Learn French fast.
Title: Vive la Francais
Author: atrocious_x
Band: Avenged Sevenfold
Pairing: Jimonnah
Rating: NC17 (Later Chapters)
Summary: [AU]. Seventeen-year-old Jimmy has to host a student from France for two weeks.
Disclaimer: Not real dur.
This idea came to me a long long time ago, and I'm just now executing it. Not real, dur. And this starts off slow, but I'm sure you can start to enjoy it once you get past it.
Vive le Francais
Chapter 01
((Jimmy's POV))
"Mom, it's not like the president's coming."
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching my mother as she was on her hands and knees in front of the refrigerator, scrubbing the floor as though she wanted to wear down the tile. She threw a glance up at me, but didn't stop scrubbing.
"You don't want this house clean when he gets here?" she asked.
"Well yeah," I said, leaning against the frame. "But I mean...not like...super clean."
She gave a sigh, and sat back on her haunches, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. As if compelled by her movements, I mirrored it, pushing my own glasses up.
"Jimmy," she said, "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I can help out with something like this for your school, but French people are snobs, and if he comes here and sees a messy house --"
"Mom, that's just a stereotype." I said with a laugh. "That's like saying French chicks don't shave their pits."
She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I scoffed, though I was still smirking.
"Point is," she said. "We want to make a good impression."
"Believe me mom, we will." I replied. "I don't think you can get the floor any whiter. And that bathtub --" I let out my breath loudly in a joking manner. "Whew, I could see it sparkling."
She smiled, tossing the sponge at me, and I narrowly dodged it with a twist of my hips. She'd make me pick it up later, but at least I hadn't been hit with it.
"What time do we pick him up tomorrow?" she asked me, climbing to her feet.
"I've told you a hundred times, mom." I replied. "His flight comes in at seven thirty."
She rolled her eyes. "Just have to make sure." she said. "Can't have him waiting for us -- then he'll be even more of a snob."
"Mom," I said, bending to grab the sponge. "He's a sixteen year old boy, I doubt he'll be a snob."
"We'll see." she said when I handed it to her, and the tone she used let me know that she seriously thought she'd be right.
We'd see.
~x~
"Are you nervous?"
I glanced over at Valary, my best friend, as we sat outside in the school courtyard for our lunch period. She was busy with some homework assignment, and I'd been absently staring off into space.
"About what?" I asked stupidly.
She rolled her eyes. "The random guy that's going to be sleeping in your guest room for two weeks." she said. "Duh."
I smirked, and looked away again, shaking my head. "What's there to be nervous about?" I asked.
"The fact that you have no idea what he's like." She answered. "And the fact that you probably won't be able to resist his French accent."
I rolled my eyes this time. "For your information, I don't think the French accent is very hot at all." I replied.
"Well, what accent is hot?" she asked curiously, scribbling some wrong answer down on her paper.
"A German one, like Till of Rammstein." I answered, matter-of-factly.
"Ew." she said, with a small laugh.
It was then I knew that my best friend was officially crazy, no girl in her right mind could tell me Till Lindemann wasn't hot. Or maybe it was just me.
"Still," she said after a moment. "What happens if you start to like this kid?"
"His name is Johnny." I replied, for some reason annoyed by the way that she kept calling him 'kid'. "And besides, whatever happens, happens."
"Johnny?" she asked, looking over at me. "Doesn't sound very French."
I shrugged. "Probably just given an American name." I said. "Like when people here try to give their kids some exotic, foreign name."
She nodded, going back to her work. "Your mom doesn't know you're gay, does she?" she asked quietly, knowing when to lower her voice -- hence the reason she was my best friend.
"No," I said. "I think if she knew she'd have a heart attack, and then she definitely wouldn't host a French student."
She nodded again, before changing the subject. "So how are you going to communicate?" she asked, throwing a playful smirk at me. "I hear you aren't very good at French."
I lightly smacked her in the arm. "I know a fair amount." I said. "And besides, they're learning English at their school, so with his little bit of English, and my little bit of French, I'm sure we'll get along just fine."
