Melted Candles #4: Storm	Melted Candles #4: Storm

 by Gilda Lily

  

 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.  E-Mail: jeanniemarie@sprintmail.com
 (c) May 18, 2001 

End