Authors notes: thank u to .:=Miss-Gah-gah=:. for the amazing banner, LOVE YOU!!! *dodges things from Cassie* shes mad with me >< but I HAD to write this” I HAD TO!!! I hope you guys like, its not my usual kinda thing :3 thank you to both Astra and Wu who read over this, they’re both contestant sources of inspiration to me and I just adore them both!! Thank you also to Astra who offered to look over :D luff u <3333 and oc my daughter Alex whom I discussed it with, love y’all

D/C: NOT TRUE SO DON’T SUE!!!!!

***

The year was 1917, the setting was Paris, the star attraction of the evening was a young man in an elegant black suit with high collar and tails, a top hat tucked underneath one arm while the other shook the hand of countless admirers.

“Michael Kenji, it is an honour to make your acquaintance.”

“Oh Mr. Kenji, I adored your last collection.”

“Oh my, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you.”

Michael Kenji-Shinoda if you were to know him out of his work-smiled politely and looked around him at the many people praising his latest designs. The large hall was thronged with people, all keen to get a glimpse of the famed fashion designer.

The young man looked amazing in his elegant but stylish suit, a combination of the class of modern, Western fashion blended with Eastern tastes that his clothing was so famed for. There was many, many people wanted to talk to him but he wasn’t paying them much attention.

Underneath his left arm laid his top hat, snug between his body and bicep, fingers clasped upon the rim but surely the guest of honour should not be standing with a hat on his arm. What he needed was a beautiful woman, a pretty doll to stand on his arm, smile and looks amazing but his work and such kept him too busy to find a beautiful Parisian madam.

He knew people were talking. To his face they complimented him in a range of the languages he was fluent in from English to French and of course his mother tongue of Japanese but once they turned their large smiles grew snide and they hissed and whispered about him, laughing over their cocktails at how he was alone to one of the biggest nights of his career.

He smiled falsely to another ‘admirer’ and shook their hand before placing on his top hat and excusing himself for some moments. No one seemed too bothered as he left the room, walking with his coat draped over one arm, hat now firm on his head. He looked amazing but with no woman to parade he appeared to be a lonely old workaholic, exactly what he really was.

Now that he stood out in the chilly Autumn air, watching his breath materialize on front of him he began to realize how empty he felt, how paranoid he was of people talking about him. He hated this, hated how he was made feel at his own gatherings. Tomorrow night his show was open to the public and Michael Kenji swore he would have a woman on his arm by that evening.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“I must ask you to understand you are paying for my girls company.” Madam Dupont stated, lifting up the ruffled skirt of her fine, emerald green, silk dress as she ascended the stairs.

Michael looked into a stray room to see two beautiful women, both in their undergarments, giggling and laughing as one tied the others hair up and he swallowed loudly. Had it really been so long since he had laid with someone? He heard the older woman on front of him snap her fingers as she commanded him silently to follow.

“You are not paying for anything…how you say….extra from them and I expect them to be treated like utter royalty.” She looked to the rich young man behind her. “Although I expect you are able to take care of that.”

Michael looked to the elder woman as he heard her speak about ‘extra’s and such and he frowned.

“Madam Dupont, with all due respect, if I wanted a common prostitute I would have looked for one of the corner of la Rue Saint-Denis.” The older woman looked over her shoulder at the stubborn look on the young man’s face and she sighed, nodded and continuing her walk up along the stair way, Michael followed, two steps at a time.

“None of these girls are stupid Mr. Kenji.” The mature lady said, still walking up the tower of stairs, passing women, many finely dressed but the occasional one scantly clad in bloomers and a corset that caused a hot flush to approach Michael’s cheeks. Still as beautiful and exotic as many of these women were he couldn’t shake the feel that if he showed up to the show tomorrow night with one on his arm she would be thought of as a prostitute and not a lady, not an escort.

“I am willing to pay handsomely.” The young, beautiful man said, passing a young woman with raven hair that fell over her ample breasts, he swallowed loudly as he darted passed her. “But I expect only the finest escort to….”

The older woman stopped and hushed him. Madam Dupont was in her mid fifties with her once fine, chestnut hair greying and tied into a high bun on her head, wisps of silver and brown falling over her brow. Her slim but curvy figure was accented by the tight fabric of the classy elegant, green dress she wore and Michael suspected that in her day she was a fine woman.

She had been, one of Paris’s finest call girls but now Madam Dupont had turned her sights to a more dignified but profitable business. She supplied female escorts to the elite businessmen of Paris, women paid to hang on the arm of rich men, to smile and kiss cheeks and behave like proper young ladies while being wined and dined upon and treated like royalty.

