Smitten
You see?" Frances says in that intoxicating accent and Alfred sees nothing except the graceful slope of her neck, the tan acquired from a Marseilles vacation fading from clear soft skin, her beautiful blue eyes not as true blue as his own, but the blue of the faraway hazy hills depicted in the painting they are supposed to be studying, her shiny blonde hair perfection in waves, and those lips as they quirk into a knowing smile. "Alfred? You are not listening?" Her eyes are knowing, seductive, and Alfred smiles wide and goofy, feeling like the uncultured American boor she must think he is.
"Yeah, uh, totally. I can totally see it." He laughs ungracefully shuffling his strong long tanned fingers through his short chopped hair.
"Hmm…I will have to take your word for it." She smiles, her lips beautiful and wanting, and Alfred stares dumbfounded. "Maybe later," She whispers as she brushes past him, leaving him with a racing heartbeat and too-tight pants.
Man, I gotta get it together, he thinks self-deprecating, watching Frances with longing as she conversed with laughs and fluid gestures with the Spanish exchange student.
Wrenching himself away from the scene, he stares at the Monet before him and then down at the worksheet they are supposed to fill out for Art History. In the art piece of your choice, state the art movement it is from, and the significance of the particular piece or artist within that movement. Specifically state three compositional elements within the piece. Alfred stares at the question and groans. He doesn't get this! Kicking himself mentally for the thousandth time for taking an art class when his astrophysics degree did not require another random elective-obviously-he tried to focus on his real reason for being here, right now in this museum, partnered up with Frances Bonnefoy the most gorgeous girl in the world, and trying to analyze paint splotches created a hundred years earlier.
She had been in line, waiting to register for classes. Her long legs had been slightly tanned and her outfit seeming to be ten times more glamorous than any of the other new students milling about even though she was just wearing shorts and a tan top. She had been frustrated; her beautiful lips down-turned and pouting, making Alfred want to grab her and kiss her until she was laughing and happy. Her hands had wandered through her silky hair filled with golden glossy waves. Alfred's hot gaze had been apparent to Matthew, his twin, standing in line by him. Matthew apparently hadn't missed the girl either and Alfred glared at him for staring at her ass. His brother had just quirked an eyebrow and laughed.
"At least I know French."
She was French? Alfred now was the one pouting. Damn, why was she French? The French were rude and crass, and…he couldn't stop staring…dammit… sexy! She was pure sex, and she seemed to know it. Just as Alfred was debating this horrifying new fact, and about to pounce on Matthew for the fact that Quebeçois was not Parisian French (see, he did know some things) a very British voice spoke out.
"Why don't you just go back to the Sorbonne?" Arthur Kirkland, Alfred's old roommate strode over to the edge of the line talking to Alfred's French (why French?!) goddess.
She laughed. Alfred loved it.
"You are so funny, Arthur. You think you can cook, you perverted old man."
Apparently this actually constituted as an insult, because Arthur grew red in the face and looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "Bloody slag."
This was enough for Alfred, for as he put it, he was a hero, and nobody was going to insult his goddess, especially from old roommates who didn't understand the concept of non-codependent relationships.
"Artie! Heeey." Alfred butted in line, causing the Japanese transfer student to blush and stutter, and an angry Italian to start cursing him in broken English and Italian. He wrapped his arm around his old nemesis (ok, roommate) and gave his best heartbreaker smile to the beautiful young goddess.
Five people back in line, Matthew rolled his eyes.
"What the bloody hell?" Was Arthur's response, but Alfred only had eyes for the French girl. She smiled at him, her eyes dancing, and she winked at him.
Alfred forgot what he was doing.
" 'Allo." She said with a smirk, "Can I help you?" Her eyelashes fluttered just a bit.
Now Alfred couldn't breathe.
He started coughing once his brain realized that his lungs were cutting off airflow. "Um.." came out very unheroically between coughs. "Alfred F. Jones, here, miss, um…" cough, "to save you."
Arthur was looking at him like he had grown horns. He peeled Alfred's arm off his shoulder like it was contaminated with lice, and said, "Grow up, you wanker."
The girl just laughed that beautiful laugh. She slowly ran her finger up Alfred's forearm.
Two feet away, Arthur Kirkland rolled his eyes.
"I'm Frances. Frances Bonnefoy. I'm so glad you came to help me. I don't know how to do this registration, and I think you would be perfect to help me out. You look very smart. Très intelligent. Hmm…" She smiled, her perfectly manicured hand giving his tee shirt which so eloquently stated "Vader's coming. Look busy!" a tug on the bottom perfectly straightening it into position. Her hand passed inches away from his waistline, and Alfred F. Jones, couldn't remember his name.
But somehow, somehow, through a daze in which very little information broke through, such as Arthur shouting British cuss words and profanity at him, Frances teasingly stating annoying insults back at Arthur, Matthew calming down Arthur somehow, and then Matthew and Arthur talking energetically behind Alfred and Frances in line, he had signed Frances up for all the classes she wanted. While he was signing up for his own repertoire of calculus, physics and quantum physics, Frances had cooed, "Oh, mon ami, I am so excited for Art Histoire! You have no idea, the work, the artists…" on and on, and somehow Alfred had signed up for the same class as her.
It was a mistake, or not so much, and now here he was standing in front of a Monet, the hay bales shadowed in the sun, wondering how he was going to finish this assignment.
