daily writing (Charlie and Firefly and FMA)

[jmtorres]

Posting from the Redwood Forest. Yes, I am an addict.

1774 words of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (movie) fic, Charlie/Mr. Wonka, written over three days.

As I told faile02, the maturity gap makes up for the age gap. Also archived on AO3.

Charlie and his father left Mr. Wonka's factory together every morning; his father to the toothpaste factory, Charlie to school. Charlie's father stayed out all day and had to be let back in after the sun went down, but Charlie came back in the afternoon to invent candies with Willy Wonka. Mr. Wonka would really have preferred that Charlie play with him all day, but Charlie's parents (a word Charlie still had to fill in for Mr. Wonka) thought Charlie should go to school, and Charlie was inclined to agree with them.

"But schooling just gets in the way," said Mr. Wonka. "Like that other boy--the mumbler--what was his name? The one that kept telling me my inventions were impossible."

"They are impossible," Charlie said. "They're wonderful and beautiful and impossible. I don't think I'll be able to make them after you're gone--and that is what having an heir is for," Charlie reminded Mr. Wonka when he opened his mouth to protest. Mr. Wonka shut his mouth, looking a bit startled. "So I think," Charlie went on, "that I had better know how to do things properly."

"If you think it's absolutely necessary," said Mr. Wonka, but did not leave Charlie much time for doing homework.

So Charlie's going to school was not a problem, for the most part. It was not a problem for three whole years.

Then, when Charlie was fourteen, he met a girl.

Charlie had met lots of girls before, because half the students in his school were girls, but he had never had such a reaction to a girl before. She had short, black hair and warm, brown skin, and he mooned over her constantly. He started working on Valentine's boxes in the middle of October, when Mr. Wonka wanted to come up with a few last-minute Halloween varieties and maybe start on some snowmen for Christmas. He stayed out until after sunset and had to be dragged back in by his father, and on the evenings when he did come in early, he brought her and took her on boat rides on the chocolate river in the candy gondola.

At least, he did until the Oompa-loompas got ahold of her and strapped her into the aparatus in the whipped cream room with her breasts bared. They hadn't actually whipped her, but they'd been about to start when Charlie caught up with them, told them firmly that his girlfriend was not a cow, got the poor girl down and escorted her out of the factory, where she ran off yelling that she wasn't that kind of girl and never wanted to see him again.

"She got off rather lightly," Mr. Wonka said.

"She didn't deserve that--she didn't do anything," Charlie said angrily.

Charlie tried again with another girl, and this one fell prey to the blackberry brambles in the candy fields near the house. The last time Charlie had been in the berry thickets, they hadn't had any thorns on their branches, much less ones that grabbed girls by their long, blonde hair and swallowed them whole. Charlie rescued the girl, borrowed some clothes from his mother to replace the ones the brambles had torn to shreds, and waved good-bye as she fled.

Mr. Wonka said, "That's too bad. I suppose the blackberry brambles won't sell, then. I thought they seemed rather fun."

Charlie refused to speak to Mr. Wonka and asked out another girl.

Mr. Wonka threw a terrible sulk and invented grape sours, cherry sours, orange sours, melon sours, cranberry sours, and chocolate-flavored beer he called Sweet Bitter.

Charlie said, "The name is quite clever, but the concept is rubbish. If you're jealous, why don't you just kiss me already, or something?"

"Jealous?" said Mr. Wonka. "I don't know what you mean."

"You had an Oompa-loompa trip my girlfriend into a vat of caramel so that you could show me--" Charlie waved his hand at all the candies. "--just how sour you've been feeling." He was pretty sure that was it for this girlfriend. She'd been screaming obscenities as they rolled the vat away.

"I don't feel sour," Mr. Wonka said unconvincingly. Charlie noted that he did not deny giving the Ooompa-loompas instructions about the girlfriends.

Charlie said, "You know, the way normal people, people who don't live up in ivory towers making chocolate all day, the way those sorts of people go about having heirs is, they fall in love, and they get married, and they have babies together."

"The towers aren't ivory," said Mr. Wonka. "I'm not sure where you could find a beast with tusks big enough to make ivory towers out of. Maybe a febrifuge from the mountains of Norland. Or is it Neitherland?"

"Netherlands," said Charlie, forgetting for a moment that he was trying not to get sucked into this sort of conversation. "And they don't have any mountains. Most of the country is actually below sea level."

"Well, then, it's not them, is it?" Mr. Wonka asked. "I'll bet you anything it's Norland. Would you like to go there?"