“I have the perfect woman for you.” Madam Dupont stated, hands folding across her skirt. She turned around and walked down the stairs now, passed Michael who spun around, looking after her, winded after all the many steps they had just walked up. He rested a hand across the vest he was wearing over his puffy white shirt and took a few deep breaths before following, looking at every girl.

They all looked so alike, all beautiful but still he couldn’t shake the burlesque feel he had when surrounded by these women. He wanted to know who he was to be paired with, what was her name, what did she look like, was she one of the many women littering the tower steps. They all looked to him, selling themselves with his eyes but he wanted to know who this woman was, the perfect women, the women worth all the money he would provide to the establishment.

He followed Madam Dupont down the many, spiral, wooden steps. The throng of women seemed to get thicker the lower he walked. This place originally felt like some form of prison when he entered but now surrounded by so many mademoiselles, Mike felt less intimidated and more aware of how comfortable this environment felt.

There was a heady scent of heavy perfume that surrounded him and the large, stone walls of the high, tower like building were draped in long, fine rolls of many different silks. Some were similar to the expensive Eastern rolls that the designer was known to incorporate in his elaborate clothing.

Now down at the bottom of the many, many steps, there were large couches and settees settled around the room with soft cushions. Mike was under the impression, he was to meet his lady here. He was surprised when Madam Dupont opened the large, iron clad doors of the huge home and stood back to allow him to leave.

“Don’t I even get a name?” he asked, worried about the next night and if there even would be A woman, let alone THE perfect woman.

“Her name is Simone.” The elder woman said in her thick, Parisian accent and ushered the young man out the door. Some hopeful girls sighed in discontent upon discovering it would be Simone who escorted the beautiful designer.

Madam Dupont was blunt, informing Michael which hotel and which room he was to collect Simone and, that he was to bring a single white rose. He was also instructed to travel to the occasion by car, a large one. Michael was beginning to doubt this service but before a word could be said the doors of the bustling home were shut. And he found that was alone, top hat under one arm on the dark, dismal streets of Place des Abbesses.

He sighed, brushing the lengthening black hair from his brow and elegantly placing the hat upon his head before he set off for home. Mike was unsure if this was all a good idea or if he would be made an even bigger fool on the morrow by this ‘Simone’.

Still, fear didn’t stop Michael from showing up at the assigned hotel at 7:30 that evening, dressed in another fine, black, hand crafted suit. The vest which he wore beneath his black jackets was embroidered beautifully. he looked simply stunning, standing with a single ‘red’ rose in one hand and his hat in the other as he rapped his knuckles against the hard wood entrance of the room only to have a sultry voice on the other side command he come in.

Mike opened the room to the strong scent of incense which caught him by such surprise. He burst into a fit of coughing, fanning away the sweet smelling smoke with his top hat, coughing throatily as he walked into the room only to see this woman with her back to him.

She was sitting on a high back, emerald green settee, hands on her lap, examining herself in the mirror. Mike could clearly see all he needed from where he was standing.

Her soft, shoulder length, blonde hair fell in soft curls and rested upon her shoulders. She wore a low cut, vermillion coloured dress which was quite low. However, the bust up along to the black choker she wore was draped in a fine, floral black lace. The dress was well fitting, showing off her slender body, shaped by the corset she had underneath the garments. The dress fell with many petty coats beneath the deep red fabric which was embroidered with gold filigree along the trim, similar to Mike’s vest.

She wore high, strapped, black high shoes. She sat with her ankles crossed, hands resting on her knee now, wearing fine lace gloves with dainty bows by her wrists and short cut nails. Simone also had on a shoulder sleeved length cardigan, burgundy with a faux, grey fur trimming around the collar. While in her hair, there was a sewn Juliet cap, slightly off to the right side of her head. It was encrusted with decorative jewels around the rim with what appeared to be a brown, pheasant tail feather extending from the back.

Michael looked into the mirror, able to see the young woman’s face and he bit his bottom lip.

Simone had a round face with a strong angular jaw line. Her long nose was elegant and sloped and her full pouty lips were covered in a layer of deep, burgundy lipstick which she began to fix up while looking in the mirror. Michael’s eyes locked with the woman’s through the looking glass and they gazed to one another. Her eyes were strong and dark like the sweetest chocolate. For some long moments Mike’s breath was swept away as he looked to the woman, his throat dry. Yes, this woman was definitely the kind he could justify spending so much money on.

“Monsieur Kenji?” She asked, voice deeper, seductive like silk on skin, smooth. It enthralled Michael, who looked into her smoky, charcoal coated eyes. The long lashes fanned her china cheeks as she blinked and as she looked over her shoulder, ringlets fell along her back.

Michael just held out the red rose and she looked at it for some moments before turning back to the mirror, powdering her nose.

