charlie offered as some recompense to his mentor’s embarrassment. It was true too; he never did show a single mark on that flawless, porcelain skin despite hitting the device full force. Most people would probably get a concussion!
“Yeah.” He said a little distantly. Then jerked one finger into the air, “Oh! And it reminded me that I have one last thing to do before we leave.” He twisted open the top of his cane again and placed it into a perfectly sculpted slot right next to the elevator button; immediately a new trickle of candy fell into the thick glassine tube.
“Alright, NOW we can go!” A great, broad grin filled his face and he once again took the boy’s hand. Ah, and this time there wasn’t any pesky guardian around either!
“Mr. Wonka, what’s the Forbidden Room?” Charlie said inquisitively, masking his slight concern. He did trust his friend after all, didn’t he?
“Why the room where we are gonna be memorialized of course! Which just so happens…” And they were both inside the Great Glass Elevator, doors shut, before he finished the sentence, “to be MY room!”
And with that he pressed the oddly located, marked button. At a rushing speed the elevator began to plunge, the exact opposite effect of pushing the “Up and Out” button. The boy gasped as, once again, Mr. Wonka only laughed at the effect; a rather eerie laugh that hit a faltering pitch.
The effect of the motion made his heir realize that he too had forgotten something in all the excitement, he pressed his hands against the glass, “I didn’t tell mum I was going to be an astronaut soon!”
The candy maker was intent on staring at the ever-falling clear floor. He responded in a trance-like voice, “Hmm, that’s OK, you can tell her tonight. Keeping a secret adds more excitement to it anyway.”
The boy paused to think about that, one finger pressed to his mouth. Then Charlie’s eye’s suddenly shot open wide, “Half a mo’! We’re going to-to YOUR ROOM? Y-You mean…where you LIVE?”
“Uh-huh.” He answered casually.
Speaking further on the matter, he turned to face the child resisting the distraction of the plummeting view. He started to wave one gloved hand about in another small lecture. “I’ve never shown it to another living person aside from Madame Rose, hence the name. I mean would you venture into a room called ‘Forbidden’. The ancient Chinese royalty used the very same word for all of their prized possessions. A severe punishment was issued on any common persons who dared to use or own such rare and beautiful items reserved strictly for them.”
“Hmm, I suppose I could call you my forbidden heir too.” He mused, eyeing the boy with a mischievous glint in his eye.
Charlie wished to goodness the flush on his face would go away right now! Why did that have to happen to people?! Stop BLUSHING – he demanded, but his body only blushed harder in reaction to the request. He resorted to pulling the lapels of his tailored little jacket over either side of his face and turned away to act as if he was observing their travels. “Oh, um, that’s very interesting, sir. Heh, me ‘forbidden’? But I’m not Chinese! Heh, heh, That’s very funny. You’re very funny. Clever really. Um, er, It’s just I can’t believe we’re really going to your room!” A forced sort of chuckle came out of him.
Shut your cake hole, Charlie! He thought and covered his face with his small, gloved hands.
A very telling expression was on Mr. Wonka’s face, especially since he was safe from being seen by the desperately embarrassed child. Hm, he wasn’t the only one puzzled by his own emotions at times. Interesting…and wasn’t his heir’s reaction most interesting…
Charlie peeked through the slits of his fingers and recognized some of the rooms flashing by, others he did not. The strangeness of their contents seemed to increase the deeper they went. At a certain point the boy had to assume they were underground. He had been too busy watching the scenery change to areas that he had yet to explore to notice his mentor. When he turned it was because Willy had been contorting his body somewhat and causing odd flashes in the child’s peripheral vision. He gave his pupil a wild grin then stated, “It helps if I stretch out first.”
The boy was about to ask a question about his bewildering statement when they were bathed in a strange grey mist. The elevator plunged down lower still.
“Where are we?!” He said, allowing panic into his voice.
“Minusland.” Wonka said slightly nervous himself. “You are never to come here without me. It’s too dangerous, understand?”
“Yes sir, but what is it?” Charlie’s voice quivered, he had clutched his hands towards himself; an unpleasant shiver ran up his spine and caused his skin to goose bump.
“A place for Gnoolies and unborn souls. I’ve had to come down here to rescue many an Oompa-Loompa. Each time I risked getting bitten by a Gnoolie and dying.” Mr. Wonka said this all matter-of-a-factly in his quirky, instructive voice.
“New-lee?” He tried to pronounce the new word. “Dying? Y-you could have…” A desperate look shone in his eyes.
Mr. Wonka was deeply touched. No one ever cared if he died before the Oompa-Loompas. He didn’t believe any of his previous workers did…maybe Grandpa Joe, but that was probably it, the rest were a bunch of no-good-knicks who could have turned on him at any minute. His eyes had gone far away while Charlie couldn’t bear to utter another word. The boy didn’t want to put his hero’s name and death in the same sentence.
Finally returning his attention to the child, he tried to sooth his nerves in his best Wonka-like way, “Aw, snickerdoodles Charlie, I coulda died lots of times. I’ve been in some pretty crazy situations! There was a time when I thought I just mighta been indestructible, but…I ain’t. Those little guys up there would die for me - least I could do was return the favor.”
“But, what’s Minusland doing in your factory?” Asked Charlie, more than slightly confused and still concerned. He seemed to be nothing but questions and a bundle of nerves at times.
“I dunno, it was here before I built the joint. Funny, Dad ustah talk about Minusland and Gnoolies, but I never believed him until I found it under my own home. Good thing it was here though or I’d never have found my lost workers.” Wonka was still stretching out his body. He had currently bent down to touch his toes.
“How did the Oompa-Loompas get down here?!” The boy felt horrible for them.
“Sacrificing themselves to perfect my most complex recipe, Wonkavite. It turned them into ‘minuses’ or whatcha might call lost souls.” Wonka had popped back up to his usual height, a hand pressed to his chest in reflective thought of the little people’s dedication.
