Delicious: Parts o1 & o2
Title: Delicious
Author: conclusivelead.
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Burton Movie: Charlie & the Chocolate Factory.
Rating: R - NC-17.
Category: Angst, drama, darkfic, romance
Word Count: o1 & o2 = 1,397.
Spoilers: None; AU.
Summary: “There is a smear of dark on the back of his hand and Sam wants nothing more than to lean forward and place his lips against that bronze and taste the bitter of chocolate and the sweet of skin.”
Warnings: AU, chocolate!Kink, introspection, vagueness, cursing, violence, death, frotting, UST, campiness
Notes: o1 and o2 are rather short but I've got the story divided up into ten sections and have decided to post two parts every week, so I hope you'll indulge how short they are. Sam makes his appearance in o3. :3
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Kripke and the CW network. I do not own Supernatural and there is no profit being made from this fanfiction. I also own neither Charlie and the Chocolate Factory or Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
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DELICIOUS - Parts o1 & o2
A SPN/Charlie & the Chocolate Factory Crossover…of Sorts
o1
Chocolate.
Streams and streams and cascades and cascades of pure, melted chocolate, and it’s all his.
Green eyes are blank, absent with remembering, unfocused and beautiful and staring.
He sits in candy grass, on a candy hill, under a candy tree, and stares at his chocolate waterfall.
There is an insignificant rustling at the man’s side, but he ignores it and instead continues to be lost in a collage of fragmental nothings -
…the house is squeezed between all the other houses, stiff and compact and more orderly than all the other houses on the block. There is a railed front step leading to the front door, next to which there is a shiny bronze plaque that he looks at inadvertently every single time he lands upon the top step…
…Halloween was always his favorite holiday, because he was able to escape from the house for a short while, even if it was just a very short while. His father never wasn’t happy about it, but he nonetheless let his son go out all dressed up and venture from home to home with a bag in his left hand and an excited grin on his face, stretching from ear to ear. And every year when the little boy came home he would take the bag from his left hand and spill the contents across the kitchen table and…
…fingers wrapped around several pieces at once, hot around the wrapping and melting the contraband treat inside, and John Winchester’s mouth was twisted in distaste and there was a sad, sad look in young green eyes as fingers squeezed tighter…
…hands clench and there is a fire lit in the fireplace, burning hot to keep the bite of winter from the room and John throws and chocolate melts and the room is unbearably hot and sweat slides, slides -
Sweat clings to his skin and slides down his neck into the velvet collar of his maroon jacket. He reaches back and wipes his gloved hand across his nape, a momentary relief. His eyes never leave the chocolate waterfall. His hand falls from the back of his neck to drift across the blades of candy grass, which bend beneath the light strain of his pressing fingers…bending, bending, bending, until snap - the spun sugar finally gives and breaks, only so sturdy.
The spun sugar grass is tiny and the snapping can’t really make any noise at all, but it seems to draw the strange man from his reverie. Glazed eyes suddenly clear and focus and limp limbs straighten and stiffen ever so slightly.
He runs his fingers up and down the arm of his blazer, the velvet clinging strangely to his soft white gloves. There is a hole somewhere deep inside him, a hole from which a strange, vast darkness has been unfurling for quite some time and lately has been growing at an almost crippling rate. He feels it clawing at his lungs and tearing at his heart and pushing at his ribs, bending them back and trying to push itself out from in between the tissue it has been killing. It tries to slither out from between the broken fragments of his ribcage and soak into his skin and turn his outside as ugly and broken as his inside.
He wraps his arms around himself and lowers his eyes from the aesthetic beauty about him, searching for something else and finding it lacking.
There is a loud whooshing in his head, and he cannot truly be certain if it’s from the nearby crashing of chocolate against chocolate of the waterfall or from still-burning flames of the fireplace in his head.
