To Avoid, or Not to Avoid [only for Fletcher]

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas closed the door to his living quarters with a heavy sigh. He was tired, frustrated and more confused about himself than he had ever been before. Tossing his over coat onto a chair in his 'recieving' room, he lazily stripped his upper torso bear, strolling languidly over to a bottle of Scotch Kayla had bought him for his last birthday. Half nakd, he rubbed his toned stomach unconciously as he grabbed the full bottle of alcohal and thought about the past occurances that had happened in that same day.

Flopping down onto a couch facing the roaring fire, the flames dancing off his tan skin. He gulped from the bottle, stray drops of amber liquid dribbling down his chin. He swipped absently at them, paying little mind to his dishelved appearance.

'This day couldn't possibly get anymore confusing. First I meet the Stuborn Sayriel, nearly fall head over bloody heels for some man inquiring on being a guest, and then that confrontation with Sayriel once again! And the mention of werewolfe mates?! What the bleeding hell is that suposed to mean? Does she think me to be bossy or something? I will admit to being set on my ways but still!

Nicolas' mental rant was interupted as his fingers lost their grip on the bottle within them, causing it to slip and drop down onto his pants, splashing all over the thick material. "God dammit! Can my life be any more misserable?!"

The lean brunette shuffled off to his bedroom, stripping himself of his soiled garments and tugging on a thin pair of leggings he usually wore for resting time. Going back out into the room illuminated by fire light, he gripped his bottle of booze, falling back onto a new couch and closing his eyes, willing the tears of frustration to just go away.

Yet there was still the thought of werewolves being good mates which ran through his mind. He only knew one male werewolf and refused to even consider a relationship there. Not only was he far from good enough for his friend, but the werewolf was just that - his friend! 'And also a heart breaker. Just look at him! Way to good for you, young Nicolas...'

Nicolas tossed the bottle into the fire, the flames roaring at the sudden abuse. He wished the voices in his head to all just go away. And he wasn't young either! He was a mature 25, much older than many other people at Cashel Castle.He turned around so his back was to the heat and his face to the back of the couch, his eyes clenchedtightly shut as tears streamed down his soft cheeks.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

Dean preferred being in his canine form, but it made him feel vulnerable. It exposed his past on many levels, scars permanent and fading. The only pride he felt was the power and branding he gained. Muscles rippled beneath flesh and fur with every lanky step he took, his fur flexing over his ribcage as he alternated walking cycles, giving a shine fro mthe sleek black fur. He stopped a moment, the clicking of his claws and pit-patting of his pads vanishing as he did, and inhaled deeply enough to press his ears backs.

Definately fustration and booze.

Stretching so his back arched and every bump of his spine protruded against his skin and outlined, he whipped his tail and leaned forward with his releasing stretch, kicking out with his hind leg before he trotted to the well known quarters of his friend. The door was easy enough to open--after a few failed attempts--and he nudged his way in. The room was only alit by firelight, so he fit in like a shadow, blending with the darkness with the exception of his flashing, golden eyes.

You seemed troubled, Nicholas. His voice seemed to echoe, his jaw not even twitching as he spoke in his true form. His tone held some amusement, but a tease as well mixed somewhere with his accent. He shifted his weight to the other side of his body as he pushed himself to walk, rather lazy. He rubbed against the side of the couch, closing one eye so it wouldn't get startched with the fabric.

New boys getting to you? He purred darkly.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas moaned and could have sworn he'd heard his friend Dean. Yet that wasn't possible. Nicolas was in his bed, with covers pulled up and around him while Dean was out with one of his many admirers. Nicolas looked over the mountain which suddenly stood before him and moaned at the bright light of fire which started to cast the rock to flames, burning it to grey embers. Nicolas shook his head, standing up to find himself in a white room, there standing beside him his first love; Mathew.

"Matty?" He reached forward yet when he touched his ex lover, Mathew crumbled and all the lies swarmed like an angry hive of wasps around Nicolas.

the young Mr. Cashel screamed out in fear, falling backwards into the dark. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever...

Nicolas bolted up, casting his gaze around the room wildly. Realizing he was in his living room aka recieving room and laying practically nude on his couch he sighed in relief. "Just a drea. It was just a dream." He chuckled to himself and turned to get off the couch when he saw piercing eyes peering at him. A scream tore from his throat and he fell from the couch in his panic, scurrying crabstyle away from what he could only assume was the Grim until he bashed into the fireplace poker stand. The stand fell to the ground with a loud bang and Nicolas cried out in surprise at the sudden noise. Gasping his throat constricted and he began to pant, mumbling a prayer under his breath, for he was sure he was about to meet his maker.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

In a flurry of black fur, he was altering, his bones creaking and reforming anew, and soon he stood normal as day and he cautiously came upon his friend, resting comforting hands on both shoulders. Dean wasn't allowed to panic now. He had to do what he had taught them both.