“Don’t worry, I rescued them all…eventually.” He twisted the left side of his bottom lip down on the last word.
Although the chocolatier was answering all of his questions, he still couldn’t comprehend half of what was being said. “Um, what sort of candy is Wonkavite?”
“It’s not candy, it’s…lemme tell ya about it another time, ‘Kay? Alright, you got time tah ask me one more question kid. Shoot.” Mr. Wonka stood with both his hands on the hips of his vest, as if ready for action.
The child thought quickly about all that had been said. He wondered what the tiny people made of life and death under such bizarre circumstances. So, he queried, “Are the Oompa-Loompa’s Pagan also then?”
“Of course, they worship Cocoa beans.” Wonka shrugged, unphased as to why the boy wanted to know such a thing.
The answer to that question only left him with another one. “So, they think cocoa beans are God?”
Mr. Wonka’s whole face froze for a second. He gave Charlie a suspicious glance, then quickly bent down in his face. “That’s TWO questions!” He stuck up two fingers like a peace sign. Then wiggled his eyebrows, “Time’s up!”
Swiftly, he picked the boy off the floor, pressing him close to his body; the cane was gripped tightly across the child’s back, his other hand holding the ‘safety bar’ in place. “I’ve only done this once before with another person and they were an Oompa-Loompa, so don’t flinch!”
Mr. Wonka was much more strong than he would’ve thought! He didn’t seem to be straining in the slightest to lift or hold him. That coupled with exactly where the man’s other hand was, the one cradling his backside high off the floor, had set off his blushing again.
As soon as the doors opened, Mr. Wonka shifted immediately to the left. A bright blue beam of light struck the back wall where they had been standing. Charlie started to shriek! Mr. Wonka then shifted immediately to the right, avoiding a second blazing stripe.
A broad smile and a satisfied laugh followed. “Now comes the fun part!”
Charlie stopped screaming to look at his mentor’s oddly grinning face, only inches from his own and found it rather hard to breath all of a sudden.
Wonka proceeded to leap out of the transparent elevator before it immediately slammed shut and whooshed away back up from whence it came. The man crouched down a little before talking a large leap! He continued to jump, spin, and dance-step his way across the long, dark, enclosed hallway. Each broad, dark floor tile lit up white as he touched it. He bounced to and fro sometimes retracing the steps backwards or sideways, before moving forward again. Singing a familiar, inane verse as he did:
The wonderful thing about Tiggers
Are Tiggers are wonderful things
Their tops are made out of rubber
Their bottoms are made out of springs
They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy
Fun, fun, fun, fun, FUN!
But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers
Is I'm the only one.
Yes, Iiiii'm the only one!
He paused to look Charlie in the face with the last ‘line’ (if the sounds could be called that):
GRRrrrrrr.. ooOOoooOOooooOOOO!!!
Then one tile suddenly lit up red. “Uh-oh. Musta missed a step.”
Charlie didn’t like “uh-oh’s” from Wonka, they tended to result in things blowing up… or worse. “Oopsie’s” were equally bad. The man jerked swiftly out of the way as an immense mace ball, as black as the hallway and covered in wild spikes fell from the ceiling.
“Whew! Good thing that wasn’t the one with the trap door!” Was his companion’s only comment. Still, Wonka allowed his face to linger near one of the especially long jagged points, examining it for a few seconds before doing one last spin followed by a leap sideways. Left leg extended, he gingerly released the boy and placed him onto a curious, dimly lit doorstep. The boy had his arms clutched to his chest and was completely fixed to the spot. He was also standing right next to a tiny, snow-haired old woman.
Wonka removed his hat and extended his pose into a bow. “Madame Rose.”
Charlie turned only his head to look at her; no other part of his body would move aside from shaking. The woman was a bit smaller than the usual two feet of the average Oompa-Loompa. She also had white hair pulled into a fanned top notch, her eyes were milky blue and without pupils. The petit woman’s outfit was a bunchy bright green dress that bubbled to the floor, leaving her feet completely unseen underneath. The gown was decorated with brightly colored spots down the sides giving her the effect of being a short, chubby caterpillar.
“Why didn’t you turn off the alarms, like you did for me?” She croaked in an unnatural sounding tone. Oompa-Loompas were capable of a broader range of voice patterns than regular people.
“Because it’s exhilarating!” Wonka beamed, stretching out his arms and grinning from ear to ear.
“Maybe for a thrill seeker like you, but the child is scared to death. He’s barely breathing.” She croaked, chastising her employer. Charlie had never heard any of the native people do that before! He also rarely heard them speak English so perfectly.
“Tsk, If ida scared him to death, he’d be in Minusland by now.” Came the flippant response. After a brief reconsideration, he tilted his torso to Charlie’s height. “Uh, did I overdue it?”
The child let out a whimper in response, followed by a quiet, “S’kay, I…I like how you scare me…remember?” A weak smile managed to cross his face as Wonka’s mystical eyes did that trick of dancing in their sockets while never moving. Apparently, the boy had said the right thing.
Wonka forced himself to stand upright again, “He smiled! See, good as gold! That’s what he is I tell ya! Madame Rose, meet my heir, the Charlie Bucket himself!!”
“It’s about time. I thought you’d never give him the symbol!” Was her somewhat sarcastic response.
“You knew about the ring too?” Said the boy genuinely surprised. This was another issue he had meant to get cleared up with his benefactor.
“Charlie Bucket, he was beside himself with worry. You were almost all he would talk about at times. I don’t know what we would have done if you had refused him again. I am honored to finally meet you.” The woman turned in Charlie’s direction and reached out toward his form, only finding the boy’s knees.
“Bend down so she can examine you.” Wonka directed then cleared his throat.
“I did too talk about other things, just so ya know.” It was his turn to be embarrassed.
Charlie noticed that his idol was slightly blushing which made a slight dimpled grin appear on his face. The boy obeyed his mentor, still too startled to speak much. The old woman’s doll-like hands began precisely examining the child’s features. There was something about her that was comforting and her touch soothed his nerves a little. Her face was covered in countless hairline wrinkles and the eyes were entirely milky blue instead of jet black.
