A/N: Bet you didn't expect this, did you?! After diving into a few differing fandoms since last updating this, I've somehow come back and gotten a bit of a second wind for this. I know you probably all were giving up hope, but I promise this will be finished! And I'm hoping it'll only take another year and not longer. In all honesty, there isn't much left. Let me get all sentimental now and thank you all for reviewing, reading, and sticking with this story. In addition, I'm always surprised at how people seem to stumble upon this even though it hasn't been updated in almost 3 years! I could probably go on and on about how awesome all of you are and how much your words mean to me, but you came for the chapter! So I'll shut my mouth. :) This isn't all I wanted to write for this chapter, but I figured I owed you at least something since it's been so long, so the next chapter (whenever it gets done) will just be 'part b' so to speak of this one.
His head hurt, but it was nowhere near as terrible as it had been after his first bout of drinking.
Wearily, Wonka opened his eyes to slits, slowly venturing to widen them to view the area about him clearly. The sunlight shone through the window, allowing him to observe the person next to him. Ryan was already awake and was merely studying Wonka with smug content.
"Good morning, Mr. Candyman," Ryan greeted silkily.
"Morning," Wonka echoed absently as if not knowing quite where he was. "What time is it?" he asked as he turned to his side and let his hand fumble on the floor nearby to find his pocket watch.
"Ten o'clock. Not bad for drinking all that last night, eh?"
"I….I should get going."
Wonka was abruptly stilled by Ryan's lips. The punk kept the chocolatier pinned to the bed, kissing the man slowly to savor the feeling of purity; Wonka was by far the most innocent person he had ever had.
"I'll miss the way you taste," he stated slyly.
Wonka's cheeks flushed a light crimson in response to the seductive tone.
Both of them got to their feet and dressed, though Wonka was in more of a hurry than his company. He did not bother tucking in his shirt, nor did he make sure that the buttons on his vest lined up. He simply wanted to go home and take a thorough shower.
He exited the bedroom with Ryan close behind and started to the stairs. When he was halfway down, the front door opened, stopping him instantly. Jamie walked in, immediately freezing upon spotting Wonka. For several minutes, nothing was said. Jamie glanced from one face to the other, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the two of them on the stairs.
At last, she softly said, "Hi Willy." It was not voiced in a harsh manner; in fact, it sounded practically apologetic and remorseful.
"Hi," Wonka replied, almost inaudibly. "Bye," he added as he regained motion. He quickly moved to retrieve his top hat and cane and went out of the house at such a fast pace, he was practically running.
Jamie's attention turned back to Ryan, her eyes now alight with building anger. "You didn't."
"You disgusting pig."
"You took advantage of him. You know he's probably just as devastated about all of this as I am. What did you do? Get him drunk?"
"You know me so well."
Unable to stay in the same room with him without most likely starting a fight, she treaded into the kitchen. Retreating back to his room, Ryan fetched a cigarette and a lighter, lit up, and muttered, "And that's how you do that."
The shakiness had subsided as his nerves settled down somewhat. His fingers combed through his freshly shampooed hair several times before he grabbed the violet luffa once again, poured a bit of body wash onto it, and went to work on vigorously scrubbing his skin for the fifth time. No matter how hard or how many times he did it, the feeling of being horribly unclean and dirty – in more ways than one – never diminished.
The water was already hot to the point of being almost unbearable, yet despite this, every now and then he would turn the knob just a tad farther to make it burn more. Nevertheless, no matter what high degree the water was at, it still did not take away the vileness.
"Why, why why did you do it?" he whispered, tears springing to his eyes due to more than just the blistering hot water. "What were you thinking? He's gone. Nothing's gonna make you feel better."
Finally ending the forty minute long shower, Wonka retreated to his bedroom to put on a blue satin nightshirt and a pair of red pajama pants made out of the same material; the mismatch in color did not bother him whatsoever. In the past, he would have made sure the two articles of clothing were the same color, but now, he did not care and it did not matter. Wrapping a large blanket around himself, he laid down on the bed, curled up as if cold, and proceeded to stare at the wall for the next hour.
The touch of Ryan's hand on various places of his body still lingered. It came as no surprise to him when he felt the droplets of water begin to trickle down from his deadened eyes to the pillow.