"Shhhh, Nick, you're fine. Shhh..." He soothed, bringing a hand up to cup the side of his cheek. "Breathe for me, buddy, breathe." He inhaled deeply, than exhaled just as, hoping Nicholas would catch his drift and do it along with him.

"In," He inhaled, "Out," He exhaled. He gently pried Nick's hands away from his neck, calmy and well versed. He used to have similar attacks.

"I'm sorry I scared you," He said softly, putting his snark away just for a moment, exposing his tender side. "You okay now?" He inspected his longtime friend closely. His voice was building back to his well built mask.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas' eyes were wide an unseeing, his body rigid as he allowed himself to be soothed by that gentle and oh so familiar voice. And then it hit him who it really was. His eyes snapped up and he gazed directly into his long time friend, Dean Colechester's eyes. Taking a deep breathe he tried to stem the tears, make them all just go away but it proved fruitless and he crumbled. He'd never cried like this before anyone, not even his sister. Yet the days events had finally worn him down and there was nothing left for him to resort to.

"Dean," He whispered shakily, gripping the shoulders of his werewolfe friend and jumping against him, holding onto that solid, assuring frame as tight as he possibly could; never to let go if he had a say in the matter.

"I didn't recognize you my friend, I'm deeply sorry for that." His voice was muffled by the fabric of Dean's shirt pressed up against his face. His chest got a tingling feeling as it brushed against the material of Dean's shirt and he gasped in realization, leaping away from his friend as if his touch seared him. He'd completely forgotten his disrobed state and although he'd never have had a real problem with being seen in such a way by the handsome Mr. Colechester, things were diferent now. He had all these mixed up feelings for his friend that he didn't know quite what to do with. Lord, he hadn't even told Dean he prefered men to women! Or did he already know? "Dammit I'm confused!" He cried out, completely forgetting to think instead of speak his thoughts.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

He searched his friend's eyes as they sought out reality, and chanced a breif, glowing smile before it disappeared at Nick's shahikly spoken,

"Dean," And hands were gripping his shoulders, and a weight was thrown at him, and he had no choice but to hold on, so he wouldn't drop him from where he crouched.

"Yeah, it's me." He smiled gently.

"I didn't recognize you my friend, I'm deeply sorry for that." The words Nick spoke came through loud and clear through the obstrution of his shirt. He rubbed his friend's bareback, before the man he held gasped and leapt away from him, confusing Dean who merely blinked.

You would've thought Dean bit him.

"Dammit I'm confused!" Nick suddenly cried out, and Dean looked at him with the look reserved for his sister, before cocking his head with a slightly, nervous--but well hidden--amused breath.

"Okay, awkward," He mumbled to himself before looking back at Nick. "Uh, what about?" He picked up the sarcasim again. He ached to be in his canine form; where he could relax in, but right now human seemed appropriate.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas curled his fingers in his hair, frustrated beyond frustration that he just couldn't figure anything out. Then the answer struck him like a match to a strip of sulphar, and he finally knew what he had to do. "This 25 year old is getting wasted."

He was off the floor in a moment and walking towards the liquor cabinent in a matter if instants. Scrimaging through it he gave a gruff grunt of aprovement at the sight of the full brandy bottle. Ignoring Dean like the plague, for that was all he could do at the moment, Nicolas uncorked the bottle and began to drink. Gulps of the fiery liquid scortched his throat, yet he jsut continued on drinking.

Finally, when the bottle was half empty, he pulled it away from his now swollen lips, coughing for air. His eyes burnt, and his lungs felt about ready to burst. Placing the bottle on a random counter he bent over and heaved, choking on his own breathe. Finally he managed to get his breathing to even out and turned a serious expression on his friend, his words slurred as he spoke, "Do-d'you know wha I am? Do you know about-about me? Cause it's pa-pathetic," He swipped his hand in a wide circle guesture, pointing towards his chest area. His eyes were now dry and his voice bitter as he spat out, "I'm so damned pathetic, it's disgusting. Mama would hate me for it." He laughed bitterly, swipping up the bottle for another long chug.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

"This 25 year old is getting wasted." This statement made Dean give his 'what the fuck' look reserved for shambalas and elementals. Rubbing a hand over his cheek and peeling the underlid of his eye, he stood and followed his friend, also a scant distance behind him.

When Nick took a seat, Dean stretched out the human body he owned, before changing to his much appreciated canine, his lanky movements proof of his content as he leapt up onto the comforter, doing a complete circle twice, before settling and snugging his tail tight to his body in a cradle, his eyes dancing with the reflectons of Nick and flames, watching.