“Are you blind?” He asked politely.
“Yes child, but I see more than most.” She said smiling, patting his cheek and releasing his face.
“How can she paint us if she’s blind, Mr. Wonka?” Came Charlie’s sensible second question. He was used to having to ask such things. His idol seemed to forget that everyone didn’t already know everything that he did.
“Ah, well, that’s better seen than explained. Shall we go inside?” Mr. Wonka aimed a quirky grin in Charlie’s direction.
Charlie looked about the doorstop; there were three small stairs that led to a platform which they were standing on. All of it was pitch black. An orb dropped down from a long, thin pole from the ceiling above them; inside was an eye-like orb that created a glow (and assumedly laser beams). On either side were large crystalline structures made of what looked like rock sugar. There was no true door: no handle, no joint, only a slick black surface like the rest of the hallway. Perhaps it lifted up or sideways like spaceships on telly?
“Where’s the keyhole?” He finally stated, looking at the man in puzzlement.
“Oh, there aren’t any keys to get in to this door. Close your eyes.” Wonka directed like something marvelous was about to happen.
He did, but still felt a pair of latex gloved hands gently cover his eyes further. “Absolutely NO peeking!”
The boy could see only darkness.
Next a strange tingling sensation ran across his body causing him to shiver, followed by something like a wind, like something ghostly ran through him.
“Okey-dokey.” Wonka’s unique voice was a welcome sound since it proved that he was still standing where he remembered. For a second he felt like he truly had been lost in the strange grey mist of Minusland.
“Can we go—“ He was going to say, “Can we go inside now”, but the vision before his own eyes cut him off. He let out a huge long gasp of disbelief. The hallway that they had been standing in was completely gone. They were all already standing inside the most magnificent room he had ever seen.
“Welcome to The Forbidden Room.” Wonka murmured from directly behind Charlie’s head, keenly eyeing his response. “Whaddaya think? Pretty spiffy, huh?”
Mr. Wonka’s personal abode was nothing short of astonishing! Entire chapters, perhaps epics could be written on singular objects that decorated or functioned in its space. The first thing that one would notice was that the entire room was circular including much of the furniture. The Bucket child couldn’t look in enough directions at the same time; ceiling to floor, corner to corner, were beautiful, mysterious, and whimsical objects. One of the most striking was the preserved form of a horrible bear-sized insect creature; the sharp proboscis and multiple eyes were especially disturbing, but the patterned iridescent armor and spread translucent multi-wings were breathtaking.
Across the floor were very bold stripes that moved in vertical directions ending in points at five points. Quickly he traced them in his mind, realizing that there was a giant star across the room’s floor. It was chic, but reminded him of something…a pentagram! That was it! Ooh, was the whole space enchanted?! Looking up there were wrapped staircases that led to the arched doorways of other rooms. He could nearly make out what looked like a private laboratory similar to the one that was in the Inventing Room. The others were too dark to see into for now.
There were in fact many portraits of the chocolatier on the textured bricks of the stone walls. The boy’s favorite was one with Willy in his jungle gear standing with all the Oompa-Loompas. The people were in the native garb that he had only seen in stylized sculptures. Oddly, they looked like they were still in Loompaland, but how could they have posed for a picture in such a dangerous place? Perhaps it was merely a work of memory. The frame around the portrait was covered in the people’s native symbolic language.
“It’s better than anything I ever imagined! B-but how did we get inside?” His eyes were wide and glossy with excitement and curiosity. It had taken him a long moment to finally respond while Willy drank in his reactions.
“Uh-uh-uh. That’s a secret. Only I can let you inside, anyone else gets zapped!” The man formed a gun with his finger and pointed it at Charlie, one eye squeezed shut, his limber tongue twisted against his flat, identical white upper teeth.
There was that thought about being licked that Charlie had been pushing away for most of the day…
All of a sudden Willy stopped his playful pistol gesture, “Wait, you’ve been imagining what my room would look like?” There was a sly sound to his voice.
“Uh…” The boy didn’t know quite what to say in response. Of course he had! That was a tad awkward to admit though, not to mention presumptuous.
The small woman in the puffy green dress tugged at Mr. Wonka’s pant leg. “Stop teasing him. We have work to do.”
“Hmmm.” Wonka simply eyed the boy with a look of satisfaction that made Charlie feel like a bar of chocolate or something worthy of consumption. Then the chocolatier burst out with, “C’mon, let’s go get her supplies!”
The boy was exasperated! It was simply impossible to keep track of Willy Wonka’s ever-changing moods!
Charlie was led toward the dominant feature of the room. The huge, raised circular canopy bed with lush velvet curtains; currently tied back by over-sized tassels. It looked exactly like something out of medivial times. The boy noticed that the unique bed was located in the center of the room, which placed it inside of the pentagon shape created by the decorative stripes on the wooden floor. On the left side of it was a large, wide wardrobe and an equal sized dresser covered in jars and bottles, above it was a bejeweled mirror. There was also a roll top writing desk (littered with pens, paper, ink, books and toys), a trunk, and a few other pieces of furniture. What was strange was that there was the exact same furniture, about half the size, on the other side too.
Mr. Wonka had already halfway crawled under his bed, rummaging out an easle and brushes. He had been forced to remove his top hat, putting it onto the near-by nightstand, next to a lamp shaped like a cherub. At the far side was a larger nightstand projecting three-dimensional holographic images from inside the factory on a streamlined computerized device. Oh, it was all too good to be true! He couldn’t really be in Willy Wonka’s bedroom! He looked over at the smaller furniture that was near them. There were wrapped boxes and piles of candy on top of them.
It looked almost like he had once had a woman in the room with him or something. That thought didn’t sit well with Charlie for some reason. He wanted to clear up the matter. “Why do you have two sets of matching furniture in different sizes, Mr. Wonka?”