She grinned at me, but the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. She gave a small groan, and I smirked, she had to go to Child Development -- wouldn't be too long till she was carrying around that noisy baby doll.
"I'll see you on the bus." she replied.
I said something of the sort, and we went our separate ways.
~x~
"Mom, can you wait here?" I asked.
We'd just pulled into the parking lot of the airport, and my stomach had been hit with crazy insane somersaults. I definitely didn't want to try and introduce myself to a random French guy if my mom was with me.
"Sure." she answered. "Try not to take too long."
I nodded, and all but threw myself from the car. As I walked towards the entrance, I took deep breaths trying to calm myself. It was just some guy named Johnny, nothing to be 'nervous' about, right?
The waiting was the hard part, I had no idea what this guy looked like -- the picture his school had sent had gotten fucked up on the way, god knows how. I could only hope that the picture my school sent (one of the lame yearbook shots that did me no justice) hadn't gotten ruined on the way to him. As I was thinking that maybe I should've made a sign or something, I noticed this guy nearing me. He was a short little scrawny guy with messy dark hair. He was wearing jeans, and a plain black tee shirt, carrying only two bags. He gave me a polite smile as he neared me, and I tried to return it. I hoped this wasn't Johnny, he was cute.
"Jams Soolluvin?" he asked, obviously my name, just deeply accented.
"Yeah," I said quickly, with a nod, "Johnny?"
"Oui." he said, smile growing as he nodded. He extended a hand. "Plaisir de rencontrer tu."
So maybe I wasn't the best at French, but I knew that rencontrer tu meant 'meeting you', and I shook his hand.
"Uh...vous aussi." I said, feeling lame that I wasn't better at this language.
He grinned, seeing my troubles. "Mais un peu de francais?" he asked in a joking tone, holding up one hand, his thumb and index finger close together, implying that I barely knew his language.
I snorted, nodding, and feeling my face heat up. "Oui," I said. "Un peu -- minuscule -- de francais."
He grinned again. "I know some English." he said, his speech broken, and undeniably adorable. "It will be okay."
I smirked, wishing I'd ended up with some ugly guy -- at least then I wouldn't have to worry. I gestured for him to follow me, not wanting to open my mouth and embarrass myself any more than I already had. As I led him to my mom's car, I threw glances at him every now and then; he was too busy looking around at everyone else to even notice. As we neared the car, my mom obviously caught sight of us, and popped the trunk. Without having to say anything, I helped him get his stuff in the trunk, and I glanced at him.
"Uh, dans l'avant?" I asked, throwing a point at the front seat.
He smirked, seemingly pleased that I was still trying to talk in his language. He shook his head. "Non, merci." he said, "Back is fine."
A few moments later my mom was driving down the road, and a small silence had fallen over us. An awkward silence that was driving me crazy. My mom had done her best to greet Johnny, as he'd done with her, and now he was just sitting there, watching the scenery with an almost amused look on his face. My mom cleared her throat suddenly.
"Jimmy," she said, and I glanced at her. "It's still early, plus it's Friday -- how about you take Johnny somewhere like the mall, show him around?"
Great Mom, real great. "Uh..." I started, then I turned slightly in my seat so I could look at him. He was smirking at me. "Do you..want to go out?"
Why did it sound like I was asking him on a date? His smirk widened.
"Oui." he said, "We could..." he paused searching his brain, he was cute when he was trying to figure out the English language. "Go....eh, au cinéma." he said, giving up on English for the moment.
I nodded, and turned back around. My mom said something about how she was going to take us back to the house so we could drop his things off and all that jazz, and she said she'd give me some money and whatnot. I wasn't really listening though, I was just thinking that I had a 'date' with the cute French student who'd be living with me for two weeks.
~x~
Around a half hour later, I was in the bathroom dealing with my hair, which suddenly poofed out like I was a dog who'd just gotten into a fight with a hair dryer. I had the bathroom door open, and I was looking in the mirror above the sink. I was close to freaking out about it like the way you see those girls in movies do, can't blame me though. Not like I wasn't close to being a girl.