"Sure," said Charlie, who was by now quite used to Mr. Wonka's expeditions. "At Christmas." He was also quite used to forcing Mr. Wonka to plan the expeditions to coincide with his school holidays. "Do you have some kind of hang-up about sex?" he asked. "We're reading Oedipus Rex in my English class, so I know about oedipal complexes. Is that why I still haven't met your mum?" Charlie watched Mr. Wonka very closely for any signs of flashbacks.

Mr. Wonka surprised him by saying flatly, "My mother died when I was born."

"I'm very sorry," Charlie said gravely. "Would sex make you feel better?"

Mr. Wonka stared at him with wide, round eyes. "I beg your pardon?" he said finally.

"What's your shirt made of?" said Charlie.

"C--c--cotton," said Mr. Wonka, backing up as Charlie advanced on him.

"Cotton candy," said Charlie.

"Yes, that," said Mr. Wonka, as Charlie backed him into a ten-foot peppermint stick.

It was quite ingenious, really. There was a room where Oompa-loompas spun cotton candy into cotton candy thread, and then wove it into cotton candy cloth, and then cut it up and made clothes out of it. The stuff was tough when it was woven, nearly untearable, but it dissolved nicely under a proper application of saliva.

The left side of Mr. Wonka's collar melted in Charlie's mouth.

"What are you--what are you doing?" Mr. Wonka asked.

Charlie licked around the edges. If he happened to lick Mr. Wonka's collarbone as well, no matter, he thought.

"I think you might had better stop," said Mr. Wonka, "before I have to find a new shirt for dinner."

Charlie reached the first button and started sucking on it. It was strawberry-flavored. He knew it wasn't an everlasting gobstopper, because the thread holes had been punched through it after it was cast. So Charlie sucked the button deep into his mouth, between his molars, and bit down.

The button cracked, and a large portion of the cotton candy shirt dissolved in Charlie's mouth as well. The shirt fell open over Mr. Wonka's chest. Charlie pulled Mr. Wonka's shirt open and gave his chest a sugary lick for good measure.

Mr. Wonka said, rather faintly, "Oh, dear."

Charlie worked his way down the rest of Mr. Wonka's shirt. His buttons were all red, so it became a guessing game which flavor of red they were. Raspberry, Charlie guessed; apple surprised him, since Mr. Wonka liked to make apples green; cinnamon, he got because he could see the flecks of it in the button, just before he closed his mouth over it. The last was cherry, which Charlie figured out purely by process of elimination.

Then he started on Mr. Wonka's marzipan belt buckle. He was all the way to the licorice strands of the belt before Mr. Wonka's trembling hand touched his hair. Charlie turned his head to suck on Mr. Wonka's fingers. His gloves were made of the special unpoppable bubblegum, so there was no getting through them, and they tasted like grape. After a moment, Charlie looked up at Mr. Wonka and said, "Just try to stand still, all right?"

Mr. Wonka nodded nervously.

Charlie mouthed the crotch of Mr. Wonka's trousers, and they dissolved. Boxers, too, gone in a few licks. Then all that was left was Mr. Wonka's cock, and Charlie wrapped his fingers around his shaft and put his mouth on its head, and sucked.

Mr. Wonka let out a breathy little moan, a surprised, "Oh..."

Charlie slid his hand down and sucked in more of Mr. Wonka's cock. By now, the taste of all the candy clothes was starting to clear out of Charlie's mouth, and he could taste the actual flavor of Mr. Wonka's cock. It was not sweet, which was something of a surprise. Charlie had half-expected Mr. Wonka himself to be made out of candy, something milky like a coconut truffle or a marshmallow cream puff. But Mr. Wonka was made out of ordinary flesh, and his skin tasted like ordinary skin, which is to say, a little salty with sweat, but otherwise not like much at all.

And if Charlie had expected Mr. Wonka to be as hard as a peppermint stick or a lollipop, he was disappointed again. Mr. Wonka's cock was firm, yes, but as flesh is firm. Charlie had developed a bad habit of biting peppermint sticks, but he knew he mustn't bite Mr. Wonka's cock, because it would bruise, and it would hurt Mr. Wonka.

When Mr. Wonka came, it was a little sweet, because you are what you eat, and Mr. Wonka ate an awful lot of sweets, but mostly it was just sticky and thick and human. Charlie sat back on his haunches and looked up at Mr. Wonka. His eyes were closed and his mouth was open, panting.

"Charlie--" Mr. Wonka began.

"If you give me this," Charlie said, "I'll give up girls."

"Oh," said Mr. Wonka, with a slightly crazed smile. "Well, if you must, I suppose you must."