His response was a loud, “Thunk!”
“Are you all right, Sir?” He immediately bent down to check on his mentor.
Wonka pulled out from under the bed holding an ornate wooden box with the cocoa bean carvings of the Oompa-Loompa people. He giggled nervously, “Yeah, just bumped my noggin is all.’”
“Anyway, to answer yer question, I had them made a while ago.” He was quiet for a few seconds then sadly added. “Around the time I decided to have the contest actually.”
Charlie put two and two together. “Was…was all this supposed to be for me then?”
In the same sad tone, he admitted, “Yeah, things didn’t exactly go according to plan.” There was a another pause before he added with more optimism, “But yer always welcome to join me.”
The thought alone made Charlie’s blush return. There was only one bed. It was exceedingly big though; they’d probably only touch if they meant to…and there were those curtains to conceal them...and they were very deep under the factory…very far from all things familiar. He blushed more, tugging at the shirt tales of his outfit. Why did he keep thinking like that? Fortunately, the dim and golden light of the room hid most of his discomfiture.
Mr. Wonka tilted his head to catch Charlie’s uneasy glance. In a smooth voice he informed the boy, “Anything that happens in here stays here. I’d never tell a soul.”
That did nothing to help the young boy’s rampant imagination. Neither did the man’s intense stare. No one had ever said the kind of things that Willy Wonka said to him. No one made him feel so pleased to be anxious all the time either. Desperate for a distraction, Charlie quickly looked away without a response. He focused on the many lavishly wrapped boxes on the furniture. “Were these for me too?”
The boy stood up and moved toward the brightly patterned wrapped boxes: swirls, stripes, polka dots, paisley, even ones with curly W’s. There were a lot of fancy ribbons and bows on them as well.
“Yes.” He took a second to think, “Tell ya what, you can open one now if you wish, but only one. You know how I feel about spoiling children. Maybe I’ll let ya open one every time yer here. Yeah! That sounds fair, doesn’t it?” Wonka had also gotten up, replaced his hat, and moved up behind Charlie again.
“Y-yes sir, it does.” Mr. Wonka had implied that he would be invited to his mentor’s room often. The idea pleased him and again made him nervous at the same time. Charlie looked into the fancy mirror atop the dresser and at the image of his mentor behind him in their matching outfits. It was going to be a very good portrait.
“Maybe I should wait until Madame Rose is done.” He said twiddling his fingers.
“Bup!” Mr. Wonka reached over and slapped Charlie’s hands with a bit of force. He didn’t like twiddling, fiddling, lollygagging, mumbling, gum chewing, vulgarity, rudeness or a vast myriad of other bad habits. There was a slight sting to the top of his hand, but it wasn’t cruel, only enough to make him flinch and put his hands back down at his sides. It hurt more when the man used his cane. The boy hadn’t told his family about any such acts since he tended to blame himself. He also didn’t want anyone to know that he had ever done anything to upset Willy Wonka, ever. Besides, his mentor was right, they were annoying traits that he should be broken of.
“Very well.” Said Wonka, turning on his heals and moving away towards Madame Rose. He elegantly presented the blind woman with her tools. The carved box was filled with tubes and tiny containers of colored paints in several layers. The boy loved the petite brushes inside; custom made for her minute hands.
Charlie finally turned around to follow his mentor but the new object that he saw in Wonka’s room stopped him dead in his tracks. The wall facing the bed, where he had felt they entered the room from, was covered in a large, black, circular mirror-like object; its edges seemed to grow out from the wall itself – leaving veins branching out here and there. All away around, the object was decorated with a various sundry of things: beads, buttons, feathers (some were like the ones used to decorate his mini top hat), playthings, ribbon, bones, charms, exotic dried flowers, even machine parts. On either side at the floor were clusters of candle stands reaching up to various sizes and heights; their fires flickered every color in the rainbow. Behind that were the crystal forms from before, his eyes darted up and saw a large eye styled like an Egyptian drawing.
Madame Rose was keeping her gaze completely fixed onto the immense flat, smooth object. She was setting up her stool, easel, and paints by watching her own dark reflection. Nearly the entire room was visible in it, including Charlie and Wonka.
“What is that?” The boy said in complete awe.
“That,” Started Wonka forcibly, “is a scrying mirror. The best one ever made.”
“H-hu-but..why…” His eyes were darting all over it. He was walking closer and closer toward it. It was the most strangely beautiful thing he had ever seen…well, nearly. Had they really entered through it? Could one reach into it? It felt like he could.
Mr. Wonka quickly put down the items he had been holding for his portrait artist and ran after his heir. “Ah, Little boy!” He called sharply. The man rarely ever addressed Charlie in such an impersonal manner anymore.
However, the Bucket child was unaffected by the warning sound in his voice, rather he had pulled off his right glove and was aiming to press a bare hand to the tantalizing object’s smooth surface…
Whack!
“AH!” Charlie cried out; that slap stung, that one was the cane. He immediately started to suck on his bare hand and turned sideways to actually look annoyed at Mr. Wonka. His face fell when he saw the stern, cold look on his pallid mentor’s face though.
“OK, new rule!” Announced the chocolatier, “You are not to touch anything in my room without my permission! No touchie! Really, Charlie, I’m shocked at you!”
He gripped the hand that the boy wasn’t sucking on, and pulled him away from the wall, back towards Madame Rose. A muffled, quiet apology came from the boy.
“Now you’re mumbling too?!” Wonka turned around and stared right into his pupil’s face, one hand on his hip. His attention was quickly distracted by Charlie’s oral way of soothing himself. The boy proceeded to pluck the offending hand from his mouth, tug the other away from Willy’s distracted grip and safely tuck both of them behind his back.
“Don’t be too harsh on him, Rescuer. He couldn’t help it, could he? Instead of loosing your temper, you should realize how important it is that he was drawn to it like that.” Said Madame Rose. Her oddly timbered voice seemed to once again critique him. Charlie also noted the name that she had referred to Wonka as, ‘Rescuer’.
