A/N:This is me converting a story from a previous fandom into Klaine but its completely mine, rated M for future chapters and lemon, adult themes, cross dressing etc so if you don't like sorry about that. This is a fic I was very proud of and hopefully someone out there will like it XD

D/C:I do not own Glee or the characters from it, this is in no way associated or supported by the creators of glee


The year was 1889 and the setting was Paris. A City bustling in its nightlife, the gem on the crown of the world. The greatest city on earth where only the best of the very best were recognized. This particular evening, the star attraction was a young man in an elegant black suit with a high collar and tails, a top hat tucked underneath one arm, while the other shook the hand of countless admirers.

"Blaine Anderson, it is an honour to make your acquaintance."

"Oh, Mr. Anderson I adored your last collection."

"Oh my, I can't believe I'm finally meeting you."

Blaine Anderson smiled politely and looked around at the many people crowding him, unable to praise his latest designs enough. The large function room was thronged with people, all keen to get a glimpse of the famed fashion designer.

The young man looked rather dapper 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 were many, many people wanting to talk to him, to pick his brain, 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 beside him, to smile and look amazing, but his work kept him too busy to find himself a lady. He knew people were talking. To his face they complimented him in a range of the languages he was fluent in English and French, and of course his mother tongue of Irish. But once they turned their backs on him, 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, just like every other event.

He smiled falsely to another 'admirer' and shook their hand before placing his top hat on his head and excusing himself. No one seemed too bothered as he left the room, walking with his coat draped over one arm, topper now firmly on his head. He looked quite well, but with no woman to parade he appeared to be a lonely old workaholic. Truly however, that was all 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 Blaine Anderson 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." Madame Dupont stated, lifting up the ruffled skirt of her fine, emerald green, silk dress as she ascended the stairs. Blaine looked into a stray room to see two beautiful women, both in their undergarments, giggling and laughing as one tied the other's hair up, and he swallowed loudly. Had it really been so long since he had laid with someone? He could feel his stomach stir hotly, arousal already flooding through his veins, and causing him to blush madly. Vaguely the half Irish male 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."

Blaine looked to the elder woman as he heard her speak about 'extras' and he frowned.

"Madame 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 continued up along the stairway. Blaine followed, two steps at a time. The woman was silent. She knew of Monsieur Anderson, who didn't? In fact, the gown she wore right now was an original of his. She had never expected him to come by her door, although she shouldn't be surprised. The woman had serviced everyone from the great stars of the screen to politicians. Often, however, her customers consisted of lonely old rich men looking for company, and only those who were loyal and willing to pay a great deal more were allowed to have anything 'extra' from her girls.

"None of these girls are stupid whores, Mr. Anderson." The mature lady said, letting out a sigh. The women were not some common paramoures, they were the finest in Paris. She found herself frowning. Still walking up the tower of stairs, passing some women, many finely dressed, but the occasional one scantly clad in bloomers and a corset that caused a hot flush to approach Blaine'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, throat parched as he darted passed her. "But I expect only the finest escort to…." The older woman stopped and hushed him. Madame Dupont was in her mid fifties, with her once fine, chestnut hair was greying and tied into a high bun on her head, wisps of silver and brown falling over her brow. Her slim but curvacious figure was accented by the tight fabric of the classy elegant, green dress she wore and Blaine suspected that in her day she was a fine woman. She had been, one of Paris's finest call girls, but now Madame 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.

While some of course had to... put out for regulars, she made sure that all the young women were treated well. If any man were to harm any of them, she would be the first to see he was taken care of. She loved each of these girls and indeed the money they brought her. They all knew if they were here they were safe from the low lives of Paris, treated like queens. She watched over each and every one of them, caring for them like children, minding them through thick and thin. The only thing she could not abide was lies.

"I have the perfect woman for you." Madame Dupont stated, hands folding across her skirt as she turned around and walked down the stairs now, passed Blaine 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. He couldn't help but gaze at every girl he passed, they all looked so alike, all beautiful but still he couldn't shake the burlesque feel he had when surrounded by these scantly clad women. He wanted to know who he was to be paired with, what her name was, what she looked like. Was she one of the many women littering the tower steps? They all looked to him, attempting to sell themselves with their daunting good looks, but he wanted to know who this specific woman was. The 'perfect' woman, the woman worth all the money he would provide to the establishment.

