Dirty Little Secrets

Pairing: WW/Older!CB (If you can call it that...)

YOU MUST BE 18 YRS OR OLDER TO READ THIS.

Warning: This fiction contains dark themes including hints of slash, blood drinking, cutting, insanity, non-consensual sex, bondage and the like. If you are offended by these things, don't read. (Duh.) If you enjoy these themes, by all means, carry on.

DISCLAIMER: Willy Wonka and his amazing chocolate factory don't belong to me. They belong to Roald Dahl and Warner Bros. I've made absolutely NO profit from this apart from satiating my dark side…

I will admit that this fiction contains slight alterations from the original plot of the 2005 movie, and these deviations are completely intentional. Call it alternate universe if you like.

From the start I knew I was different. I liked things that the other kids didn't like and I was interested in things that would have made my mother cringe if she knew I liked them. I was able to mask these strange cravings of mine and pass it off as a safe, healthy obsession with something else. Something harmless, like chocolate. They never thought that it could be anything else.

At fifteen years old, I had perfected my angelic act. No one would guess that I, mild-mannered as I was, would ever relish in deadly thoughts, forcing scarlet droplets of blood to pour out of the translucent skin of my wrists as I watched it swirl away from me. That drain was like an alter upon which I would sacrifice daily to remind myself of the pain – the only thing I had that I could control in this recklessly spinning experience known as life.

Life was nothing but an uphill struggle for me, never what it seemed to be. I pretended to be happy for others, so they wouldn't find out of my habits. I hid it perfectly, they had no idea. They figured I was just shuffling through life, somehow managing to maintain a shred of existence from nothing but cabbage stew. Not even the pain of hunger was in my control… Everything was in a mad spin cycle and I managed to make them think I was naught but a happy boy despite my circumstances.

Then things started falling into place. My obsessions began to intermingle. I had lied to everyone so long about the chocolate that I eventually began to believe it myself. I couldn't help but think about mixing it with my morbid thoughts of death. I even made that stupid factory out of toothpaste caps that father brought home. I remember the announcement, and winning the ticket. It was a roller coaster of emotions for me, something good seeming so distant to me after a long barrage of bad news.

The thing that sent me careening from the cliffs of sanity, however, was meeting him. He was the impetus that threw me for a loop as I experienced my first real carnal desires. The way his lips curled into that smirk when someone got their just desserts while on the tour, the way his hair bounced in time to his stride, and above all, the murderous intent hidden in the most amazing lilac eyes I had ever seen, they all awakened a monster that had long been sleeping within me.

My warped affections for the man known as Willy Wonka grew as time went by. Naturally, I knew his game as soon as I entered that asylum disguised as a confectionary dreamland. Each room we entered was based on a weakness of one of the other children. They would inevitably fall for their designated traps and slowly, one by one, disappear. Couldn't they see the pattern here? Then the parents would be disposed of, led off to the depths of the factory by one of those little trolls.

I knew he had carefully planned for me to win. My angelic act must have worked on him too, because he said to my family that I was the "least rotten," a statement which I knew was an utter lie in my reality. I ended up winning the factory and was invited to live within its cement walls. Of course I took the opportunity. No need to bring the family with me, let them live on happily without me.

When I moved in, I found out that I hadn't fooled the reclusive candy man at all. I'm sure that his seeing my miniature toothpaste cap factory hadn't helped suspicions of my questionable sanity. He seemed, at first, to find this intriguing. I began to get more mutated desires as time went on. Living in such close proximity to the object of my wanting was no easy feat as I waited for the perfect timing. He had told my family that I was to become the heir to his empire, which I soon discovered to be a lie. Why would a man who had discovered a way to reverse the effects of aging need an heir anyhow? I began to wonder how old he really was.

One day I managed to find the tonic that he said could age you with a single drop. Curiosity got the better of me and I tried a small drop of the oily substance. It was like pressing the fast forward button on a video cassette recorder and I was suddenly about twenty-seven years old. Of course he found out and he tried to chastise me for my nosiness, but I was now taller than he. I pushed him against the wall, crushing my lips against his.

I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and he emitted a small yelp of pain as I tasted the coppery tang that wound me up further. He was begging me to stop what I was doing, begging. I relished the feeling of control, something I usually only achieved when I was in the shower watching the crimson trails trickle away into the drain. It gave me a heady rush, to be in control of a person other than myself. I realized that I could even control whether he lived or died and that it was up to me what happened next.

He must have recognized this too, as he was pleading with me to cease and desist. I smiled at him in what must have been an evil way and I knew that the suicidal glint was showing in my hazel eyes because I could distinctly see the fear in his amethyst ones. I threw him onto the floor, hard. His head made a disturbingly nice cracking sound as it hit the hard floor and he screeched in pain. His screams drove me closer to the edge, making me want to do things I'd never done and feel things I'd never felt. Another smile crept onto my features and I straddled the gasping chocolatier on the floor.