Wonka got a pouting, but thoughtful look on his face. He looked Charlie in the eyes again, pondering. The next look that slipped over his ever-changing features was a regretful one. He finally said, “Gimme yer hand.”
The boy wanted to say ‘No’ but he wouldn’t dare. Instead, he delayed, “Which one?”
Willy grew impatient and grabbed the bare one out from behind his back. Still holding the cane, which was doing nothing for Charlie’s confidence, he cupped the boy’s hand up to his mouth and laid a kiss on the swollen mark.
The man’s lips were cool like his bare hand had been earlier that morning. It felt good against the heat of his wound. These were all very confusing sensations since he didn’t like getting hit, but he did like the kiss and the fact that it even felt better because of the pain from sting. The man had closed his eyes and his lips were lingering. Eventually, he turned his head and pressed a smooth, chilled cheek to the same spot, looking his student in the eye again.
“I’m only doin’ it to teach ya. One touch and the whole thing woulda been ruined. Don’t be angry with me, ‘kay? I couldn’t stand that.” He spoke gently and placed one more kiss on the boy’s hand before standing up again.
“Kay.” He confirmed, shakily, in Mr. Wonka’s slang. He had been mesmerized, hit, apologized to (sort of) and kissed (sort of) all inside The Willy Wonka’s room which he had no idea how to get into or out of... Charlie felt a bit lightheaded from the whole incident.
“I think you better have him sit down before he faints.” Informed the observant blind woman. The chocolatier took her advice once again and pulled Charlie toward an ample, elegantly carved, antique chair with padded arms. Nearby were potted candy trees and mushrooms. The pleasant spot had been specially set up for the portrait that was to be created and a white colored powder (perhaps sugar?) formed a circle around the area.
The boy was grateful to sit down until he realized it wasn’t the padding of the chair that he felt beneath himself. Looking down, he saw shiny black boot-shoes emblazoned with carefully placed red stripes that created W’s on their tops. The shoes were located slightly below his new ones, his eyes followed them up to the legs that were under his own to the lap that he appeared to be sitting in! He turned his head backward. A pleasant statue-like expression was on Wonka’s face, he flicked his eyes in Charlie’s direction.
“I thought this would be a nice pose, whaddaya think?” He asked playfully.
“Don’t move!” Came Madame Rose’s voice; although she was shouting, she still sounded small. “Try to stay as still as possible, even with a scrying mirror it’s no easy feat for a blind woman to see.”
The boy fixed his position immediately, squirming slightly, which caused Mr. Wonka’s lids to droop for a second. That was an interesting sensation, thought the man. So was all the boy’s warmth pressed against his body, especially a particular part of his body. A few weeks ago, this would have horrified him, but currently it seemed like one of the best ideas that he had ever had (partly inspired by Mrs. Bucket’s earlier comment).
Madame Rose was standing a bit closer to the black mirror than they were sitting. A stained smock covered her attire. The artist was standing on a specialized step stool that had spots for all her equipment as well as offering her a higher point of view. She was squinting and concentrating solely on the reflection, never bothering to look at the easel where her hand was actually sketching out their forms. Instead her hand occasionally felt around for the edges of the canvas before adding another few lines.
It was a marvel to watch her work like this and distracted Charlie long enough to make him forget about his current awkward circumstances. His mind was spinning a thousand questions, but he didn’t dare ask one of them lest he offend Madam Rose for moving or Mr. Wonka for mumbling.
“The boy is still missing a glove.” She commented.
“Oh right, Charlie put on yer glove.” The boy pulled it out of his pocket from where he had stashed it before trying to touch the tantalizing mirror.
Suddenly his mentor spoke, “Hey, there’s somethin’ kinda showy about wearing only one glove! Have I ever had a picture wearing only one glove?”
“Of course not.” The woman answered plainly. “You never take them off.”
“Well I am today! Charlie take off yer other one, let’s get a picture with the matching rings!” He reached both hands in front of his heir’s waste to pull off his own again. It took a little effort to get those snug plastic gloves off and he ended up having to push into the boy’s form again. The child wondered why he had paused all of a sudden.
“Are you alright, Mr. Wonka?” He didn’t turn around this time or he would have seen his mentor’s eyes were completely closed.
“Huh? Oh, right as rain! Don’t worry about me! Isn’t it exciting to do new things everyday?” There was a wavering in his voice that Charlie couldn’t place, but he did recognize the pleased laugh. The boy took him at his word therefore and went about pulling off his own left glove.
Mr. Wonka had placed his exposed hand on Charlie’s bare knee. “Put yer’s over mine, but don’t cover up my fingers, ‘kay? We want Rosie there to be able to see Mom’s ring clearly.”
The boy did exactly as he was told and took a look at the dramatic pose reflected in the glossy black surface before them.
“Perfect!” Announced his mentor with great satisfaction.
Without a doubt, the pose made them look very intimate; more like father and son or grandfather and grandchild than student and teacher. For a mere moment Charlie imagined what it might have been like to actually be Wonka’s child. To be born so special instead of having to try and learn everything from scratch. Then again, if Mr. Wonka had any children of his own, there would be no need for him anyhow. That would be sad; problems and all, he really did love Mr. Wonka. That was something else that made him glad he wasn’t actually related to the chocolatier…that same new feeling that made him much more tense being in the man’s lap than any of his own family member’s.
Madame Rose had quickly sketched out their forms with minor details in charcoal. She had begun mixing up some basic colors, repeatedly tilting up the box and her wooden pallet toward the reflection. She broadcast, “You may talk now.”
Charlie didn’t waste one second, “How does the scrying mirror work?! What does it do?! Where did it come from? How come I...can’t touch it?”
“Woah, keep yer socks on kid. One of the perks of this whole portrait thing is that we can sit and talk for a while.” Mr. Wonka had slightly squeezed the boy’s knee while he was speaking. His strong thumb pressed into the sensitive part of skin located on the inner part of that joint. It sent a tingling sensation through Charlie’s own anatomy. That was a funny sensation, he thought. He wriggled significantly this time.