I knew it was him coming down the hall because of his slow footsteps. He walked like he was afraid he'd make too loud of a noise, and I guessed I could understand, with him being in a new, slightly strange house. A few moments later he appeared in the doorway, and he leaned against the frame, giving me that smirk of his that I hated to see, yet at the same time loved. I glanced at him slowly, and he held up what looked to be like an eye liner pencil -- could he get any better?
"Mirror?" he questioned, pointing with the pencil at the mirror.
"Oh...uh...yeah." I said, going to step aside and give him some space next to me.
One last look in the mirror proved that I'd gotten my hair the best looking I could, and he stepped up to the sink. We were so close I could feel the body heat radiating off of him, and he seemed to not even notice. He uncapped the pencil, and started to thinly line his eyes. I couldn't help but watch as he expertly applied the make-up, and for a moment I forgot that he was standing right next to me. He made a face in the mirror, obviously displeased by the job he'd done.
"Usually I put thicker." he said, with a short nod.
"Well, it looks good." I said absently.
If he hadn't been giving me that smirk, I wouldn't have noticed what I'd said, but there it was, the corners of his lips turned up, and I realized that I'd just pretty much hit on him. In a subtle way of course.
Shit.
"Je suis désolé." I apologized quickly, holding my hands out, and feeling my face heat up like earlier. "I didn't mean that..uh...n'a pas signifié."
He was still smirking. "Tu sembles mignon quand vous rougisses." he said, talking quickly as though he were talking to a person fluent in French.
"What?" I asked after a long moment of trying to figure it out.
He turned back to me, capping his eyeliner pencil, and he grinned. "You." he said, "Cute when you blush."
I felt my jaw drop just slightly, and I knew I'd turned even redder. He gave a nod, still grinning, and leaned over to place a peck on my cheek. I still could only stare at him. With a grin, he reached up and gave a light pat to the spot where his lips had been not two seconds before, and he turned on his heel, bouncing from the bathroom.
I like it, but won't continue without at least six reviews. Six is my favorite number.
Author: atrocious_x
Band: Avenged Sevenfold
Pairing: Jimonnah
Rating: NC17 (Later Chapters)
Summary: [AU]. Seventeen-year-old Jimmy has to host a student from France for two weeks.
Disclaimer: Not real dur.
This idea came to me a long long time ago, and I'm just now executing it. Not real, dur. And this starts off slow, but I'm sure you can start to enjoy it once you get past it.
Vive le Francais
Chapter 01
((Jimmy's POV))
"Mom, it's not like the president's coming."
I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching my mother as she was on her hands and knees in front of the refrigerator, scrubbing the floor as though she wanted to wear down the tile. She threw a glance up at me, but didn't stop scrubbing.
"You don't want this house clean when he gets here?" she asked.
"Well yeah," I said, leaning against the frame. "But I mean...not like...super clean."
She gave a sigh, and sat back on her haunches, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. As if compelled by her movements, I mirrored it, pushing my own glasses up.
"Jimmy," she said, "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I can help out with something like this for your school, but French people are snobs, and if he comes here and sees a messy house --"
"Mom, that's just a stereotype." I said with a laugh. "That's like saying French chicks don't shave their pits."
She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I scoffed, though I was still smirking.
"Point is," she said. "We want to make a good impression."
"Believe me mom, we will." I replied. "I don't think you can get the floor any whiter. And that bathtub --" I let out my breath loudly in a joking manner. "Whew, I could see it sparkling."
She smiled, tossing the sponge at me, and I narrowly dodged it with a twist of my hips. She'd make me pick it up later, but at least I hadn't been hit with it.
"What time do we pick him up tomorrow?" she asked me, climbing to her feet.
"I've told you a hundred times, mom." I replied. "His flight comes in at seven thirty."
She rolled her eyes. "Just have to make sure." she said. "Can't have him waiting for us -- then he'll be even more of a snob."
"Mom," I said, bending to grab the sponge. "He's a sixteen year old boy, I doubt he'll be a snob."