When Charlie announced to his family that he was now going out with Mr. Wonka, Grandma Georgina said, "Oh, good catch. Very pretty. You mustn't let this one get away!"

The rest of Charlie's family was as disapproving as he had asked them to be, and when Charlie declared that he wasn't going to stop seeing Mr. Wonka just because his parents didn't like it, Mr. Wonka became much more gleeful about the whole thing, which was the reaction Charlie had been looking for all along.

---

This is something like the postcard porn I wrote for blueraccoon, but a bit longer :-) See, I was going for Mal/Simon, which I know she likes, but the crazy space incest lives in my head all the time and it just kinda crept in. Or bounded. You know.

597 words. Also on AO3.

Mal and Simon had just fallen apart, sweaty and sated, on Simon's bed (since the beds in the passenger dorms were more spacious and comfortable than the bunks in crew quarters) when River bounded in. "Can I play?" she asked.

Mal cursed in Chinese and tried to cover himself with the sheet. It was too tightly tucked for him to pull it over himself, so he settled for using a pillow. "We're not playing, little girl," he growled.

"Yes, you are," River said, settling between them, on her back, leaning on her elbows. "You're playing at being broken, and Simon's playing at fixing you, when you know you're not really broken, and you," she looked at her brother, "know that sexual therapy is a medically approved treatment for depression only when administered by a licensed Companion." She switched gears again, smiling broadly. "I know," she said. "I'll be the crazy sister."

Before either Mal or Simon could comment on that, she had knelt up and was wriggling out of her dress.

"Uh--River--" Simon said. He kept his eyes fixed on her face, and reminded himself that a body was just a body and that he'd seen hers before, in a professional capacity.

"You just gonna lie there?" Mal asked Simon, looking past River's hip at him, still holding his pillow over to his crotch.

Simon pulled his own pillow from under his head and shoved it at River, so that it covered her from her breasts to her thighs. "Is that better?" Simon asked Mal acidly.

River looked down at the pillow, seemingly amused, then over her shoulder at Mal as he replied, "I was thinking something more along the lines of you removing her from the room. Think that might be possible?"

"It might be possible, but it doesn't happen in this track," River replied. Politely holding the pillow to her body, she bent over and kissed Simon.

Simon was not so shocked that he didn't notice Mal's gaze drifting to River's ass. To be fair, it was right in his face. Nonetheless, she was his sister, and Mal was his lover.

Then River half-turned and kissed Mal.

Mal looked flustered but said firmly enough, "She's got the part of the crazy sister down cold."

"No, now I'm only half-crazy," River said. "When I'm not crazy at all, I won't kiss Simon anymore. I'll only kiss you, because you're not my brother." She looked at Simon solemnly. "Do you want me to get better?"

Simon closed his eyes. "River, I don't want to play this game," he said, because he knew he didn't want to answer that question, under the conditions she'd asked it.

"I understand," River said calmly. Simon looked up at her in relief. She let go of the pillow and started putting her dress back on, and he quickly looked away again, until she was decently covered. "It's no fun to play a game that's too close to being real," she said.

"I don't--" Simon belatedly decided not to protest that. "You're not crazy," he said instead.

River gave him a sideways look. "I'm not stupid, Simon," was her reply. She walked lightly down the mattress, pulling her hair free of the neck of her dress. "Maybe Kaylee will play with me," she said, stepping off the bed easily and skipping out the door.

Simon stared after her for a few moments, and finally asked, "When she said she was going to play with Kaylee, do you think she meant--?"

Mal said kindly, "It may be best you don't think about that."

---

Continued from the last time I posted, 1105 more words of Alchemy and Other Lies, archived on AO3.

Gracie took Maes's seat on the couch next to Roy and Alicia, which felt decidedly strange. Roy thought they probably looked like a man and his wife and their child, rather than a woman and her occasional threesome partner and her daughter. He started to hand Alicia back to Gracie, but Gracie stopped him with a hand on his arm and said, "You should come play with her more often. She loves you, you know. You're her favorite uncle. Isn't that so?"

Alicia said, "You're an alchemist like Ed and Al, aren't you? Why don't you ever make me flowers or dolls like they do?"

Roy blinked slowly, and said, "Well, missy, maybe Fullmetal and his brother are your favorite uncles."

"No, silly," said Alicia, "they're like my big brothers. Ed's my little big brother and Al's my big big brother."

Roy grinned despite himself. "Yes, but don't say that to Fullmetal."

"Why not?" Alicia said. "He turns funny colors."

"And he can't even really get mad at her," said Gracie, smiling back, "because he's taller than she is."