Mr. Wonka did everything to avoid showing any expression of pleasure, only biting a tiny corner of his bottom lip. This was going to be a marvelous exercise in self-restraint, he thought. He took a short breath, “A scrying mirror is an ancient technique used to see the past, the present, or the future. The tool has to be properly polished, oiled, blessed, and exposed to moonlight before it’s ready to use. This one was put through a very rigorous process indeed and exposed to a moonlight of long ago and far away.”
Charlie felt rather guilty for his earlier acts; his mentor was right to discipline him...
The mystical candymaker continued, "If ya stare at it right, you can get the answer to almost any question in the world.”
The boy let out a gasp of wonderment. “Is..is that magic?”
“Some people call it that. Yeah.” He said thoughtfully. “It definitely takes a special talent though.”
Charlie’s relentless questions started up again, “Do you see things when you look at it? Can you see the future right now?!”
Wonka laughed at his enthusiasm. “Ya have to reach a meditative state first, kinda stare into space, then you can see all kinds of stuff. I even draw pictures of what I see sometimes.”
“You do?! I didn’t know you could draw!” A smile showed up in the boy’s reflection.
“I’m not as good as Madame Rose, but I drew that sketchy one on the left.” He barely motioned with his jaw. Charlie couldn’t quite make it out from his distance; it seemed to be a picture of an old, bearded man. He’d have to look closer when he got a chance.
“I had another one carved into a big bar of chocolate. You’ll only see that one if you ever get inside my bed, it’s hung onto the backboard.” Wonka had said the last part of his sentence especially low and near his pupil’s ear. He was rewarded with another shifting near his groin.
“I bet you know how to do things that I didn’t know you could do either.” He murmured.
Somewhat oblivious to the man’s implications, Charlie admitted, “I did build that model of the factory out of toothpaste caps! I did a drawing of it too, but it was only crayon.”
Madame Rose had ceased moving. “Child, when did you do that?”
“Before I ever heard about the contest, before I even knew what Mr. Wonka looked like. I still have them and the wrappers from my birthday chocolate in my bedroom.” The boy smiled at her as well in the reflection.
The old woman seemed intrigued. She turned on the stool to face them. “That’s…most interesting. And about how often would you say you thought about this place and the man inside of it?”
He didn’t even hesitate at the answer, “Everyday! I had to pass it on my way to school and I would always stop to breath in the smells. I dreamed about it sometimes too.”
Wonka got a proud closed lip grin on his face and cocked one arched brow.
“Yes, most interesting indeed.” There was a kind, yet secretive sound in her unnatural sounding voice. She turned to face the scrying mirror, “Sit still again, please.”
The work on their faces took considerable effort and they remained quiet for a long time. Wonka would hum occasionally and at one point crossed his own eyes, tempting Charlie to loose his composure. This Prompted Madame Rose to threaten to actually paint him like that if he didn’t cut it out. “And you think the boy needs to be disciplined. Who disciplines you?”
Wonka responded by sticking out his tongue, which did successfully cause his heir to break into a giggle.
“Boys!” She chastised and they both began to behave again. Sort of, Willy was still enjoying the whole situation more than he ought to.
Once the entirety of their faces was complete, they were free to speak again, provided they restricted their movements.
“So, what’s on yer mind this time Charlie boy.” He couldn’t wait to see what the child would want to ask him about next. He was thoroughly enjoying playing schoolteacher.
“Um…what are you?” Came his vague question.
Mr. Wonka felt the blood drain from his body. Madame Rose stopped painting and stared into the black mirror as well. He let out a wavering, “I beg your pardon?”
“Well, um, that is, you seem to be able to do all these amazing things that no one else can do.” He stuttered a bit, unsure as to why there was a sudden tension in the room.
“That’s true.” He said, pleased and worried at the same time. The music sound was back in his voice.
“And you’ve been to all these places that no one has ever heard of. Is that because you’re Pagan? Is it because the Oompa-Loompas are Pagan? If I became Pagan could I do it too?” His eyes were darting from the immense mirror to Madame Rose to the side where he knew Mr. Wonka’s head was (even though he couldn’t turn to see it).
The chocolatier let out what seemed to be a breath of relief. “So yer back to that again are ya? Here’s the thing…I am Pagan, but there’s a lot more to it than that! I’ve learned how to do things that most Pagans today have no idea how to do. Also, most people who call themselves ‘Pagans’ wouldn’t like some of the stuff that I do, but that’s too doggone bad, because I’m not gonna stop doin’ it. Like I said, it’s complicated.”
“What type of thing wouldn’t they like?” Said the boy puzzled.
“Ya see, uh, they got this big respect for nature and life and well…so do I, but I kinda think it could be improved a bit. I just help Mother Nature and Father Time along. Yeah. I mean, what’s wrong with peppermint trees, candy grass, and lollypop bushes?” There was an almost sad sound in his voice, like his work had been insulted.
“Nothing, sir. They’re great. Amazing even!” Charlie reassured him.
Wonka smiled a bit, then contined, “And I do respect life, sort of, when it’s a precious one like yours, but otherwise I, uh, kinda wonder what the big deal is all about. I mean if I hadn’t killed all those snozzwhangers, whangdoodles, and hornswagglers where would the poor Oompa-Loompas be? Dead, that’s where! Heck, I’d be dead too! Am I makin’ sense to you?”
“So, you respect life, but you believe in defending yourself?” The boy queried politely, rather caught off guard by these serious topics, but still hoping that he understood his mentor’s speech correctly.
“Precisely, and most Pagans wouldn’t like that, which is probably why so many of them are dead now too.” There was no sign of remorse in his voice, if anything, only annoyance.
