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My Belle
An Adventures of Tintin One-Shot by SouthernImagineer
~ For the lovely HylianGirlYami

~

"Michelle, my belle, sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble."

You giggle when Tintin leans across the armrest to kiss your cheek, muffling the other words of the song as he continues to sing.

"Are you in French mode?" you inquire as he smirks and returns to his upright position in the driver's seat. "You've barely spoken any English today."

Tintin shrugs and locks his eyes on the road. He continues to hum along to the song on the radio.

"Tintin…" you begin with a smile, "I get no answer from you?"

"Je suis désolé, madame, mais je tiens à parler français."

It takes you a moment to translate his words. Living alongside him for so long has taught you a few phrases, and you can often pick up certain words now and then. "I know you like speaking it, Tin, but it's hard for me to understand." You peer out the window as he pulls the car into the strip mall's parking lot and stops in a parking space. "Oh, we're here."

As you turn your head to look at him, Tintin's face appears out of nowhere, and instantly his lips are on yours.

"Sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble," he mumbles into the kiss. You feel him smirk widely. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Quoting the Beatles won't help you much, Mister Tintin," you say, pulling away from him. "You're too sweet for your own good."

"Merci, madame." He dips his head and unbuckles his seatbelt. "Suivez-moi."

"What?"

Tintin flashes you a sarcastic look. "Follow me," he translates. "Allons-y."

The two of you, hand-in-hand, make your way down the length of the strip mall's walkway and to the smaller of the stores. Above the door, a sign boasts the words: Erin's Pottery. You'd been planning this date for weeks now, hoping to bond even further while dirtying your hands in wet clay, and finally, the day has come… despite Tintin's sudden habit to speak French.

"Welcome!" the lady behind the counter says, beaming. You feel Tintin squeeze your hand. "Do you two lovebirds have an appointment?"

"As a matter of fact, we do." Lightly, you pull Tintin after you and approach the desk.

"Are you the twelve o'clock? Mister…" she pauses, contemplating the name on her list, "Mister Tintin?"

Tintin nods. "Oui. C'est moi."

The woman gives him a look, and you laugh. "Sorry about him, he's doing his best to peeve me today with his fluent French. You can ignore him."

She shrugs. "All right! You two can head in the back, and Marcus will get you started!" She points to the door beside the counter. "Go on inside!"

"Thank you."

"Merci."

~

"You're making a bowl?" you ask Tintin, peering across the way as he molds his clay on the potter's wheel. "It looks nice, Tin."

"Oui, je fais un bol."

"Okay, okay, you've fooled me with your romance language all day, dear. You can stop now."

He glances up from the wheel. "Je ne veux pas arrêter."

"Tin, stop!"

You see him check to make sure you're still smiling. Both of you know that you really don't mind the French so much. It's actually quite cute, and you'd hate if he stopped.

But where would be the fun in that?

"Mon cher. Je t'aime." His potter's wheel comes to a stop, and he stands, stepping over to sit directly behind you. "Tu aimes quand je parle français."

"I didn't understand half of that." You continue to mold your clay into the shape of a vase, but you lock your attention on him. "Come on, Tin. Your French sounds prettier when it's dabbled within your sentences, not overloaded."

It's then that you feel his breathing in your ear. A shudder runs down the length of your back when his arms circle your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

"Je t'aime," he murmurs. "Michelle, my belle, sont de mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble." His clay-covered hands take yours, lacing your fingers in his. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Giggling loudly, you rest your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes.

"Je t'aime, monsieur Tintin. Je t'aime."

Description
My Belle
An Adventures of Tintin One-Shot by SouthernImagineer
~ For the lovely HylianGirlYami

~

"Michelle, my belle, sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble."

You giggle when Tintin leans across the armrest to kiss your cheek, muffling the other words of the song as he continues to sing.

"Are you in French mode?" you inquire as he smirks and returns to his upright position in the driver's seat. "You've barely spoken any English today."

Tintin shrugs and locks his eyes on the road. He continues to hum along to the song on the radio.

"Tintin…" you begin with a smile, "I get no answer from you?"

"Je suis désolé, madame, mais je tiens à parler français."

It takes you a moment to translate his words. Living alongside him for so long has taught you a few phrases, and you can often pick up certain words now and then. "I know you like speaking it, Tin, but it's hard for me to understand." You peer out the window as he pulls the car into the strip mall's parking lot and stops in a parking space. "Oh, we're here."

As you turn your head to look at him, Tintin's face appears out of nowhere, and instantly his lips are on yours.

"Sont des mots qui vont très bien ensemble," he mumbles into the kiss. You feel him smirk widely. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"Quoting the Beatles won't help you much, Mister Tintin," you say, pulling away from him. "You're too sweet for your own good."

"Merci, madame." He dips his head and unbuckles his seatbelt. "Suivez-moi."

"What?"

Tintin flashes you a sarcastic look. "Follow me," he translates. "Allons-y."

The two of you, hand-in-hand, make your way down the length of the strip mall's walkway and to the smaller of the stores. Above the door, a sign boasts the words: Erin's Pottery. You'd been planning this date for weeks now, hoping to bond even further while dirtying your hands in wet clay, and finally, the day has come… despite Tintin's sudden habit to speak French.

"Welcome!" the lady behind the counter says, beaming. You feel Tintin squeeze your hand. "Do you two lovebirds have an appointment?"

"As a matter of fact, we do." Lightly, you pull Tintin after you and approach the desk.

"Are you the twelve o'clock? Mister…" she pauses, contemplating the name on her list, "Mister Tintin?"

Tintin nods. "Oui. C'est moi."

The woman gives him a look, and you laugh. "Sorry about him, he's doing his best to peeve me today with his fluent French. You can ignore him."

She shrugs. "All right! You two can head in the back, and Marcus will get you started!" She points to the door beside the counter. "Go on inside!"

"Thank you."

"Merci."

~

"You're making a bowl?" you ask Tintin, peering across the way as he molds his clay on the potter's wheel. "It looks nice, Tin."

"Oui, je fais un bol."

"Okay, okay, you've fooled me with your romance language all day, dear. You can stop now."

He glances up from the wheel. "Je ne veux pas arrêter."

"Tin, stop!"

You see him check to make sure you're still smiling. Both of you know that you really don't mind the French so much. It's actually quite cute, and you'd hate if he stopped.

But where would be the fun in that?

"Mon cher. Je t'aime." His potter's wheel comes to a stop, and he stands, stepping over to sit directly behind you. "Tu aimes quand je parle français."

"I didn't understand half of that." You continue to mold your clay into the shape of a vase, but you lock your attention on him. "Come on, Tin. Your French sounds prettier when it's dabbled within your sentences, not overloaded."

It's then that you feel his breathing in your ear. A shudder runs down the length of your back when his arms circle your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

"Je t'aime," he murmurs. "Michelle, my belle, sont de mots qui vont très bien ensemble, très bien ensemble." His clay-covered hands take yours, lacing your fingers in his. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Giggling loudly, you rest your head on his shoulder and shut your eyes.

"Je t'aime, monsieur Tintin. Je t'aime."