"We'll see." she said when I handed it to her, and the tone she used let me know that she seriously thought she'd be right.
We'd see.
~x~
"Are you nervous?"
I glanced over at Valary, my best friend, as we sat outside in the school courtyard for our lunch period. She was busy with some homework assignment, and I'd been absently staring off into space.
"About what?" I asked stupidly.
She rolled her eyes. "The random guy that's going to be sleeping in your guest room for two weeks." she said. "Duh."
I smirked, and looked away again, shaking my head. "What's there to be nervous about?" I asked.
"The fact that you have no idea what he's like." She answered. "And the fact that you probably won't be able to resist his French accent."
I rolled my eyes this time. "For your information, I don't think the French accent is very hot at all." I replied.
"Well, what accent is hot?" she asked curiously, scribbling some wrong answer down on her paper.
"A German one, like Till of Rammstein." I answered, matter-of-factly.
"Ew." she said, with a small laugh.
It was then I knew that my best friend was officially crazy, no girl in her right mind could tell me Till Lindemann wasn't hot. Or maybe it was just me.
"Still," she said after a moment. "What happens if you start to like this kid?"
"His name is Johnny." I replied, for some reason annoyed by the way that she kept calling him 'kid'. "And besides, whatever happens, happens."
"Johnny?" she asked, looking over at me. "Doesn't sound very French."
I shrugged. "Probably just given an American name." I said. "Like when people here try to give their kids some exotic, foreign name."
She nodded, going back to her work. "Your mom doesn't know you're gay, does she?" she asked quietly, knowing when to lower her voice -- hence the reason she was my best friend.
"No," I said. "I think if she knew she'd have a heart attack, and then she definitely wouldn't host a French student."
She nodded again, before changing the subject. "So how are you going to communicate?" she asked, throwing a playful smirk at me. "I hear you aren't very good at French."
I lightly smacked her in the arm. "I know a fair amount." I said. "And besides, they're learning English at their school, so with his little bit of English, and my little bit of French, I'm sure we'll get along just fine."
She grinned at me, but the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. She gave a small groan, and I smirked, she had to go to Child Development -- wouldn't be too long till she was carrying around that noisy baby doll.
"I'll see you on the bus." she replied.
I said something of the sort, and we went our separate ways.
~x~
"Mom, can you wait here?" I asked.
We'd just pulled into the parking lot of the airport, and my stomach had been hit with crazy insane somersaults. I definitely didn't want to try and introduce myself to a random French guy if my mom was with me.
"Sure." she answered. "Try not to take too long."
I nodded, and all but threw myself from the car. As I walked towards the entrance, I took deep breaths trying to calm myself. It was just some guy named Johnny, nothing to be 'nervous' about, right?
The waiting was the hard part, I had no idea what this guy looked like -- the picture his school had sent had gotten fucked up on the way, god knows how. I could only hope that the picture my school sent (one of the lame yearbook shots that did me no justice) hadn't gotten ruined on the way to him. As I was thinking that maybe I should've made a sign or something, I noticed this guy nearing me. He was a short little scrawny guy with messy dark hair. He was wearing jeans, and a plain black tee shirt, carrying only two bags. He gave me a polite smile as he neared me, and I tried to return it. I hoped this wasn't Johnny, he was cute.
"Jams Soolluvin?" he asked, obviously my name, just deeply accented.
"Yeah," I said quickly, with a nod, "Johnny?"
"Oui." he said, smile growing as he nodded. He extended a hand. "Plaisir de rencontrer tu."
So maybe I wasn't the best at French, but I knew that rencontrer tu meant 'meeting you', and I shook his hand.
"Uh...vous aussi." I said, feeling lame that I wasn't better at this language.
He grinned, seeing my troubles. "Mais un peu de francais?" he asked in a joking tone, holding up one hand, his thumb and index finger close together, implying that I barely knew his language.
I snorted, nodding, and feeling my face heat up. "Oui," I said. "Un peu -- minuscule -- de francais."
He grinned again. "I know some English." he said, his speech broken, and undeniably adorable. "It will be okay."
