Drabbles With the Hetalia Boys

Hot For Teacher: France

 You didn't really need cooking classes but what the heck? It would be fun to learn French cuisine.

 You were a little late getting there so, of course, everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at you. You looked around while you fidgeted uncomfortably.

Everyone seemed to be cooking something so at least you knew you were in the right place. You had only just transferred to this college and was having some trouble finding your way around.

 The tension felt instantly melted when quite possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen in your entire life -- the only man in the room as far as you could tell -- spoke to you. "Are you lost, mademoiselle?" His French accent made him seem even more appealing.

 Now that this pair of beautiful blue eyes was trained on you, no one else's gaze mattered, but this didn't make you any less flustered. "Um, I don't think so. Is this cooking?"

 "Ah, so you are anozer student? I am your teacher, Monsieur Bonnefoy," he said with a welcoming smile. "Please find your place. We were just beginning ze lesson when you arrived."

 You nodded and gave him a grateful smile before locating an empty spot and setting up your station. Monsieur Bonnefoy waited patiently while you got settled in to continued his lesson, which was both gratifying and humiliating, considering the fact that the rest of the class was starting to get somewhat annoyed with you.

 However, the lesson finally began, and once it got going, it sailed smoothly by. Cooking was a breeze for you and you loved every minute of it. Once you were finished with your dish, Monsieur Bonnefoy came up beside you. "Zat looks fantastique, mon cher. May I have a taste?" As he said this, you were levelling the fork to your mouth. You stopped and nodded, offering him the bite of food you were about to take.

 You expected him to take the fork, but instead, he lowered his head toward the little nibble, looking up at you through surprisingly girlish eye lashes. You blushed as his lips closed around the morsel. The flirtatiousness with which he regarded you was comically shattered as his eyes flew wide open and his entire body straightened as if he were a puppet being yanked up by the strings.

 "Mon Dieu! Zat is ze most sensational quiche I 'ave eve 'ad ze pleasure of tasting!" he exclaimed, much to the jealous twitters of the other young women in the class.

 "Thanks," you said, beaming at your handsome instructor and ignoring the covetous glares of the girls around you.

 "You should be instructing zis class, not me. Before I met you, I 'ad never tasted finer cuisine zen my own. But alas, I 'av met my match!" The last few words were laden with mock inner turmoil though it was clear by the excited look on his face that he was more joyous than woeful.

 You laughed. "Oh go on, teach your class!" you cried, waving him away. You were doing a poor job of hiding the fact that you enjoyed his flattery.

 "Ze class is over for ze day. You are all dismissed," he declared, smiling warmly around the classroom.

 Cooking had soon become your favorite class and not just because of the food. The best part by far was the teacher. You couldn't help sneaking glances at him from time to time. You weren't even ashamed at how often he caught you staring. He normally just smiled or winked which made you melt inside and spend the rest of the class purposefully trying to catch his eye.

 You had come to the conclusion that Monsieur Bonnefoy was just as fond of you as you were of him. Granted, he was always free with his compliments and was romantic by nature, but you seemed to be his favorite subject of praise. There wasn't a day gone by when he didn't hail your cooking as the most divine cuisine he had ever tasted...