He was screaming at me now, telling to stop this instant. I leaned down and whispered to him that there was nothing he could do to stop me, and I knew it. It silenced him in a rather satisfying way. I could feel him trembling beneath me and it was making me ache for something more. I pulled him up roughly, crushing his lips with mine once more. Standing, I dragged him off to the rooms assigned to me. He struggled most of the way, but admitted defeat when I tightened my grip on his wrist and managed to pop something out of place. The wet sound of bone moving like that made me smile and the monster within me was fully awake.

I gave him a cold stare and shoved him into the room. Among my childhood trinkets I found a pair of handcuffs that I affixed to his gloved hands, threading the chain through the posts of my headboard. He was submissively silent, as though having accepted his fate. This would not do, I thought. I slapped his face as hard as I could and he let out a pained sound. I began removing his boots and coat in a jerky manner, and he protested as I peeled away the black dress socks. Within a few moments, he was clad in only a pair of silken boxer shorts and his interesting violet latex gloves. His hair was tangled as he thrashed, trying to find a way to escape me.

I laughed at his vain attempts and said as much. He gave me a slight glare and it turned me on more so than I already was. I bit his neck hard, eliciting a shriek of pain from him that made the ache in my groin grow. He was gasping out of a mixture of fear and exertion as he gave up trying to escape from my torture. I soon echoed his lack of clothing and perched above him, eyeing my quarry. I felt like a hungry hyena spying a piece of meat, a guttural laugh escaping from me.

I raked my nails down his sides and his body responded, arching towards me. He called my name; his voice was growing hoarse from all the screaming he'd done earlier. I got off of him and searched my room for one of the blades that I used for the ritual that caused the numerous scars that ran across my arms. Once obtained, I returned my attentions to the terrified man on my bed. He saw the razor and looked as though he would faint. Luckily, he didn't.

I nipped his ear, running the blade across my own wrist and smearing the thick blood across his lips. He flinched at the taste, turning his face away. I pulled him back towards my wounded arm by the hair and commanded him to drink it. He complied out of fear and pain, a satisfying feeling for me. I removed my arm from his lips and forced him to watch as I traced shallow designs into his chest with the same weapon. His own blood welled up into the small cuts, his whimpering causing me to want something I wasn't quite sure of.

I ran my tongue across the wounds and reveled in the salty tang this action rewarded me with. I let instinct take control of me and threw the blade carelessly aside. I bit his lower lip again, reopening the earlier wound I had created. He let out a small squeak as my hand found its way between his legs. I suckled his bleeding lip as my hand began work at his state of arousal while he let out a shuddering moan. I watched with glee as my hands elicited the response I desired despite the man's best efforts to fight his body's reaction. He flashed me a look of contempt. I'm sorry Willy, was this different than what you were expecting? My lips curled up into a smirk, much like the one he used that I so admired.

I had complete and total control of him; there was nothing he could do to stop me. His eyes widened as I removed the last garment he wore. He began asking, begging, pleading for me to stop and I slapped him across the face. I had to let him know who was in control here, and he certainly wasn't in any shape to be giving orders. In a way that reminded me of the stories my mother had told me about Satan, I laughed with delight as I noticed a tear trickling down his cheek. I returned my attentions to his still-bleeding chest and closed my lips around a taut nipple, causing him to elicit a groan. I bit him in the same place and the groan became a yell. He urged me to stop it, that it was hurting him.

A sneer crawled across my face and I let him know that he had probably never known the pain I had lived through. The pain of knowing you don't belong in your own family. I told him that this physical pain I was subjecting him to was nothing compared to the emotional scars that burdened me from a childhood spent desperately hiding the real me. This was the real me, a maniacal madman with a lust for power, sex, and candy. Something told me what I was doing wrong. The last shreds of my humanity were quickly divested, much like the boxers that had so recently clothed the man who lay before me.

He was trembling from a mixture of fear and unwanted acceptance – something that made the monster within me growl lustfully. He was still pleading for me to stop, albeit more forlornly. As though his mind accepted that the effort was futile but his heart wouldn't let him simply give up. I laughed at him, and for a moment, something changed. His eyes darkened and he stared up at me. I felt the somewhat unfamiliar pang of guilt and fear wash over me as his lips twisted into his trademark smirk. Something wasn't quite right here…

A/n I posted this in my LJ and got ok reviews. Decided to see if it's even allowed here... which, as long as I have my warning and somesuch... should be ok. If staff finds this offensive, they'll get rid of it. No biggie.