Charlie had no interest in discussing Willy Wonka with anyone, and he had done a good job in keeping his feelings to himself. That is, until he and Ryan were moving down the hallway at school only two days after Ryan's escapade with the chocolatier. There was a silent arrogance about him, more so than usual, and he had dropped little comments having to do with Wonka in some way, shape or form during the day that it made Charlie overly suspicious. Wonka was not his anymore, would never be his again, but the thought of someone else getting close to the candy maker – someone like Ryan – made his skin crawl and his stomach flip with not just jealousy, but protectiveness as well.
When asked about any new adventures in his sex life, Ryan simply shrugged and grinned deviously. The fact that he did not elaborate made Charlie highly unsettled.
He feared the worst.
The black and white ball hit Ryan's bag, shortly followed by Josh's full body as he went to catch it. Charlie jumped back in order to avoid being knocked over himself and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. The two major opposites fell to the floor, various objects scattering from their book bags, and with a triumphant yell, Josh announced, "Got it!" as he held up the football. His expression was conceited from seeing the utterly pissed off look on Ryan's face.
"Thanks for breaking my fall," he said curtly.
"You're not welcome, ass hole," Ryan retorted, shoving the athlete off of him.
The two of them began gathering up their displaced possessions, including papers, pencils, a couple of paperback books, and two USB drives. Josh snatched up whatever was closest, not paying much attention to whether it was his or not. He was up and gone in less than a minute, leaving Ryan to pick up the remains. Charlie helped and wanted to laugh at the fuming anger in Ryan's eyes, but he held it back and kept silent.
"Bloody fucking wanker," Ryan grumbled.
"Let it go. You're only making him enjoy it more."
"I don't fucking care."
"Hope you didn't have anything valuable in there."
"Nothing I didn't get back," he answered while packing away the flash drive. "Let's go."
Plugging the drive into the USB port of his computer, Josh expected nothing more than to watch recorded footage of their past game. When the contents opened, however, that file was nowhere to be found.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered to himself.
He clicked on the only existing video file and was caught completely off guard. Approximately a minute into the recording, he knew what was coming and he was at last able to discern who one of the two people was. A devilish grin spread onto his face and hurriedly, he started searching the internet for phone numbers of various tabloids and local newspapers.
Once someone answered, he began the same way with each of them: "I've got something about Willy Wonka you'll be very interested in."
It was four days before the story broke not only locally, but internationally. The front pages of newspapers and magazines bore similar headlines of the scandal, yet their accompanying articles differed in the fact that some were a good deal harsher in response to the unfortunate release of the intimate footage.
The other person in the video could not be indentified, but Charlie had little doubt about who it was. With his anger almost at a peak, he was ready to throw punches at Ryan the moment he saw him. When two days went by and there had been no sight of the punk, Charlie not only got frustrated, but puzzled as well. Going against all of his better judgment, he slowly approached Jamie at her locker after school and said with all the kindness he had, "Hi, Jamie."
There was a small pause before she turned around to look at him, and Charlie was taken aback at the lack of hatred in her gaze; it was quite the difference from the cold stares he was accustomed to getting from her.
"Hi, Charlie," she replied in neither an upset or nice tone.
"I know you don't ever want to talk to me, but I was wondering where Ryan's been."
"What?" he asked, surprised.
"Went back to live with his parents. Sudden, I know."
A period of silence went by before Jamie spoke again. This time, her voice was gentle. "You know that it's him in the video with Willy, don't you?"
Charlie frowned and looked at her quizzically. "Do you know that?"
"Saw Willy leave myself."
"You saw him?"
Jamie nodded with a gloomy smile. "I doubt he knew Ryan was recording."
"God, that bastard."
"I know. And I'm not trying to excuse my cousin's behavior or anything, but….he didn't release it to the public. He does those sorts of things to have for his own entertainment. Why he carried it around with him, I have no clue; but he said it must've gotten picked up by Josh because when he went to watch it, it was just a soccer game."
"Josh did it?" He started to feel a whole new wave of anger come over him.
"It wasn't Ryan."
Abruptly, Charlie began at a fast pace down the hallway, making his way outside to the field in search of the jock. Without a word, he ran at Josh from behind, slammed him on the ground, and let his fists do the talking.