"Do-d'you know wha I am? Do you know about-about me? Cause it's pa-pathetic," Dean cocked an ear to signify he was listening, his teeth tight together as his nostrils flared against the intensified scent of booze. He watched Nick as he made a motion to describe someting unlitterate and snorted.

"I'm so damned pathetic, it's disgusting. Mama would hate me for it." Dean rolled his eyes, lifting his head.

You're Dame wouldn't hate you. She birthed you, and no matter what she'd always love you, even if she wouldn't show it. He paused, folding an ear at a faint whine of pipes behind the walls. Why would you think your pathetic, Nick? He raised himself on all fours, but not fully as he crawled towards his long time friend, resting his canine skull on his upper knee, watching him. He used to do this when he was younger, and he'd always get his fur stroked.

I don't think you are. You're just... confused. About something. That you've still to tell me. Each sentence was punctuated with silence before it began.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas' hand smoothed over the soft fur of his best friend -for that was what he thought of Dean as - and sighed. He'd thought about telling Dean about him many times, yet each time he'd come close to it, he'd been compelled to turn around or change the direction of the conversation in the completely oposite direction of sexuality. He was glad that Dean hadn't picked up on the fact that he fell for men and not women like Sayriel had yet wondered once again how it was that the young woman had managed it. Yet the question still remained; should he tell Dean about his secret and watch their friendship deteriorate with the disgust that would certainly be thought for him by Dean, or avoid it at all costs?

Looking down at the content werewolfe, he could have sworn he heard him purring. This was his best friend, and not matter what happened, no matter if Dean ended up hating him like others in the past had, he decided he couldn't live with this lie anymore. At least not when he was around the handsome Mr. Colechester.

"It's true I haven't told you something, my friend. But I know I should and even though this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life because you're most likely never going to want to see my face ever again, I have to get this out. You're the most wonderful person I have ever known and above all the things that people may say, you are the loyalist companion a man could ever dream of." Nicolas gulped and tightened his hands into fists within Dean's fur before finishing what he had wanted to say for so long. "I-I like men!" He paled at what he said, it all becoming oh so true now that it was out there.

"But the worst part is, that I could never be in a real relationship with one because from the stories I've heard about men being with men, a man must be... What's it called? Dominant! A man must want to dominate and I don't want to do that. I don't seek out pleasure in the control of others. I want love and commitment, not power and domination." Tears of shame coloured his vision and he turned his gaze down at the soft fur beneath his hands, releasing it from the tight grip he'd had on it, hoping he hadn't caused Dean any discomfort physically.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

His skin hurt from where his fur was pulled lightly. The news had no effect on Dean at all. He'd known for a long time. Pressing his monstrosity paws against Nick's leg, he pushed himself forward to lap at the tears.

Calm yourself, Nick. I've known this for a long time. He reassured, nuzzling up under Nick's chin. And you don't have to be dominant. If you happen to be in a relationship of the kind, the other could be. He explained, his body turning and curling to lie down.

It's also good you told me, because now your admitting to reality. He wisely added. He had done that once. It took me a long time to admitt to myself that I was a follower of men.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas sniffled, hiccuping, still feeling shameful even after the wisely spoken words. He'd known about Dean being a lover of males, and he bent at the torso, hugging the warm, soft body of the werewolfe close to his own.

"I hate myself for it, I truly do. What shall happen now to the family name if I am not to marry? Hm? I'll have to be with a woman no matter what I want, no matter how uncomfortable or how much it'll hurt. Fuck I need some booze."

He allowed a few more stray tears to fall down upon the smooth fur of his best friend. There was always something so adorable about Dean. Although others had shunned him and his snarky nature, Nicolas had embraced it with open arms, loving the other man instantly like the best friend he was meant to be. And although it made him feel slightly awekward, hugging another male who held affections for men, he couldn't quite find it in him to push himself away, yet could only seem to bury his face further into the soft fur.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

Nothing will. Just take a mate and be happy. If your family name, he wrinkled his nose, means that much to you, than get one of the slaves to bear a child. He was usually ruthless, hard, sarcastic, and completely psychopathic, except for Nick. It did slip sometimes.

I believe happiness is far more satisfying than keeping a name to a worn castle. He had been here since he could remember, when he was just a young pup. That was a good, almost too many, decades behind him, trailing beyond B.C. He had watched them rebuild the sorrowing castle, heard the bricks weep.

