Author's Website: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/8741/jmgarden.htm

Disclaimer: Alliance owns them but I'm the one who gets to use the whip on them occasionally.

Author's Notes: This is the fourth in the "MELTED CANDLES" series. This series will explore the ramifications of Benny's decision to go with Victoria and Ray's bullet missing him on the train platform in "VICTORIA'S SECRET". It will also be a two-part psychological study: is Frankie Zuko completely irredeemable, or are there good qualities in him? Ray loved him once. Would he love anyone without any redeeming qualities? As for the second part: does the core of a person remain the same, no matter what 'universe' they are in? Or does essential parts of self change with changed circumstances? We will see as Ray and Benny struggle to live in the world one fateful decision gave them.
This segment is 'Frankiethoughts'. You know who you are, Fuzzi! :)

Story Notes: Pairings: RV/FZ (Action), RV/BF (Implied).
Categories: Drama, Series, AU.
Rating: NC-17.

I
RAIN

The rain drummed on the roof, casting darkness into every corner of the great house. The den was draped in shades of ink and charcoal-gray, the heavy drapes at the window fluttering as a strong gust of wind blew in.

The figure at the desk was immobile, dark eyes glittering as thunder crashed and lightning rolled over the night sky. A flash of lightning illuminated a smile.

A triumphant smile. A smile that would chill the hearts of the men who were in thrall to him. Frankie Zuko.

I have everything I want.

Well, that was only partially true, but he'd work on that. Ray loved him. He knew that, deep down. It wasn't the all-consuming love that he wanted, or that he felt for Ray, but it was there. He could feel it in every caress from his lover's hand, or the way Ray's body molded to his in the heat of passion.

At first Ray had been reluctant to share his bed. He'd fought it, hated it, had whored himself for the sake of his family and to keep himself out of prison. Now it was different. Ray responded to him, and Frankie was ecstatic. Yet he wanted more. He wanted to be No. 1 in Ray's life.

It was meant to be. Ray had been his first lover, back when they were teenagers. He'd been Ray's first lover. It had been simple love, even the lovemaking, because they hadn't known how to do anything sophisticated, but it had been true love. He wasn't just being wishful in his thinking. Ray had been his friend when they'd been in grade school and had been the genuine article, wanting to be his friend because he liked him, not wanting something from him like everyone else had wanted. They had even made plans together to work in the Family business...then he'd slipped. Badly. He'd let a white-hot anger rip through him and reduce Marco Metrani's face to mush on the basketball court one terrible day. He remembered every stomach-turning moment, not the least of which was the look of shocked horror on Ray's face. And that was when Ray had walked away from him.

Or so he thought.

Ray had taken up with his sister Irene. That had made his blood boil, but Irene was his sister and he couldn't hurt her. He'd bided his time, graduating high school and going to Italy to get first-hand instruction in the 'Business', and coming back to Chicago to take his rightful place as boss of the South Side. And even while in Italy, he'd kept tabs on Ray. He'd known every time that miserable old man of his had used him as a punching bag, and he'd cheered when Ray had fought back according to the report he'd received one sunny day in Palermo. He had cheered again at the news of Sal Vecchio's death, understanding how a father's fists could hurt even years after the fact.

He'd come home and married Carmella DiTorio, and Ray had married Angela Verini. Two good Italian girls who would give them plenty of bambinos. Except that Theresa had been the only child that Carmella and he could have, and Ray and Angie had divorced. And still he'd yearned for Ray.

He'd waited, sure in the knowledge that there would come a time when he could start his campaign to win Ray back. It didn't matter that Ray hated him. He only thought he did. Or even if he did, what of it? Ray wouldn't hate him so much if love hadn't been there, and was still there, even if buried down deep.

So he had continued to bide his time. He had heard of the Mountie, of course, and had gotten pictures of the man. A god, to be sure, but what did they have in common? Ray was not shallow. A good body and pretty face would attract him, but he needed more than that for a long-term relationship. This Canuck was completely the opposite of him in background, nationality, and ethnicity. Probably religion, too. He, Frankie, and Ray shared all that and more.

That first time he'd seen the Canadian in the flesh had been exciting, indeed, in this very room...