Whatever peace he’d felt from this room is gone, and he stands to leave. His velvet suit is somehow unwrinkled and it falls into place smoothly against his form. He quickly adjusts the gray satin tie beneath his blazer and turns and walks away from the waterfall, spun sugar grass crushed beneath every step, but the whooshing in his head doesn’t go away.
He leaves the room and travels the length of the factory to the upper levels, where the rooms have been converted into living quarters. The walls are a deep red and the hardwood floors are covered in carpets, and there is a fire lit in most every room, and he is clad in velvet and satin, but he is cold, even so. He glances at the clock - 7:30.
A white sheen of frost has crept up along the border of the glass of this window sometime over the night. He takes barely any notice of this as he settles down before the glass and uses his white glove to rub at the pane absentmindedly.
Through the frost, and through the light snow that has begun to fall outside, he sees the gates of the factory, and the familiar, tall figure standing there. His breath catches in his throat, and both gloved hands come to rest against the glass. The exploding emptiness in him retreats a little at the sight of curly brown hair and lanky limbs and a shivering frame and he knows that the barrenness that has been with him for so long is no longer just a benevolent un-growth but a yearning, needing hunger, and for the first time in a long time, he knows just what he is hungry for.
Not chocolate, not sugar, not something that is safely within reach, but something - someone…someone with brown hair and hazel eyes and long legs and the same desperate, hungry obsession in his eyes that lies within his own.
o2
“Geoffrey…is it on? Is it - You bloody idiot, is the camera - Hello, folks! This is Bela Talbot coming to you live from Santa Fe, New Mexico, where the first of the five Golden Tickets has been discovered by twenty-three-year-old Meg Masters. We were lucky to be invited into Miss Masters’ home for an interview earlier this evening for an interview. Geoffrey, if you will roll that tape now-”
Miss Masters, thank you so much for inviting us into your lovely home.
Of course, Bela, anything.
So, please - enlighten us. Just how exciting is it to have found the first of the Golden Tickets? Are you just pleased as punch to have won this chance to enter to the Winchester Chocolate Factory?
It’s definitely exciting, but I’m really in it for the scoop. Just where the hell has this Winchester guy been hiding away all these years anyway? I’m thinking about writing a book about the whole experience. I’m a journalism major, you see…
“Bela Talbot here with the scoop about the newest founder of a Golden Ticket - Miss Ruby Carpenter from New York! The glamorous twenty-one-year-old Carpenter is daughter of well-known artist Emille Carpenter and heir to the Carpenter family fortune. Earlier today, Miss Carpenter expressed her dislike for chocolate but her enthusiasm for enigmatic chocolatier Dean Winchester…”
“Another Golden Ticket has been found, ladies and gentlemen! Hello, my name is Bela Talbot, reporting for KRQUE, and I’m coming to you live from Seattle, Washington, where a third lucky person has found a Golden Ticket that will grant them access to the world-renowned Winchester Chocolate Factory, the owner of which - mysterious and apparently camera-shy Mr. Dean Winchester - has decided to open up to five blessed customers! The third ticket was found this morning at approximately ten-fifteen inside a Winchester Bar, the factory’s most popular item, by Mr. Uriel Gregory, a native of Seattle and longtime chocolate enthusiast. While Mr. Gregory has not granted any interviews as of yet, it has been confirmed by experts that the ticket is, in fact, genuine…”
“Not even forty-eight hours later and already we have another Golden Ticket on our hands. Bela Talbot here, reporting to you from a suburb of Richmond, Virginia, where a very lucky little girl has just discovered the second-to-last of the five much-desired Winchester Golden Tickets. Lilith Cast, eight years old, unwrapped her Golden Ticket just today to the shock and delight of her very thrilled parents during quite possibly the best birthday party a little girl could ask for. Ahaha, childhood is a wonderful time, indeed. Still, with only one Golden Ticket left, the world is left wondering - just into whose fortunate hands will it fall? Back to you, Don.”
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