“I believe you were told to bring a white rose.” She stated and Mike’s throat went dry. ‘What was it about this woman that made him feel so nervous in such a pleasurable way?’ He had never known a woman to have such presence, such an aura in a room. He knew he would walk into the show and she would instantly outshine everyone surrounding them.

“I-I didn’t imagine you would be so particular.” He said and she stretched back, taking the rose between her fingers and lifting it to her nose, smelling while her eyes flickered shut, the auburn eye shadow shimmering in the dim candle light.

“Usually a white rose is how we tell our client.” She informed him but smiled ever so gently and held the rose. “But, I suppose this matches my dress so much better.”

Michael smiled gently and walked over, looking to the sitting woman for some moments before he stretched out and took the hand that wasn’t holding onto the thorny flower, lifting the gloved hand to his lips and placing a gentlemanly kiss against her knuckle. She smiled.

“It is a pleasure, mademoiselle.” He said, now more confident and loving how her lips curled into a small smile. She was breath taking.

There weren’t many words exchanged as the young man escorted Simone from the hotel. Mike held onto her hand as she carried her rose and a small, satin, hanging purse filled with cosmetics in case she was in need of a top up during this high end event.

There was a large, black Rolls Royce with cream leather interior. Michael opened the door for the beautiful woman and she smiled to him, sitting into the back as he followed, glad to have such an incredibly beautiful woman on his arm.

The drive to the event was silent but comfortable, there wasn’t need for words so neither tainted the silence. Simone simply sat with her hands on her lap, looking out the window at the passing scenery of Paris.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Monsieur Kenji the collection is simply marvelous.”

“Les vêtements sont beaux.”

“Merci très beaucoup.” Michael said, shaking the hand of an older woman, one arm still wrapped around Simone. The first time the attractive eye candy wasn’t on his arm was when Michael felt himself being dragged to the side by an old acquaintance.

“Michael Shinoda, you old dog.” Bradford Delson laughed, wrapping both arms around his old friend, holding him close to his body. Bradford had known Mike for so long but he didn’t know him as Michael Kenji the designer. He knew him as Mike, the trouble maker who used to get into all sorts of problems with the young agent. Brad pulled back and looked over Mike’s shoulder at the attractive woman who took a glass of offered champagne from a waiter. “Oh my…how did you ever land a beautiful mademoiselle like that?” Michael laughed and looked to his old friend, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Not easily.” He said with a wry smirk. ‘And not cheaply,’ he silently added, looking back to the woman who was attracting so many gazes from everyone around her.

Bradford whistled underneath his breath and smiled to Mike, thanking him for choosing his agency for the models for his show before the young designer was whisked away by some more admirers. He spoke fluently in French to them but his eyes were on the beautiful, elegant woman standing some feet away. He could see a much older man approach Simone and speak to her and unexpectedly a hot flush of jealousy flared up in his cheeks and chest.

He excused himself and moved away towards Simone who looked to him, her eye heavy and a small hint of a smile hidden away at the corner of her lips. Michael walked over and took her hand, smiling to the older man who simply nodded, leaving with his head down. Simone looked to Michael with a broad smile now across her beautiful features.

“Monsieur Kenji.” She said in her low, husky but addictive voice as the scent of perfume and vanilla surrounded him as she walked close to him.

“Yes, Mademoiselle?” he relied, nodding his head to some people who acknowledge him walking by. There was laughter and music, fashion and chatter in a range of international languages in the room.

“You seem rather….” Her tongue slid along her lip as she mauled over the word she needed. Her dark eyes flickered to Michael’s and she smiled. “Possessive.”

“I like to get my own way.” Michael informed her, a cheeky grin on his lips and he felt something close to success when a pale pink blush extended across her cheeks. She was beautiful, breath taking. Everyone in the room was gazing to the gorgeous, powerful woman on his arm and Michael couldn’t be prouder with his purchase.

The evening went amazingly. There was no snide comments or snickers in Mike’s direction, just amazed looks at the gorgeous couple who shone so brightly on the evening. Everyone was asking questions. ‘Who was she? Where was she from? What was her profession?’ She was so beautiful, everyone was talking the entire evening and as the night came to an end Mike felt a little saddened. He had really enjoyed Simone’s company. She was intelligent and beautiful, deathly but strong. She was a woman unlike any he had ever met.

“I would very much like to meet with you again.” Michael said as 3AM approached and he walked with the woman out of the large building. Simone was pulling her cardigan close to her body, cold and Michael wound an arm around her to hold her close and keep her warm. She laughed underneath her breath and looked to Michael through her heavy eyes.

“Are you sure you can afford to meet with me again?” She asked, cool and confident, her tone calm and hushed so no one would hear. Michael had been hoping he could meet her again outside of professional ties, as two mature adults.