//*The undercurrents swirled around all of them, Ray all business-like and angry and deadly quiet. Frankie had to admit that the Mountie was beautiful. He looked absolutely edible in his cute little red suit and fawn Stetson. And his politeness was rather refreshing, though Frankie still preferred good ol' Chicago rude.*

*Ray looked stunning. He was as slender as ever, his long coat swirling around him as he walked with the grace that Frankie remembered in his dreams. Ray was not conventionally beautiful, but what did that matter? He was light and grace and sexuality all rolled into one delectable package. And the eyes. Mustn't ever forget the eyes. They were luminscent, and whenever Ray had looked at him during their romance years ago with all the love shining from them, Frankie had known acceptance, and peace, and a sense of self that was lost to him when Ray had gone.*

*Damn, now the Mountie had Ray. Frankie was sure of it. Oh, they weren't lovers. Not yet. But it was only a matter of time.*

Okay. All right. If the Mountie came as part of the package, he could live with that. The Canuck would be icing on the cake, and delicious icing at that.//

First loves are hard to forget.

His face darkened as thunder rumbled.

II
THUNDER

First loves. That damned Canuck's first love had nearly ruined Ray.

She was beautiful, he had to give her that, and ruthless. In fact, she would do well in his business, except that she was utterly disloyal. And loyalty was important in the Family.

She had cleverly plotted every step of her revenge against the Constable. He had foolishly fallen for it, and had dragged Ray down with him.

Benton Fraser had betrayed Ray.

Frankie's eyes glittered in the sudden flash of lightning, his fingers curling around the blade of his silver letter-opener. He stared out into the darkness, his eyes hard and relentless.

Betrayal could never be forgiven.

His lips curled into an amusement that could chill a man. He began to tap the hard wood of the desk with the tip of the blade.

Tap, tap, tap.

Such a beautiful face. Perfect in all its loveliness. And now that beauty was his, by the betrayer's own word. Oh, yes.

Poor Ray. To be so taken in by that Canadian. Surely he knew that he deserved better? Someone who would never betray him?

Well, at least the Snow Bitch had done him a favor. He had watched the plot unfold via his spies and their reports. Ray was never very far out of his reach. Even from Italy, he had kept tabs, after all.

Dear Ray. Did he really think that he'd stopped caring? Even when Ray had been beating him to a pulp in the gym during the shoemaker thing, he'd cared. He'd blustered and threatened and made Ray think that he could go after him, but he never did. Didn't Ray ever wonder about that?

Or did he know, and just not want to acknowledge it?

He should have had the Mountie taken care of back then. Jealousy had burned in his bones as surely as it had done when Ray had been dating Irene. But he knew that was a dangerous step. Ray would have known, and would have killed him. He understood the lengths to which passion drove a man. So he had waited, and made sure that they thought of him, while he tried to devise a way to get Ray back. Maybe he could have pulled some strings and gotten the Constable sent back to Canada. Fitting, except that he wasn't too sure that Ray wouldn't have gone back with him.

So when the Bitch from Hell had blown into town like a snowstorm, he'd watched and waited. And he had been incredulous at the way she had played the Mountie like a violin, but then possibilities had begun to dance in his mind. And when the Constable had committed his ultimate act of betrayal, Frankie had been ready.

To make the deal. To bring Ray home. Back where he belonged. In his bed...

//Frankie watched with avid anticipation as Ray walked into the room. He was stretched out on his bed, the sheet down around his waist, his hairy chest exposed and gleaming with the oils he had applied in preparation for this night.

*Ray glanced up and swallowed hard, his green eyes pools of misery. He was wearing a light-green Armani suit that set off those eyes beautifully. Frankie felt his groin twitch.*

*"Come on over, Ray."*

Ray stood like a statue, then he slowly approached the bed.

*"Don't be shy. I'm all ready and waiting for you." Frankie cocked his head. "Lose the clothes."*

*With shaking hands, Ray began to unknot his tie. Frankie watched every move, his tongue running along his lips as he the tie was dropped to the carpeted floor, and then the jacket was shed. Next the long, elegant fingers unbuttoned the white silk shirt, slowly pushing it back over olive-skinned shoulders, revealing the lightly-furred chest. Frankie's eyes sought out the sensitive nipples nestled in the dark hair. Yes, he remembered the taste of those.*

The pants went next, sliding down slender yet strong thighs. Fine Italian footwear was kicked off, and the pants followed. Socks joined the shoes.

