#catcf 2005

Oh, they knew.

Charlie would “accidentally” leave you and Willy alone in the Inventing Room, pretending to need help from Grandma Josephine elsewhere. Mrs. Bucket made little comments over dinner: “It’s nice seeing you smile, Mr. Wonka. I think you smile more when Y/N's here.” Even Grandpa Joe, sly old fox that he was, gave Willy a knowing wink that made him nearly choke on a spoonful of peas.

Eventually, Charlie took the direct route.

“You like him,” the boy said one afternoon, munching on a Wonka Bar. “Don’t deny it. You give him the good chocolate, the stuff you never share.”

“I don’t like him." Willy sputtered, "I mean, I do, of course, but not like like. I like a lot of people. And besides, it’s just…good customer service!”

Charlie’s unimpressed stare said otherwise. “You’re hopeless.”

It was after that conversation that Willy made up his mind.

He spent three days locked in his private workshop, working on something just for you. When you next came to visit, he presented it with an almost nervous flourish. A polished wooden box, smooth and warm in your hands, filled with six pieces of chocolate unlike anything you’d seen. Each was molded in a different shape: a golden gear, a tiny hourglass, a key, a feather, a heart, and a star. All shimmering faintly as though dusted with gold.

“They taste like memories,” he explained softly. “Good ones. Ones you wish you could live again. And...you’re the only one who’ll ever have them.”

You looked up at him, caught in the way his eyes avoided yours for once, the faint pink staining his cheeks. “Willy, this is beautiful.”

Something shifted between you in that moment. The first kiss was tentative, almost sweet like the chocolatier himself, the second was not.

Your hand slid from Willy’s cheek down to his neck, thumb brushing over the quickening pulse there. When your tongue teased at his lips, he let out a muffled sound, opening for you, and the taste of him was faintly of cocoa and peppermint. You deepened it, letting your fingers tangle in his dark hair, tugging lightly until he let out a startled gasp.

“Y-you’re—very forward,” he stammered, words broken by your mouth on his.

“You like it.” you murmured against his lips.

He made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a moan, and you took the opportunity to guide him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sat, then reclined, letting you hover over him.

Piece by piece, you undressed him. His purple coat slipped from his shoulders to the floor; his bow tie came loose with a tug. He watched you the entire time, pupils blown wide, hands twitching as though unsure whether to cover himself or pull you closer.

When you reached for his gloves, he hesitated, but you caught his wrists gently. “I want to see all of you.”

The gloves came off. His hands were warm, softer than you’d expected. You kissed each finger, the faint shiver he gave in response told you just how unused to this kind of touch he was. By the time you eased him onto his back, Willy’s shirt was open and his pale chest rose and fell in quick little breaths.

You mouthed down over his collarbone, following the line of his ribs, and felt him squirm beneath you. “Ticklish.” You stripped the rest of him bare, pausing only to drink in the sight. His legs drawn up slightly, his cock already leaking, a faint blush high on his cheeks.

“Oh,” he said, almost breathless, when you bent to kiss the inside of his thigh. “That’s very nice. Like…like a warm sugar drizzle over—”

His metaphor cut off into a gasp as your fingers brushed over his entrance. You took your time, working him open, watching the way his expression shifted from tight concentration to helpless pleasure as he relaxed for you.

“Feels strange,” he murmured. “Strange in a, oh, good way.”

When you finally pushed into him, his back arched, a sharp cry leaving him. His hands flew to your shoulders, gripping tight. “Oh—! You’re—mmm—like molten caramel—hot and…stretching…” His voice broke into a moan.

You kept it slow at first, letting him adjust. Every small thrust drew sounds from him. Sometimes a moan, sometimes a breathless little laugh when you angled just right and made him jolt. His legs wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

“Faster.”

You obliged, setting a deeper rhythm. You bent to kiss him, swallowing the shaky whimpers he gave when you hit that perfect spot again and again. He came hard and sudden, his body tightening around you, voice cracking on your name. You followed soon after, cumming deep inside him as he clung to you.