A sharp clang echoed through the icy forest, followed by forlorn cries and the whisper of heavy breath.
"I'm sorry, mon ami," soothed a French accent as footsteps neared the metal trap, "but there's money to be made in the fur trade and polar coats are worth a fortune."
The caged animal whimpered, turning its pleading eyes toward the golden-haired man, causing him to tilt his head in confused amazement at the pale indigo tint.
"What have we here...?" he queried aloud. "Ah, with such an angelic trait, I may have even captured a spirit bear."
The purple orbs widened and the creature nodded briskly. Ocean blue locked with indigo, both clear and open.
"Did you just- ?" The Frenchman stared in disbelief for a moment. "N-non, it must just be the cold getting to me."
He might have trusted the attempted reassurance, were it not for the bear shaking its white muzzle in the negative. Though every bit of his mind was yelling that this was impossible and that he was probably completely mental, looking down at that expressive face was making it harder and harder to rationalize. He decided to give one last try.
"Alright," Mon Dieu, I cannot believe I am actually doing this, "paw the ground three times if you can understand me, s'il vous plaît."
The animal bowed obligingly and padded at the snow thrice in steady succession. It glanced at the man, and almost jumped back at his suddenly ragged appearance.
"That's it, I've gone crazy!"
The one in the cage let out a lightly frustrated growl, then shook its head.
"Oh," the man huffed stand-offishly, "so I'm not crazy. I'm just taking advice from a bear!"
Round eyes fell dejectedly and the small polar bear's shoulders even drooped slightly. The blond internally scolded himself for causing such a pitiful scene.
"I– I'm sorry. That was rude of me. I was just being very…" Damn you, Kirkland. "ungentlemanly."
The other's gaze slowly drifted back up to meet a regretful yet determined stare.
"You do want to be free, do you not?"
He was answered by a skeptic glare and then an untrusting nod.
"I'm not going to lie to you. You're much too beautiful for me to kill."
This received a shy eye-averting from the cub.
"I will let you go," he swiftly raised a finger, "on one condition."
Having gotten over the previous flattery, the little beast gave a signal to continue.
He took a deep breath. "If you attack me, I will shoot you." A hand slid over the revolver at his hip.
There was a hard gulp, but the white head nodded its understanding.
Both pairs of eyes held each other with certainty. "Then our deal is settled."
Nimble fingers wrapped around the latch of the snare, but before it could be undone, an unnatural change in the air alerted both minds and the two were drawn to stare at the milky full moon. The bear began to panic at the mesmerizing spectacle. The Frenchman wasn't granted so much as a warning, before the animal reared and crashed against the bars, knocking him into a snow bank. He missed the way the gusting wind blew from the moon itself, catching flecks of winter's whiteness to reflect the brightening glow. The shimmer spiraled down and began to encircle the frantic polar bear, until he was fully encompassed. A very human scream split through the brilliant cocoon. The blond pulled himself from his involuntary snow angel just in time to see the spinning cold float to the ground, revealing a thin, shaking body, curled up in the bottom of the cage.
The man fell breathless as the smooth expanse of bare skin lifted itself into an elegant position. A young boy shuddered within the medal trap, steamy puffs of cold air breaking past his plump, pink lips, strawberry ringlets framed his cherubic face, and his eyes shone with striking indigo.
The boy opened his mouth but a soft roar took place of the word that he aimed for. He turned and gave a corrective cough into one hand.
"Hello," he murmured.
The older man blinked. "Bon-bonjour…"
"Forgive me if I've in any way frightened you. Are you alright?" His tone, though broken, was truly concerned.
"Are you?"
A charming giggle was emitted along with a blushing nod.
"Uhm, not to be rude, but," he forced away the rouge, "do you think you could let me out of this now."
"Of course!" the Frenchman shouted, shook from his stunned stupor. "I am so sorry, it's just y-"
"It's- it's alright," the pale form interrupted gently, "There's money to be made in the fur trade, I understand."
He cleared his throat. Damn… The bars were finally unlatched and a hand was extended to the boy, but it remained untouched and skeptically scrutinized. "You can trust me."
"Do you promise?" The quake in his voice was unmistakable and those indigo depths held the pain of so many failed pledges.
"Oui. Yes, I will." The words were firm.
Hesitantly, a delicate hand entwined with the larger. "I'm trusting you. Don't ruin that."
"I promise…" His voice trailed off.
"Matthew," the younger finished as he was tugged out of his prison and into strong arms. "My name is Matthew Williams."
"Matthieu… C'est un beau nom. Je très l'aime." The Frenchman crooned.
"Merci beaucoup. Et vous?" Matthew purred as he hid his rapidly heating cheeks.
"Quoi?" The strawberry blond was pushed back into view, blush and all. "Vous parlez?"
"U-un petit peu." Matthew tossed his hair into his face hoping for coverage as he fought to will away the red. "Votre nom?"
"Ah, pardon. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy."
"Enchanté, Francis," the younger muttered, eyes loosing focus with the force he was using.
"Matthieu, quel dommage?" Francis worriedly asked the frail body as balance began to lessen. "Are you alright?"
"I'm f-fi-" Matthew breathed harshly, just before his eyes rolled back and he went limp in Francis's grasp.
"Ma-Matthew?" He gave the body a light shake and breathed a sigh of relief when that elicited a small groan.
Francis looked at him, really looked. His skin held the moon's light, causing him to have a sort of translucence. The small clouds of air forming from his breath drew attention to his full lips. Redness remained on his cheeks, and yet his face kept a basic serenity. Upon further examination, his thin torso was surprisingly built with lean muscles. And, below that…
"Oh, don't you dare!" he snapped at himself tugging back a straying hand. "Come on, Francis, you've been tempted by greater beauties… No you haven't! But, that's not what matters here. This boy is quite obviously sick… sick and gorgeous. Oh, merde!"
He took a deep breath and hoisted Matthew into a bridal hold. He would be as proper as he could. After all, he couldn't stand the thought of being one of the empty glints in those purple seas. He had a promise that he intended to keep.
Happy Christmas, everyone!