*And then came the underwear. Simple cotton briefs, stark-white against that olive skin. Frankie's eyes never wavered as the briefs were pushed down the legs, his gaze resting upon the exquisite cock.*

*It was long and delicious, like Ray himself. Frankie's pulse speeded up. He smiled and held out his hand.*

*Ray moved stiffly, his hand slipping into Frankie's. It was cold. Frankie could feel the fine tremors. Ray climbed up on the bed, the scent of him sending thrills of excitement through Frankie's nether regions. He drew Ray down, brushing his lips against Ray's dry ones. He nuzzled Ray's long, elegant neck, the taste of his beloved absolutely intoxicating. The memories flooded him of a time so long ago, the excitement of new discovery, as only teenage boys can experience. His fingers tightened around Ray's slender arms.*

*He tasted the lightly-furred chest, his tongue flicking out against a nipple. He sucked it, Ray's body trembling even more now. He tasted the other nipple, the hard bud pleasing him. Yes, Ray was fighting this, but his body was saying otherwise.*

He ran his tongue down the sternum and to the navel, dipping inside to taste of sweat. He could smell the fear emanating from this body. He knew that smell very well after a lifetime of his business.

*He returned to Ray's mouth, this time forcing the lips open with his questing tongue and thrusting inside, crushing the captive Italian to his chest. Ray moaned. He nearly laughed with joy.*

When he broke the kiss, they were both breathing heavily. He leaned in for another kiss.

*"Please...don't."*

*The voice was a whisper, so faint that Frankie barely heard it in his passionate haze. He hesitated. He saw the pain in Ray's shimmering emerald eyes.*

Shimmering. Such beautiful eyes. Oh, he wanted this man.

*Frankie went lower, his breath tickling Ray's groin. The cock twitched, then Frankie suddenly rolled off the bed, startling Ray. Ray watched with wide eyes from his kneeling position on the bed.*

Frankie put fists on hips, proudly displaying his bobbing cock. It was ready, fluid weeping from the tip.

*"On your knees. On the floor."*

*Swallowing hard, Ray slid off the bed and down to the hardwood floor. He trembled as he knelt before his owner, the cock inches from his face. Frankie's fingers carded through the thinning silken hair and he spoke softly.*

*"Suck me."*

*Ray's tongue flickered out timidly, barely touching the tip of Frankie's cock. A tug on his head brought his tongue wrapping around the column of flesh. His cheeks puffed in and out, Frankie rolling his eyes in ecstasy, his fingers digging into Ray's shoulders. He thrust his hips forward, Ray nearly choking, but he held on, closing his eyes. His face grew flushed as Frankie's rhythm grew faster. Frankie looked down at the beautiful Italian kneeling at his feet, his cock driving in and out of his mouth, and fountained.*

*He felt his knees go weak, his cock sliding out of Ray's mouth. Ray's eyes remained closed, Frankie feeling a fine tremor course through his captive's body. He ran his fingers through the silky hair again and sighed.*//

The thunder rumbled loudly again, this time shaking the house. The memories drifted around like wisps in the flashes of light.

It had been like that at first: Ray achingly reluctant, barely responsive. Frankie had not punished him, because he'd wanted to go slow. He wanted Ray to come to him, to love him again. Punishment wouldn't work with Ray. He needed careful handling. Yet the order at the end of their first encounter had been necessary. He'd had to establish his authority from the beginning, otherwise all would have been lost. Ray had to know that no matter how much Frankie would be gentle with him, there was only one boss in the bedroom.

Not that he wouldn't indulge his lover. He wanted Ray to love him again. Or maybe, just allow himself to acknowledge that love. When they'd confronted each other in this den in the shoemaker case all those years ago, he'd sensed the undercurrents of feeling from his defiant, angry ex-lover.

Good. Hate often came from love. If Ray hated him so passionately, then he still loved him. Deep, buried, but there. Frankie knew it, deep in his bones.

Ray had to be protected.