There was a movement behind him and he felt a hand sliding over his butt. Startled he jumped and the hand came up and around his waist. "You are worried by this little assignment, non?" Frances was staring up at him, her face sultry, and then moving towards tender. "I will take good care of you."
"Uh. Thanks?"
Francis laughed. She really did have a delightful laugh, you know.
"Yeah, uh, totally. I can totally see it." He laughs ungracefully shuffling his strong long tanned fingers through his short chopped hair.
"Hmm…I will have to take your word for it." She smiles, her lips beautiful and wanting, and Alfred stares dumbfounded. "Maybe later," She whispers as she brushes past him, leaving him with a racing heartbeat and too-tight pants.
Man, I gotta get it together, he thinks self-deprecating, watching Frances with longing as she conversed with laughs and fluid gestures with the Spanish exchange student.
Wrenching himself away from the scene, he stares at the Monet before him and then down at the worksheet they are supposed to fill out for Art History. In the art piece of your choice, state the art movement it is from, and the significance of the particular piece or artist within that movement. Specifically state three compositional elements within the piece. Alfred stares at the question and groans. He doesn't get this! Kicking himself mentally for the thousandth time for taking an art class when his astrophysics degree did not require another random elective-obviously-he tried to focus on his real reason for being here, right now in this museum, partnered up with Frances Bonnefoy the most gorgeous girl in the world, and trying to analyze paint splotches created a hundred years earlier.
She had been in line, waiting to register for classes. Her long legs had been slightly tanned and her outfit seeming to be ten times more glamorous than any of the other new students milling about even though she was just wearing shorts and a tan top. She had been frustrated; her beautiful lips down-turned and pouting, making Alfred want to grab her and kiss her until she was laughing and happy. Her hands had wandered through her silky hair filled with golden glossy waves. Alfred's hot gaze had been apparent to Matthew, his twin, standing in line by him. Matthew apparently hadn't missed the girl either and Alfred glared at him for staring at her ass. His brother had just quirked an eyebrow and laughed.
"At least I know French."
She was French? Alfred now was the one pouting. Damn, why was she French? The French were rude and crass, and…he couldn't stop staring…dammit… sexy! She was pure sex, and she seemed to know it. Just as Alfred was debating this horrifying new fact, and about to pounce on Matthew for the fact that Quebeçois was not Parisian French (see, he did know some things) a very British voice spoke out.
"Why don't you just go back to the Sorbonne?" Arthur Kirkland, Alfred's old roommate strode over to the edge of the line talking to Alfred's French (why French?!) goddess.
She laughed. Alfred loved it.
"You are so funny, Arthur. You think you can cook, you perverted old man."
Apparently this actually constituted as an insult, because Arthur grew red in the face and looked like he had swallowed a lemon. "Bloody slag."
This was enough for Alfred, for as he put it, he was a hero, and nobody was going to insult his goddess, especially from old roommates who didn't understand the concept of non-codependent relationships.
"Artie! Heeey." Alfred butted in line, causing the Japanese transfer student to blush and stutter, and an angry Italian to start cursing him in broken English and Italian. He wrapped his arm around his old nemesis (ok, roommate) and gave his best heartbreaker smile to the beautiful young goddess.
Five people back in line, Matthew rolled his eyes.
"What the bloody hell?" Was Arthur's response, but Alfred only had eyes for the French girl. She smiled at him, her eyes dancing, and she winked at him.
Alfred forgot what he was doing.
" 'Allo." She said with a smirk, "Can I help you?" Her eyelashes fluttered just a bit.
Now Alfred couldn't breathe.
He started coughing once his brain realized that his lungs were cutting off airflow. "Um.." came out very unheroically between coughs. "Alfred F. Jones, here, miss, um…" cough, "to save you."
Arthur was looking at him like he had grown horns. He peeled Alfred's arm off his shoulder like it was contaminated with lice, and said, "Grow up, you wanker."
The girl just laughed that beautiful laugh. She slowly ran her finger up Alfred's forearm.
Two feet away, Arthur Kirkland rolled his eyes.
"I'm Frances. Frances Bonnefoy. I'm so glad you came to help me. I don't know how to do this registration, and I think you would be perfect to help me out. You look very smart. Très intelligent. Hmm…" She smiled, her perfectly manicured hand giving his tee shirt which so eloquently stated "Vader's coming. Look busy!" a tug on the bottom perfectly straightening it into position. Her hand passed inches away from his waistline, and Alfred F. Jones, couldn't remember his name.
But somehow, somehow, through a daze in which very little information broke through, such as Arthur shouting British cuss words and profanity at him, Frances teasingly stating annoying insults back at Arthur, Matthew calming down Arthur somehow, and then Matthew and Arthur talking energetically behind Alfred and Frances in line, he had signed Frances up for all the classes she wanted. While he was signing up for his own repertoire of calculus, physics and quantum physics, Frances had cooed, "Oh, mon ami, I am so excited for Art Histoire! You have no idea, the work, the artists…" on and on, and somehow Alfred had signed up for the same class as her.
It was a mistake, or not so much, and now here he was standing in front of a Monet, the hay bales shadowed in the sun, wondering how he was going to finish this assignment.
There was a movement behind him and he felt a hand sliding over his butt. Startled he jumped and the hand came up and around his waist. "You are worried by this little assignment, non?" Frances was staring up at him, her face sultry, and then moving towards tender. "I will take good care of you."
"Uh. Thanks?"
Francis laughed. She really did have a delightful laugh, you know.