I smirked, wishing I'd ended up with some ugly guy -- at least then I wouldn't have to worry. I gestured for him to follow me, not wanting to open my mouth and embarrass myself any more than I already had. As I led him to my mom's car, I threw glances at him every now and then; he was too busy looking around at everyone else to even notice. As we neared the car, my mom obviously caught sight of us, and popped the trunk. Without having to say anything, I helped him get his stuff in the trunk, and I glanced at him.
"Uh, dans l'avant?" I asked, throwing a point at the front seat.
He smirked, seemingly pleased that I was still trying to talk in his language. He shook his head. "Non, merci." he said, "Back is fine."
A few moments later my mom was driving down the road, and a small silence had fallen over us. An awkward silence that was driving me crazy. My mom had done her best to greet Johnny, as he'd done with her, and now he was just sitting there, watching the scenery with an almost amused look on his face. My mom cleared her throat suddenly.
"Jimmy," she said, and I glanced at her. "It's still early, plus it's Friday -- how about you take Johnny somewhere like the mall, show him around?"
Great Mom, real great. "Uh..." I started, then I turned slightly in my seat so I could look at him. He was smirking at me. "Do you..want to go out?"
Why did it sound like I was asking him on a date? His smirk widened.
"Oui." he said, "We could..." he paused searching his brain, he was cute when he was trying to figure out the English language. "Go....eh, au cinéma." he said, giving up on English for the moment.
I nodded, and turned back around. My mom said something about how she was going to take us back to the house so we could drop his things off and all that jazz, and she said she'd give me some money and whatnot. I wasn't really listening though, I was just thinking that I had a 'date' with the cute French student who'd be living with me for two weeks.
~x~
Around a half hour later, I was in the bathroom dealing with my hair, which suddenly poofed out like I was a dog who'd just gotten into a fight with a hair dryer. I had the bathroom door open, and I was looking in the mirror above the sink. I was close to freaking out about it like the way you see those girls in movies do, can't blame me though. Not like I wasn't close to being a girl.
I knew it was him coming down the hall because of his slow footsteps. He walked like he was afraid he'd make too loud of a noise, and I guessed I could understand, with him being in a new, slightly strange house. A few moments later he appeared in the doorway, and he leaned against the frame, giving me that smirk of his that I hated to see, yet at the same time loved. I glanced at him slowly, and he held up what looked to be like an eye liner pencil -- could he get any better?
"Mirror?" he questioned, pointing with the pencil at the mirror.
"Oh...uh...yeah." I said, going to step aside and give him some space next to me.
One last look in the mirror proved that I'd gotten my hair the best looking I could, and he stepped up to the sink. We were so close I could feel the body heat radiating off of him, and he seemed to not even notice. He uncapped the pencil, and started to thinly line his eyes. I couldn't help but watch as he expertly applied the make-up, and for a moment I forgot that he was standing right next to me. He made a face in the mirror, obviously displeased by the job he'd done.
"Usually I put thicker." he said, with a short nod.
"Well, it looks good." I said absently.
If he hadn't been giving me that smirk, I wouldn't have noticed what I'd said, but there it was, the corners of his lips turned up, and I realized that I'd just pretty much hit on him. In a subtle way of course.
Shit.
"Je suis désolé." I apologized quickly, holding my hands out, and feeling my face heat up like earlier. "I didn't mean that..uh...n'a pas signifié."
He was still smirking. "Tu sembles mignon quand vous rougisses." he said, talking quickly as though he were talking to a person fluent in French.
"What?" I asked after a long moment of trying to figure it out.
He turned back to me, capping his eyeliner pencil, and he grinned. "You." he said, "Cute when you blush."
I felt my jaw drop just slightly, and I knew I'd turned even redder. He gave a nod, still grinning, and leaned over to place a peck on my cheek. I still could only stare at him. With a grin, he reached up and gave a light pat to the spot where his lips had been not two seconds before, and he turned on his heel, bouncing from the bathroom.
I like it, but won't continue without at least six reviews. Six is my favorite number.