ChristophexRebecca and GregoryxTammy.
It's a cute little story with some (failed) humor. Enjoy ;D
If you asked Rebecca if she liked college, she could answer with a straight face that she enjoyed it. She liked learning, the smell of the textbooks and the long lectures. Even the essays she had to write nearly every other day. She loved college.
Of course, Rebecca Cotswolds had one complaint. Her dorm.
She hated her dorm.
Another loud, yet shrill squeal sounded from the other room. "Oh my god, Greggy! Like that but a little harder- no! Not like that. Maybe but- OH!"
The last 'oh' exploded through Rebecca's dividing wall and straight into her eardrums. It pained them. It made her ears bleed. It made her want to storm into Tammy's room and beat her down with one of her overly priced textbooks. Along with that Brit as well.
Yes, her roommate was the notorious Tammy Warner.
She was known in South Park for her unfathomable appetite for flagellas.
But, Rebecca was being a bit hard on her at the moment. It wasn't always like that. Usually, Tammy gave Rebecca a heads-up about bringing a man, or three, to her room for the night. To 'entertain them' she said. It's not like the brunette minded in the least. It meant time to spend with Christophe or a long visit to the library to enjoy a good romance novel.
But not tonight, in the room next to her, a British fellow by the name of Gregory was being entertained by that… circus act. There was no warning. No heads-up. Not even a goddamn hint.
So Rebecca was stuck there, listening to a woman howl and scream on.
"Ow! You're not too good at this, are you? I know! You should do yoga," Tammy practically screamed, "It could help you loosen up a littl- AH!"
What made the whole thing worse? Well, a certain love interest named Christophe De Lorne. The man who she had harbored a crush for since they initially met.
It wasn't as if she didn't want his company. Usually, Rebecca enjoyed when he visited. He was interested in conversation. Intelligent conversation. Sometimes about politics and other times, social sciences. She would never tell him but she liked hearing him talk. Whether it was about how much he hated God… to becoming an activist of some kind. His aspirations. His inner thoughts. All of it was revealed to Rebecca.
Having him around made her feel more comfortable.
However, this case didn't make her feel comfortable. She found it extremely embarrassing to have him in boxed in with her as Tammy moaned on and on. Stuck listening to their roommate's private life.
"Long live the Queen!" a voice shouted, "Viva la Resistance!"
Rebecca's face heated and a deep red settled onto her cheeks. She could barely concentrate, let alone use a keyboard. And the fingers that rhythmically tapped on the keyboard made long string of misspelled words.
Misspelled. Rebecca Cotswolds, who had won a plethora of first place spelling awards, misspelled.
It was a sin. If not an ultimate sin!
The brunette was ready to fling the laptop at the wall. It didn't help that the two were still making noise. Beyong vulgar. She was getting that angry. Rebecca looked all around, trying to find anything to bang on the wall like an old maid to stop the two. She could hear flesh against flesh for heaven's sake! We're they near the wall or something?!
Although, Christophe couldn't have been bothered in the least. He sat beside her, smirking. Why? A certain romance novel he saw 'lying in the open' from under her mattress.
Rebecca hadn't noticed yet. The brunette was focusing all her spiritual energy on an essay. It was due in a week but she really, really didn't want it on her conscious.
If you couldn't tell she was an overachiever.
Tammy let out another moan, the wall starting to thump. "Not against the wall! Oh, please…"
"Really?" a man's voice asked.
"…I was trying to be sexy, Gregory."
Rebecca tried her best not to gag, rolling her eyes at the two. Vulgar was the wrong word. No, they were vile. She hunched in front of the computer screen, reading off the essay for the seventh time and yet, she was only a few hundred words in and it sounded like a confused mess. She hid her face in her hands, letting out an irritated groan.
Mistakes weren't a part of Rebecca's vocabulary.
That caught the attention of the Frenchman. He looked up from her dirty book with a cigarette hanging loosely in between his lips. Again, the man wasn't allowed to smoke in her room but Rebecca was oblivious to it. "Gregory must be doing zomething wrong," he snorted, letting out a smoke screen. "Or maybe Tammy iz a fucking idiot?"
"Christophe, please don't start." Rebecca bit her lip, typing out one sentence coherently. She seemed shocked, staring at the one sentence in disbelief. As if that one sentence could solve every little problem, ever. She cheered to herself silently.
It was the longest two-thousand words of her life.
"Sing it, you shameless slag." Gregory demanded. "Sing it now."
"Go-God save the queen! God save our gracious Queen!"
And just like that, the two began to sing along to a song Rebecca wasn't familiar with.
Christophe pinched his cigarette, dying the cherry into the frame of her bed. "Zhe British national anthem? Of course that zhallow deek would make her zing zhat during zex. Zhe man iz obsessed with zhat old fucking woman."
Rebecca brought her knees to her chest, rubbing her temples, trying to find her happy place. It seemed that the shoe was on the other foot. She often told Christophe to find his happy place. As if that it was the easiest thing in the world.
She was entirely mistaken.
"You zure 'ave a temper when you're not a complete nervous mess. I almost find it 'ard to believe."
Another loud crash and the song of 'saving the queen' and Rebecca found herself in a rage. She grasped the top of her monitor with both hands and slammed it shut with so much force she was almost frightened to open it back up. In her blinde rage, she picked up her laptop, ready to fling it out her window like a Frisbee.
Christophe angry was one thing but Rebecca was a little spit fire.