“Um, The Christians killed them, right? I read that in the book you gave, I mean, left behind.” He grinned a little at his correction remembering how he had stayed up reading all about ‘Alexander the Great’ and the ‘boy lovers’ of Greece and Rome. He glanced at their hands being held together and shifted his position a bit closer, leaning very gently back against his idol’s chest.
Mr. Wonka was a tad too caught up in the conversation at the moment to notice. “Christians did kill a lot of us, yes. Dad hates them, but he hates them for what they did in World War II too, even though he’s no fan of Jewish people either.”
Then he added flippantly, “Ahn, he hates everybody.”
Charlie didn’t want to bring up Dr. Wonka or he might get upset again, so instead he asked another question that had been on his mind. “Do you hate Christians? What about the Nazi’s?”
“Pfft! There is a perfectly good reason to dislike people on an individual basis. I don’t need mindless prejudice to cloud my precise judgment.” He said confidently.
It seemed Wonka deemed this part of history worthy of a small speech, “See, that’s where Hitler and the Nazi’s failed. A perfect race is a grand idea! But, you can’t achieve it by eliminating the weak with such broad generalizations. That’s silly. The German military had some interesting ideas though, they were disciplined fighters, and they learned a lot about what the human body could endure. They were also pretty snazzy dressers, but don’t tell anyone I said that. Yer not supposed to like the way they looked.”
“That’s why you have that book, right? To learn…how much the human body could endure?” He hesitantly quoted Wonka’s own words, shifting in his lap again, though this time he was at an especially sensitive angle.
“Mmnn.” A little noise escaped his mentor’s throat. He covered it up by quickly adding, “Yes, that’s why.”
His voice was more breathy as he added, “You know they tortured children too. They did things like see how many times an arm could be broken and mended before it wouldn’t heal anymore.”
Charlie shivered, “That’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard of!”
“Ah, but now we have the answer to that question and many others. All that crazy data came in handy with some of the side effects of my candy. I’ll tell ya that much.” It was cruel and awful and sinful, but enticing at the same time. Why was the dark like that to him now? Why did people deny its power? It even had the power to draw this angel into his lap.
He added, “Probably saved those kids who visited the factory. How else would I have known how to juice and pull a body back to its original shape…or nearly. There is plenty of information gathered about gassing, poisoning, burning, and bizarre surgeries too.”
The man’s voice didn’t indicate that he found the subjects distasteful. The truth was that discussing such things sort of turned him on. That combined with nearly two hours of Charlie’s movements and heat was finally starting to get to him.
“Madame Rose.” He said in a pitch, slightly higher than usual. “I think now might be a good time for a lunch break, don’t you?”
The small old woman agreed and said she’d be upstairs in his kitchen if he needed her. Wonka told her to give them a few moments to join her with a large smile plastered onto his face. She seemed very familiar with the space and only needed to extend her hand once to find the railing on the right side of the room.
Neither Wonka nor Charlie moved from their position as she left, both their eyes tracing her exit. After she was gone the chocolatier shut his eyes, enjoying how well his heir’s compact form fit into his own and his scent; sweet, clean, something like bed sheets dried in fresh air and sunshine. The man’s breathing had become more jagged and hotter upon the back of the boy’s neck causing him to wriggle around again. The combination of both their reactions was creating a catch twenty-two of arousal. The two had never been this near each other for this long. Although Wonka had remained silent, the thoughts piling up in his mind were taking their effect.
The boy had finally realized what the firmness pressing into him probably was and twisted around quickly, shocked and embarrassed. His voice sounded flustered as he said, ‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Wonka! I’ve made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to, honest! I’ll get up!”
Mr. Wonka’s eyes flashed open revealing his extraordinary lavender orbs. His right arm reflexively grabbed the boy tightly around the waist. He spoke slowly and deliberately, “Oh, I’m not uncomfortable. I feel very, very good, better than I’ve felt in a long time actually and it’s all because of you.”
The boy stayed put, confused but also a bit flattered. He had been enjoying the closeness too, but didn’t completely realize that it could lead to something like this.
Still holding the child in place, inches from his face, the chocolatier eyed his heir speculatively, “How’d ya like to try out some magick?”
Charlie swallowed, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hands held down by the chocolatier’s. There was a twinkle of curiosity mixed in with his fear. “Really? How?”
“Well…” He started coyly, “there’s a special energy that can be harnessed from…” At the same moment, his bare hand had begun to clumb up the boy’s thigh and under the leg of the hemmed shorts.
“…sex.” He finished in the boy’s ear, giving it a quick flick of his tongue.
A wonderful array of sensations were going through the child’s body. A tingle had been triggered by the wetness on his the back of his ear. The smooth coolness of the caress felt so good against the increasing warmth of his skin and the way that the firm grip felt moving up and down his exposed skin. A waver of guilt crossed his mind, that maybe this wasn’t right, that he should protest, but as that skilled hand climbed higher into his clothes, the thought seemed to slip away from him. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he let out a barely audible sound of pleasure.
Wonka took that as an opportunity to finally gave into something else that he had been fantasizing about doing for most of the morning - burying his nose into the crook of the boy’s neck and laying his tongue across that fair, untouched skin in generous slick kisses. He undid a few buttons at the front of the stylized shirt to gain more access to his desire; pulling back the collar further to reach more flesh. The sensations caused Charlie to deeply arch his back, pushing into the man’s lap again.
A musical groan came out of Wonka; one more worthy of a collapsing clarinet than a human being. Many of the sensations were as new to him as they were to the boy; though he had done far more studying on the matter…
The boy nervously asked through short breathes, “Should I do that again?”
The man’s head nodded slightly, pressing deeper into the tendon’s of his heir’s shoulder. Charlie arched his back and pressed down again, but this time he added a deliberate wiggle motion.
A deeper groan that trickled off into a whimper was the result.
“Again.” His mentor pleaded, now biting on the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. The teeth were as smooth as Wonka’s touch and gave Charlie that peculiar sensation of pleasure mixed with pain. Now that the young boy was getting the hang of this game that they were playing, his movements became more deliberate. He began shifting and manipulating the muscles of his backside upon his mentor’s erection. There was a certain thrill to being in this sort of position; he realized that he was in control of all the apparently pleasant sensations that his idol was feeling.