Roy started snickering. "Very well," he said. "But the moment you get so much as an inch on him, you'll have to stop, do you hear, young lady?"

"Yes, sir!" said Alicia, with a funny little salute she must have learned from her father.

Maes came back in with a tray full of mugs. Alicia's was a little cup for her little hands, and only half full. She took it without complaint, swinging her legs against Roy's shins. Roy held her around the waist with one hand and took the mug with the other.

Roy sipped tentatively--he couldn't recall the last time he'd had cocoa. It was good, thick and warm and more chocolatey than sweet.

Gracie said, "Maes. Did you spike them all?"

"Whoops, no," said Maes, taking her mug. "Switch off, that was Roy's."

Roy accepted the new mug after a brief juggling act by Maes, who finally set the tray down on the end table in order to properly distribute the cocoa. Roy shrugged apologetically at Gracie. She didn't seem to be bothered by drinking after him, though. He tasted the cocoa again, wondering what Maes had spiked it with. After a moment, he recognized the flavor.

It was delicious, but he felt obliged to say, "What a thing to do to a perfectly good brandy," before guzzling half his mug.

Alicia started giggling at him.

Gracie said with hilarious dismay, "You've got it all over your face," with accompanying hand gestures at her own face.

Roy licked his lips, and wiped at his upper lip with the edge of the blanket.

Maes said, "You're not quite--here, let me get it," and he leaned over and licked Roy's nose.

Alicia's giggles turned into a shriek of laughter.

Roy sat very still for a moment, then, with great dignity and his little finger in the air, went back to drinking his cocoa.

Alicia settled back against him and returned to her own cup. Roy realized that it was very hard to maintain a properly morbid depression with a wriggling lapful of giggling girl and a stomach full of the Hughes's version of a hot toddy. After they had finished their cocoas, Maes and Gracie got up to clear away, and Roy drowsed on the couch, both arms loosely around Alicia.

"We'll never get them apart," he heard Gracie say.

"Yes, we will," Maes replied determinedly.

"Well, I'm not sure we should," Gracie countered. "I think we might had better let them both sleep with us tonight."

"Right," said Maes. "And who's going to fall out with four in the bed and the little one says, 'Roll over, roll over'?" He had a sing-song quality to his voice that puzzled Roy for a moment. It must be some nursery rhyme he didn't recognize, Roy decided.

Alicia said, "Not me and Uncle Roy. We'll be in the middle."

"Upsy-daisy," said Maes, holding out his arms. Alicia stood on Roy's thighs and wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "Little girls who drink cocoa in the middle of the night have to brush their teeth again before they come sleep with Mama and Papa," said Maes, picking her up.

"Not the toothpaste!" Alicia cried as Maes carried her away.

"Come on," said Gracie, holding her hand out to Roy. "We'll find you some of Maes's pajamas."

Gracie led Roy to the bedroom and matter-of-factly stripped him out of the blanked he still wore around his shoulders and the rest of his damp uniform. Roy felt oddly embarrassed about being naked in front of Gracie, and decided it was probably due to the lack of Maes's mitigating presence. Gracie laid his pants and shirt over the chair to the desk by the window, handed Roy some pajamas from a chest of drawers, and folded up the blanket while he dressed.

"It is all right, isn't it?" she asked him as he was buttoning up the top.

"It's a little long," he said, pushing the cuffs back.

"No, I mean--" Gracie gestured helplessly. "Having a big family sleepover instead of, you know, sex."

"Oh," said Roy. "It's nice," he said guardedly.

Gracie hugged him hard. "We love you, you know," she whispered in his ear. Roy didn't really know how to respond to that, so he just held her for a moment, until she let go of him.

Then Gracie guided him into the master bathroom and handed him Maes's toothbrush, saying teasingly, "Little boys who have cocoa in the middle of the night have to brush their teeth again, too."

Watching the pair of them brush their teeth in the mirror, side by side, Roy was hit again with the bizarre image of the man and wife. It lasted until Maes lurched in with Alicia riding his shoulders and steering him by her grip on tufts of his hair. Roy rinsed off the toothbrush and handed it over. Now the image in the mirror made him look almost like their son--superficially, because he didn't resemble either Maes or Gracie particularly, but Maes was so clearly the father in this image, standing a half a head and a whole little girl taller than Roy, that it wiped out the other, with just Gracie.

As promised, they put Roy and Alicia in the middle of the bed. Gracie said, "This'll be the girls' side, then," and climbed in next to Alicia, and then Maes set his glasses on the nightstand, curled up at Roy's back, and pulled the blankets over them all.

Warm and content, Roy slept.