She had stopped herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be ztupid."
Rebecca collected herself with a sigh, placing her laptop on her bedside table. She glanced over to Christophe, ready to thank him but the words got caught in her throat. She noticed a certain book in his hand. A certain novel. Her favorite smutty novel. The embarrassing one. The one she had nearly drooled over in privacy. She practically flung herself onto him, reaching wildly for it. "Christophe, please… Give that back!"
"Détendez-vous," Christophe licked his index finger, flipping through it casually. "I can zee zhe pages you like. Zhey 'ave zhings 'igh-lighted in pink. Zex zcenes especially. Every zingle one."
The novel was incredibly filthy. It was a present Tammy had given her on her birthday. Pure smut and no plot. She liked it. Not like she would tell him though.
"Christophe-"
"Ask nicely," He cut her off, tapping the top of her head like a dog, even going as far as resting part of the book on the edge of her nose. "And in French, poodle."
Rebecca wrung her hands nervously, mumbling quietly, feeling put on the spot when he asked her so suddenly. "...S-S'il vous." She looked passed the book at to Christophe nervously. "Um, I-I can't really remember how to say it."
Christophe, in turn, ignored her. She didn't speak so she didn't get her reward. He wasn't easy on her by any means. "Remarkable. It's porn for women. Women fucking men, men fucking women. It's az bad az zhose basement dwellers zhat jerk zheir deecks zo lingerie magazines. I wonder what would 'appen if I were zo read a passage out loud?"
Rebecca found herself reddening, biting at her lips anxiously.
Christophe was vulgar, was that mentioned yet?
"Please don't… I-it isn't anything like that," she placed her hands protectively over her chest as if pleading with the man. "It's a genuine romance... With a little sex in it. It's not like it's everywhere. It's a real riveting plot."
"All fifty-two pages of zcrewing? Right here this guy iz eating zhis girl out on a table and making references to her pussy like dezzerts." He stabbed the book with his finger. "It's fucking porn!"
"N-no! That's completely out of context…" she hesitated for a moment, "Okay... so maybe I like the sex scenes a little bit. But it's because it's cute and sweet."
Christophe scoffed, tossing the book carelessly behind him, as if it were a dirty dishrag. "Zo, want zo skip all of zhe riveting plot 'ave zex?" he wiggled his eyebrows in a way that made the two angry caterpillars do a little dance on his forehead.
The Frenchman wasn't exactly great at representing his country's renown for romance. He was corny, believe it or not. And other times, she wasn't sure if he was joking or not. He often sounded serious. Even when he used the infamous joke about the, 'buttfor'.
"Oh! Y-yes. Those wiggling eyebrows have woo'd me." Rebecca said boldly as she laid back, placing a hand over her forehead dramatically. "M-my body is ready, Mr. De Lorne."
"I was kidding, but if your body iz ready…" he shifted closer, his eyebrows still doing that weird, mating ritual. "Why don't we got to the quarry and become a little boulder?"
Rebecca smothered a loud laugh in her hands. Those conversations were one of her favorite kinds of conversations. Or were they even conversations? ...Rock puns. They rocked.
One, two, three, four… I declare a pun war!
"If you were nicer I might have granite, but all you can do now is marble at what could have been."
"You and I both know zhat you're full of schist."
Rebecca pouted, sitting up, she scooted closer to Christophe. "You're not very gneiss-"
"Shale I continue?" he snatched up her chin, making her flinch. He was never to forward with her like he was at that moment. He kept his hands to himself. Under his fingertips she could feel rough calluses. Rough. Working hands. He tilted her head towards him, grinning.
The two got closer and closer, leaning ever so slowly. The moaning and the screaming far, far away from the two.
"Let's not go down zhat rocky road."
His nose brushed hers and their lips nearly met. Rebecca pulled back nervously, getting cold feet. "Erm, s-so, your saying igneous is bliss?" And just like that, Rebecca won the pun war. Awkwardly at least.
Christophe sat there, speechless. "...Wow," he chuckled, "You win… but it's not my fault."
"Yay," Rebecca shined triumphantly, clapping her hands. "W-what do I win?"
She could tell from his expression, he was thinking fast. "You win…" he bent down and snatched up her smutty book, placing it back into her hands. "Zhis."
"Oh, I'd thought I'd get a rock or something."
"I don't have any rocks on me-"
A piercing moan cut the Frenchman off mid-sentence. "Please, oh please, rock my socks off!"
And somehow, Tammy had entered the Pun-of-war.
Rebecca pulled at her hair, looking over to the wall with a loud screech. "That's it, that's it, that's it!" she began to bang her fist against it, making the plaster vibrate. "Shut up already! You've been going at it for two hours now! Read a book or something, you freaks!"
"Now zhat I zhink about it, I have a rock for you." Christophe yanked her back in his direction, catching the brunette off guard. The man pressed his lips against hers roughly. The woman scrunched up tensely in his arms. Her mouth just as stiff. That was, until she realized she was kissing… Not just anyone but Christophe.
That guy she liked.
Kissing.
If you asked Rebecca if she liked college, she could answer with a straight face that she did like it. She liked the learning, the text books and the lectures and even the essays she had to write nearly every other day. She loved college.
Rebecca Cotswolds had no complaints.
She broke away, dazed, looking up at the man with a dreamy look. "Wow, that was… re-really nice." Rebecca brushed her hair out of her face, grinning ear to ear. "By the way, what was the rock?"
"It's my deek."