I've been alive far to long now and have gained no one. You're beginning to dawn on your pre-middle ages. I suggest you make a desicion. He warned gently, his tail flopping as he curled back his lips to expose his teeth, rubbing them against the fabric of the comforter to itch his gums.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas growled at his friend, pushing off the couch to turn a glare on him. "Do not call me old you lazy mutt. I'm-I'm- I am very much aware of my-my age, alright?! I would have settled down years ago if Kayla weren't so damned demanding. If I were attracted to women! If a man would look at me with longing and love and lust and everything else a person can hope for! But no, that's not in the books for dear old Nicky boy so shut the hell up and cease your lectures on age alright?"

Nicolas felt tears of anger and frustration melt against his eyelids and he merely blinked them away, to frustrated to care about a little salty liquid. "Have a good night my young Fletcher."

Nicolas gripped the bottle of liquor and turned on his heels marching towards his bedroom and slamming the door behind him. He went over to his window and flung the bottle out into the night air, glaring at the sound of glass shattering against solid gravel. Stripping completely nude he walked over to his bed and lifted the blankets, slumping down into them with arms folded across his chest, sulking childishly.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

Dean rolled his eyes, his body cracking and morphing.

"I did no such thing." He growled, getting up and stalking after him, his shadow bouncing on the walls as a wolf's. He was getting tired of Nick's sudden attitude swings. Storming into his corridors, Dean's laid a grip on the blankets and with a powerful motion of the arm, swept them off.

"Do not assume you're old, or that I'm younger than you. I'm quite a fair bit older. More than fair." He snarled, his eyes exposed to his friend's nude body, but having no interest what so ever. He had become too attached in a none romantic way to ever be able to find attraction in him.

"You're always so negative, and I'm getting tired of you're moping and feeling so fucking sorry for yourself that you're not taking a second glance! You don't even TRY to catch one's eye, Nicholas!" His voice, as well as his mood, was rising.

"At least you'll be able to find someone!" He leaned in close, close enough that he made sure Nick would surely smell his breath of freshly devoured raw flesh. "Do you know how long I've been alone to myself?" His voice was dangerously low now.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas bit his lip to stop it's trembling before spitting out, "What? So now you're the only one allowed to be able to be depressive? Huh? Well forget you, you bloody blackguard! I tried for love once! And it turned out the man had a family for christ's sake! And now you lecture me on my moping around? God! I swear I could beat you, you bloody smartass!"

completely forgetting his nude state, his rage taking him over completely he lunged, tackling the werewolfe to the ground and punching him square in the jaw. "You have so much fucking rage and anger at your own lonliness? HUH?! Then take it out on me the proper way than you stupid werewolfe! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" Each sequence of hateful words was followed by another slap, each one lossing a little less of its vigour as his voice broke and then he himself broke, breaking off into a strangled sob and pulling at his hair in frustration, pulling clumps of it from his tender skull.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

After the first hit, Dean had foguht back. When Nick had tackled, his instincts took over and his body broke back into his true self and he become violent, his teeth wrenching into the biceps of Nick's arm, sinking through muscle. He stopped, pullng back when Nick broke down, his face and jaw throbbing with a burn from where he was slapped. He was sure to has bruises in human form. He could taste the metalic of blood, and his stomach churned, craving--needing--more. His sides expanded and shortened with his breaths, and he breathed, nearly disgusted and he contorted to his desguise.

"You're right, Nick. You're pathetic. So fucking stuck on someone else that you can't move on." He spat blood that had gathered from his teeth onto the floor.

"I never did. And look at me now." Some creature, psychopathic and entirely rude and violent. He didn't want someone as gentle as Nick to become another him.

"Don't cave in on yourself." His voice was monotone, and he paused to catch his breath. The adrenaline rush was too much, as well as the blood.

[Nicolas Cashel]

Nicolas ignored the torn muscles in his arms. He slumped down onto the floor, withrawing into himself. It didn't matter that his most intimate of places was exposed for all the world to see or that his arm was steadily soaking his floor in a pool of torn flesh and blood. He rolled onto his stomach and got up onto all fours, crawling slowly in the direction of his bed. His right arm dampened a spot on the bed as he tried to lift himself to the bed, his eyes completely empty.

Getting upon the bed he shifted to the bed, his rear end high in the air for only a minute before the sheets which had not been thrown to the ground were covering his shivering form.

Snuggling into his pillow his arm lay lax at his side as he whispered, "Goodnight Dean. I love you, my brother."

His eyes shut and he tried to disolve into the darkness that would take away the pain in his arm which still leaked pathetically onto the thin linens.

[Fletcher Dean Colechester]

Fletcher snorted, feeling no guilt nor regret. Nick needed something to jerk him back into place, and even if that wasn't the right method, it hopefully did. And as far as Nick's bleeding arm, Dean was just far too gone to his anger to even care. He turned, his muscles rigid and jaw tight.

"Good night, Nicholas." His voice was sturdy and quiet, but deepend with anger and he left the room, and Nick, to the shadows.