[Narry One Shots]

French boys

In which Niall thinks France is a nice country to visit and the boys there are nice to look at

French boys

Paris is nice, really nice.
Niall likes it there. 
He likes the Eiffel tower and the Arc de Triomphe, the shops there and, well, the food.
The food is fantastic.
Crêpes, croissants, baguettes, éclaires... Niall is in heaven.
 
 But there's one thing in Paris he likes more than the food.
And that thing is... French boys. 

He heard about them making passionate love and being good kissers, but he has yet convinced himself so.
Niall really has to find a French lover and is determined to do so.
If not, he's at least far apart from his job, which he loves, really, but he just needs a break from all that and he's far apart apart from all the problems at home.

When he walks through the streets of Paris, crossing the Champs-Élysées, he watches the French boys and he simply can't get enough of them and their looks.
Goddamn, French people are pretty little fuckers.

With his hands deep in his pockets, feeling like a voyeur, he strolls down the road, gaze fixed  on the shop windows. It isn't like Niall is shy or something, he would talk to someone, but the problem is... he can't speak French. At all. Besides 'Bonjour' and 'Comment ça-va?', he knows nothing about the roman language and it bothers him a lot.

His friend Sean has told him back home in Ireland, that the Frenchmen barely learn other languages, not even English. They just like to speak French and apparently, they suppose that not they have to learn other langues, much more the others have to learn French, if they want to talk.

Niall sighs. He's so not going to find a French guy to shag the whole week he spends in Paris.

He stares at his reflection in one of the windows and maybe it's no wonder why nobody talks to him.

"Bonjour!", he suddenly hears a deep voice exclaiming and all Niall can see after that, are long limbs, green eyes and two wet lips, which press against both of his cheeks briefly.

"What the fuck..?!", Niall curses and pushes the overwhelming stranger away from him.
He looks up at the stranger and damn, hot French boy right there.
Dark brown, curly hair, mesmerizing green eyes and porn star lips. 

"Ah! Tu es un Anglais?", the curly haired bloke smiles and grabs Niall's shoulder.
Very touchy-feely, these Frenchmen, Niall thinks. And even though that's clearly French, Niall feels like that guy comes from a part of France where they have slight accents.
"I don't... understand you, sorry", he excuses himself and shrugs, the French lad's hand still on his shoulder, obviously not letting go anytime soon.

"C'est bon. Je te comprends et c'est le principal, oui?", the stranger's smile grows bigger and also the grip of his hand on Niall's shoulder tightens. 
Niall stares at Curly with deep confusion and he shakes his head.
"I really don't understand a thing, mate", he says and makes a helpless gesture.

"Je m'appelle Harry", the French guy grins and lets his hand wander to Niall's neck. 
It doesn't bother Niall, not much though, but he's utterly confused, really.
Who is this guy and what does he want and WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS HE TALKING ABOUT?

"Harry?", Niall questions then, thinking that this could probably be the name of the stranger.
'Harry' nods. So, Harry. That's Harry, okay. Harry. Isn't that an English name? But parents can call their children however they want, so Niall doesn't care any further. 
It's funny how he pronounces his name anyway. French people pronounce English things so weird all the time, it amuses Niall.

"Niall", Niall says and smiles for the first time at Harry, who smiles back brightly.
"Enchanté de te rencontrer", Harry beams and does he really think Niall understands him?

"I still don't speak French, dude", Niall laughs but well, he's just met a French boy and that's all he wants, right?

The Harry guy chuckles and nods, then he pulls Niall closer to him, which makes the Irish lad blush.
"Je veux t'embrasser", he whispers into Niall's ear and starts nibbling at it.
Niall let out a soft moan, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist.
"Je crois que c'est un oui", Harry breathes and crashes his lips onto Niall's.

And the people who said that Frenchmen can kiss very well were completely correct.

There he is, standing in a foreign city, kissing a stranger and he feels like he is on top of the world.

Harry's lips are soft and gentle against his, moving in sync with his own.
It's perfect, it's almost romantic and Niall loves it.

When they pull apart, Harry caresses Niall's cheek lovingly, like they've known each other for a long time. 

"You're so pretty", Harry smiles and stop.

That's not French. Not even close. Niall doesn't even hear the slightest bit of an accent.
The Irishman frowns and stares up at Harry, who just seems to realise what he did.

"Uhm... c'est un peu gênant maintenant...", the curly haired boy laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head.
"You're not French, are you?", Niall asks and his eyes narrow.

"Peut-être, peut-être pas", Harry takes a few steps back, but Niall catches him at his wrist.
"Stop bullshitting me with your stupid French. Where are you from? And who the fuck are you?"

Harry sighs deeply.
"Okay, okay. I'm Harreh", he begins, British accent clear in his voice. "And I'm from Cheshire in England. I'm an exchange student, here, in Paris... and I've been here for almost a year now."

"That's better, Harry.", Niall grins. "You're lucky, you're pretty, otherwise I'd-", but he gets interrupted by Harry's lips pressing against his once more. 
Niall pushes him away again.

"No, you don't just kiss strangers you meet on the street and pretend to be a Frenchman first and...",  he babbles and shakes his head frantically.

 "But I know you", Harry says, cupping Niall's face. "You're Niall Horan from Ireland, Country singer. It was a luck I met you here, I'm a big fan!"

Niall's eyes widen. "W-What? I'm known outside of I-Ireland?", he stammers and he's even more confused than he was before. Harry nods.
"Yes. At least... I know you. But maybe I only know you, because I'm a hipster", he explains and wiggles his eyebrows.
"Ah", Niall says. He doesn't understand at all.
Harry laughs. "Don't worry your little soul, it's not important, just a cliché"

Niall looks at him disbelievingly, but shrugs then. "Good. Would you kiss me again, now?"
The curly haired lad grins and kisses Niall eagerly, without hesitating. 

 It's still a bit weird, kissing somebody you have just met, but Niall's perfectly fine with that now.
Harry's not a French boy, but he's a sexy lad nonetheless and he's a brilliant kisser.
And he's a fan.
So, practically, he's kissing a fan.
That's okay.

After they pull away, Niall asks breathless: "Do you mind eating a Crêpe with me?"
Harry shakes his head and takes Niall's hand.
"I know a great crêperie, come with me", he says and together they leave the place and go to said crêperie.

They had a really good time there and later that night, they had sex.
And Harry  was just as good as a French boy.