“Is that good?” He asked quietly after a moment, looking for reassurance, but suspecting that he already knew the answer from the hot panting and growing sensation against his body.
A horse sort of a whisper met the boy’s ear, “Charlie…no one has ever made me feel like this before…the sensation, uuhhn, the..pulse…I want you to feel it too.” With that the chocolatier switched his bare hand to the child’s waist while the latex covered one started to fondle the front of the boy’s shorts. Mr. Wonka found there was already some arousal, though nothing compared to his own. He doubted the lad had even noticed. Even in a sexual situation, he was still so intoxicatingly innocent.
“Uh!” Charlie let out a surprised sound of pleasure at his touch and a new redness appeared in his face.
“Mmmn, See? You see what you’ve been doing to me?” He whispered into the boy’s ear again with longer licks. Then growled, “I want more, Charlie. Do more.”
Now that the boy was truly starting to understand what he was doing, he began to create a rhythm with his body against his benefactor’s.
“Yes, yes, that’s it. Faster.” He said in a desperately encouraging tone.
Charlie obeyed and the two became silent in their mutual lust, both of them with their eyes closed, though the black scrying mirror showed all. Within a moment, the candymaker had undone the front of the boy’s pants and reached inside gently massaging his delicate manhood. Carefully, he pressed his thumb against the length of it while swiftly rubbing the other side with his index and middle fingers. This was both a carnal and sacred act to him – he was holding the most sensitive part of Charlie’s body and giving him one of the greatest pleasures he could have, probably for the first time.
The boy had leaned completely back into him, rocking at the swift rate that he was being stroked; using the chocolatier’s own shoes as his springboard. His hat fell backward toward the floor making a soft thudding noise. The child felt blissfully enveloped and at the pleasurable mercy of his idol. He laid his head against Wonka’s shoulder in ecstasy, leaving his mouth invitingly open. His legs were completely tense, the slim arch of his calves evident as he pressed his feet down onto Willy’s. The pose had released the tension of one sock-garter, leaving the fabric slumped around his ankle.
Having recently opened his eyes to watch the results of his actions, Wonka noticed the boy’s position and accepted the opportunity. He joined his lips to the child’s. Their first kiss. The lips were softer than anything he could have imagined. He briefly allowed himself to become accustomed to their shape, turning his head a few times to massage the pink skin at different angles before allowing his tongue to penetrate him in the ways that he was fantasizing about doing to the child’s body. Such an act would have to wait until certain circumstances were put into order and followed. For now, this ‘appetizer’ would have to do.
Since he was so swept up in the moment and the sensation building inside, the boy readily accepted the man’s mouth and tongue against his own. It wasn’t the first time he had considered such an act, but he never dreamt his hero would taste like nectar. Charlie reached up his hands and knocked off the tall top hat while pulling Wonka’s face closer to obtain an even deeper, tasty kiss. The demands of the thin arms and small hands were a delight to the man’s aesthetics. He was further pleased when an intense shudder followed shortly after that. The boy had reached orgasm and a charming shout of bliss was released into his mentor’s open mouth.
Wonka released his small mouth with a loud smack. The boy looked like he had been deprived of something; mouth still open, brows upturned, eyes a bit desperate. It was all unbearably delightful! He took a breath of fresh air then said, “Now, think of something you want to see and look into the mirror.”
Blearily, the boy tried. He was panting and very warm. He wasn’t quite sure what he wished to see, but watched as Wonka’s hand had removed itself from his shorts with a clear, glossy substance on it. Had he done that? Was that his…? The reflection showed the man place one long gratuitous lick across the wet gloved hand. Charlie’s eyes widened. What did that taste like? Since his mentor finished by sucking the length of his own index finger, he assumed it must be somewhat satisfactory despite initially seeming unappealing. He never would have thought to do something like that!
Wonka chuckled when he caught Charlie watching his reflection. You are my little doll, he thought and reached forward with the bare hand and dexterously re-did the boy’s shorts. The child was feeling too light-headed to object or do the task himself. He only watched through sleepy eyes. Gingerly, Wonka shifted the boy’s weight and stood up, a bit bent over, the gloved hand extended to the side (as if he were sparing it for something). Charlie also noticed the shadow of a long, upward bulge in the revealing fitted trousers before the velvet coat was swung in front to conceal it. He blinked, confused at the thoughts that sight had given him.
“I’m gonna…freshen up a bit. You keep lookin’ into the mirror before the energy dissipates.” His mentor whispered encouragingly, a halting sound still in his breath. He laid one last kiss on his heir’s cheek. What he wanted was to ‘finish’ in private. Charlie didn’t need to see that bit yet. After all, he was still getting used to it himself. It was the boy’s presence that had started to cause the strange, powerful reactions in the first place. Also, there was one last new sensation to relish…the mixing of the boy’s fluids with his own. He had been sparing the hand for something, for he had read that an especially powerful reaction could be caused by such an act: one physical and mystical.
The boy watched as the chocolatier disappeared into a hidden door behind one of the carved bookcases. Turning back toward the scrying mirror, Charlie fought off sleep. As his eyes blinked open and closed he thought he did see something. It was hard to be sure since so much was being reflected, but there seemed to be a small light in the distance growing larger as it trailed up a road. Yes, a long and winding road. It seemed to be running…or trotting? Was it a horse? It was! A beautiful white horse grew closer and closer, even it’s mane and tail were pure white. It paused in a field in the distance and turned sideways revealing a long, singular metallic horn. A unicorn? …how...beautiful…was his last thought before he finally drifted into slumber.

Author's Notes: To see art based off of this tale as well as, "Cravings" and other Wonka/Charlie forbidden deviant art, please visit Looney Lucifer's site, "Splat" at http://www.freewebs.com/wonkagoessplat/ - You won't regret it!
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