There was a core of compassion in Ray that was dangerous in their neighborhood. In Frankie's world, that compassion could be deadly. Frankie had tried to show Ray that he should be tougher, back in the days of childhood. Ray had laughed and refused to learn, allowing his vulnerability to show at times. He had even woven dreams of going legitimate in the Business when they were old enough to make a difference.

Frankie wondered if the beating of Marco had been an unconscious act to show Ray the brutality of his world, because he'd successfully hidden the uglier parts of it up to that day. Unfortunately, instead of just roughing the clumsy kid up, he'd gone too far, unable to stop the rage that had coursed through him.

He'd lost Ray.

Surprisingly to those who only knew the 'thug' Frankie, he could be astonishingly honest with himself. He knew that he could be a coward, a bully, petty, and cruel. He also knew that he could be loyal. The Code of the neighborhood, of the Family, was a Code he followed. And Ray understood that. It was just another thing they had in common.

He also knew that he could be charming and generous. He had won Ray once before with charm and a sincere friendship. Now, he had his chance, and what of it if it meant asking Ray to prostitute himself? It was a necessary first step.

Because, after all, Ray was no longer a whore in his eyes. He could be indulged. Yes.

Because Ray was his wife.

He'd had a wife. Carmella was still legally his wife, but she had stopped being a wife in all but name years ago. When she had discovered his secret, she had raged and vented, and then had laid down the law: she would continue in the marriage for the sake of the children and his reputation, but she wanted freedom. As long as she was discreet, he'd agreed. He disliked the notion of other lovers for her, but he'd decided to be generous. Besides, she had him by the short hairs.

Ray was treated with respect. He deserved it. He was the love of Frankie's life. And while Frankie believed in one boss for the bedroom, he allowed Ray to be persuasive, as a wife should be. And he would never ask him to do what a whore would do.

No, the Mountie would be used for that.

III
LIGHTNING

His blood boiled. The Mountie had betrayed Ray. In all the things that had gone between them, he had never betrayed Ray. He had made a mistake on the basketball court once years ago, and it had cost him everything. But he hadn't betrayed Ray.

But the Constable had betrayed him. He had allowed himself to become befogged by a beautiful face. Granted, she had been wily, but he had seen through her from the very first report. And Ray had known. His expressions in the photos Frankie had received told him that. The Mountie? Either he was a nave fool or had chosen not to see.

And had he chosen not to see Ray? To see Ray's love, right there beside him? All he had to do was turn around if he was so desperate for love and find it in his own backyard.

The Mountie had a different Code. That Code was rigid, setting impossible standards. It had nothing to do with family. It did have loyalty in it, but it dealt with light and bright, shining swords to cleave through the evil of the world. His Code dealt with darkness and made him and Ray familiar with it. When confronted with true evil, a darkness that seeped into the bones and rotted there, the Mountie had been unable to fight it off, blinded by the light of his Code.

So he had betrayed the man who had mortgaged his house for his bail, had stood by him through sewers and on rooftops and in dumpsters, and who would go to prison and endure unspeakable horrors because of the loyalty to his friend.

So now, while Ray was treated with the respect that a wife deserved, the Mountie would be treated with the disrespect a whore deserved. Frankie would be careful when the three of them were together. He knew that Ray still loved his betrayer. Ray always loved the ones who hurt him. So he would be careful and enjoy the Mountie's exquisite body, though Frankie thought that too much Mountie was like too much candy: sweet and exciting and could give you a rush, but eventually your teeth rotted from too much of it and he preferred something substantial and nourishing like Ray: sating the hunger that throbbed in his flesh, meat that could be tasted with a delicate palate. Mountie meat? That was made to tear into with incisive savagery.

And while he would enjoy the light, airy confection that was the Mountie, feastng on his cream and the cherry on top, he would turn away the angel cake on the nights when Ray slept at the house of his family. Turn away the angel cake, and welcome the devil's food cake. The Mountie meat. Order him to do what a whore would do. Indulge himself in things that he would never dream of doing with a partner he respected. The Mountie deserved no respect.

He was a Whore.

He was a Betrayer.

As the lightning flashed, a feral grin glittered in the ephemeral brightness.