“I can try,” he said with a smile and opened the door of the Rolls Royce for her. She stood with one hand, still holding the red rose upon the door and looked to the young designer for some seconds. “I like to get my own way.” He reminded her with a smile and she laughed ever so gently, holding the rose to her lips, the soft petals touching her perfectly plump lips.

“We shall see….Monsieur Kenji.” She said with a smile, sitting into the car as Michael placed the top hat on his head and closed the door. Standing on the street curb as the vehicle drove away, the young woman in the back looked out the window as the designer became smaller and smaller while the car joined the traffic of Paris.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Simone had asked the driver to drop her in Clichy-sous-Bois, a poorer district of Paris. She looked out of place among the suburbs, run down buildings and dirt along the street. She lifted the many skirts of her dress so it didn’t drag along the grubby cobblestone and she walked briskly, her loud heels clunking along the pathway. Her footsteps grew faster, although there was no one around she was still uncomfortable, she hated this place, hated living here. She didn’t stop her quick steps until the shabby door of the apartment opened to her key and she locked it behind her.

In the under furnished but warm living area, a stout young man sat by the fireplace, laying against some comfortable cushions. Joseph Hahn was a struggling, hopeful artist. He wished to be sitting in Montmartre with the masters, making great money from his talent but he was still floundering away. He smiled gently to the young blonde who entered.

“There is some ratatouille if you are not too full from your fine dining.” The young man said to his roommate who just mumbled in response and walked to the fire where a looking glass was hanging over the hearth. She brushed some ringlets from her forehead and inspected her reflection.

Joseph looked up as Simone hooked her fingers in her luscious locks and pulled off the horse hair wig and fashion ensemble revealing short cut but still blonde hair. Outside of the flawless makeup and shapely figure one thing was obvious.

Simone wasn’t who ‘she’ appeared to be.

“These shoes are killing me.” Chester Bennington mumbled, his confident and smooth persona gone now that Simone was put away for the night. His feet were sore. He hated these heels. Joe just nodded, this routine was usual. He sat and listened to his roommate complain for ten or so minutes about the pains high heels could cause on a young man’s feet.

The next routine was for him to turn around and ask Joseph to help him with the lace along the back of his dress. The young Korean didn’t even need to be asked. Chester turned his back to his best friend, pulling off the cardigan as the stouter male walked over, chubby fingers nimbly working the complex lace. Chester sighed with relief when his friend helped him peel away the tight fabric only to have him help with the corset next. While Joseph untied the laces Chester stretched down the front of the corset and pulled out two prosthetic chicken breasts. Immediately, he was able to breathe better as the ribbed cage came undone, revealing his hairless but manly chest.

Now that this was done, Josephs job was over and Chester looked over his shoulder, pecking the younger’s lips in gratitude. Joseph kissed the younger man, never usually liking to kiss Chester when he had lipstick on. Both were gay men and the idea of Chester being natural was more appealing than that of Simone to Joseph.

“Wash that off.” Joe said and Chester smiled, walking over to a pile of clothing in the corner of the room and picking up a face cloth. Joseph watched the young man walk into the bathroom and he sat back, drawing.

He and Chester had been living together for some years. Joseph had come from Korea and Chester had come from America. A striving artist and a wishful song writer, both gay and both lost in the bright world of Paris. Chester was a beautiful young man but battled with confidence issues. He played guitar on the streets, hardly scraping by. When it came to a love life, no matter how beautiful Chester was, there were few men in Paris who would look to him and see the attractive man beneath.

Chester had become sick of being invisible. Over a year ago, Joseph had walked into their apartment to find his best friend dressing up in a corset and trying out different makeup. It had been strange but the fact was that as ‘Simone,’ Chester wasn’t this insecure, scared little boy.

Men looked at him, wanted to be with him. While the young American struggled with confidence, the Parisian woman he had created gained all the attention he craved and even if he could never be intimate with any of the men, the attention made up for that.

“All done.” Chester said, walking out of the bathroom many minutes later, no makeup and dressed in some clean brown pants and a white shirt which was slightly too large for his form. He smiled shyly to Joseph, who returned the expression and opened his arms to the other. Chester walked over, crawling up along the couch into the young man’s arms. He lay into Joseph while the younger man’s larger arms enveloped him, holding him close to his body.

They lay in relative silence, just comfortable. There was love between the two, not romantic, just love between two friends. Both were homosexual but there was no attraction. At times, they slept together but it was more so to relieve the sexual tension both felt. This was them, this was perfect, comfortable, holding one another in front of the fire, slowly drifting into sleep. No glamour or parties, no falseness…no Simone…

*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir? XDDDDDD