He followed Madame Dupont down the many spiral wooden steps, looking around. The throng of women seemed to get thicker the lower he walked, and for the first time he found himself gazing to the area, the building, almost too afraid to look most of these women in the eye for fear of giving them ideas. This place originally felt like some form of prison when he entered with its high, cold, stone walls but now surrounded my so many mademoiselle's Blaine felt less intimidated and more aware of how comfortable his environment felt. They're 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 similar to the expensive Eastern rolls 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, and Blaine was under the impression he was to meet his lady here. He was surprised when Madame Dupont opened the large, iron clad doors of the huge home and stood back to allow him to leave.

"Am I not allowed 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, as some other hopeful girls sighed in discontent upon discovering it would be Simone who escorted the beautiful designer. Madame Dupont was blunt, informing Blaine which hotel and which room he was to collect Simone from, and that he was to bring a single white rose. Rather quickly the young designer paid the woman, instantly feeling the sinking sensation of regret filling him the moment she took the money. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. Blaine was about to voice his doubt of this service but before a word could be said the doors of the bustling home were shut and he 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, unsure if this was all a good idea or if he would be made an even bigger fool of tomorrow by this Simone.

Still, his fears didn't stop Blaine showing up at the assigned hotel at 7:30 that evening, dressed in another fine, black, hand crafted suit. His wine coloured vest which he wore beneath his black jacket was embroidered beautifully with fine golden thread, and he looked simply stunning, standing with a 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.

He 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, rattling throatily as he walked into the room only to see this woman from behind. She was sitting on a high back, emerald green settee, hands on her lap, examining herself in the mirror that sat on front of her. Blaine could clearly see all he needed to from where he was standing.

Her soft, shoulder length chestnut hair fell in soft curls and rested upon her shoulders. She wore a vermillion coloured dress which was quite low cut but 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 skirt fell with many petticoats beneath the deep red fabric which was embroidered with gold filigree along the trim, similar to Blaine's vest. She wore ankle high, strapped black high shoes and sat with her ankles crossed, hands resting on her knee, covered by fine lace gloves with dainty bows by her wrists, and shapely black nails. Simone also had on a shoulder sleeved length cardigan, burgundy with a grey fur trimming around the collar, and in her hair 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 pheasant's tail feather extending from the back.

Blaine 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. Blaine's eyes locked with the woman's through the looking glass, and they gazed to one another. Her eyes were unlike anything he had ever seen, a washed out blue that appeared almost unnatural to look at. There was something about her eyes that expressed a kindness and almost playfulness that only made her more intriguing. Still, the moment their eyes met he could see a power, a look of confidence he had never seen in any woman before. For some long moments Blaine's breath was swept away, and he looked to the woman, his throat dry. Yes, this woman was definitely the kind he could justify spending so much money on.

"Monsieur Anderson?" She asked, voice soft, seductive like silk on skin, and it enthralled Blaine who looked into her smoky, charcoal coated eyes. The long lashes fanned her china cheeks as she blinked and looked over her shoulder, perfectly arranged ringlets falling along her back. Blaine just held out the red rose, speechless, and she looked at it for a moment before turning back to the mirror, powdering her nose. "I believe you were told to bring a white rose." Blaine'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 this evening and she would instantly outshine everyone surrounding them.

"I-I didn't imagine you would be so particular." He said in little more than a whisper, silently cursing his sudden stutter and she turned back to him, stretching out a hand and taking the rose between her fingers. For some seconds to gaze upon it before lifting it to her nose, her eyes flickering shut as she smelled it, the auburn eye shadow shimmering in the dim candle light.

"Usually a white rose is how we identify our client." She informed him but smiled ever so gently and examined the rose. "But I suppose this does match my dress much better." Blaine smiled gently and walked over, and took her outstreched hand. He was hesitant for a moment, captivated by her, but after some seconds he managed to lift the gloved hand to his lips and place a gentlemanly kiss against her knuckle. She smiled, seemingly satisfied.

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

Few words were exchanged as the young man escorted Simone from the hotel, holding 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 Spyker waiting for them outside of the hotel. Blaine opened the door for the beautiful woman and she smiled to him, taking his hand to climb up the steps into the car 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 Anderson, the collection is simply marvellous."

"Vos vêtements sont magnifiques"

"Merci beaucoup." Blaine said, shaking the hand of an older woman, one arm still wrapped around Simone. She had been on his arm all evening and the very first time she wasn't was only seconds later when the designer felt himself being pulled from the small crowd he was talking to.

"Blaine Anderson, you old dog." Wesley Montgomery laughed, wrapping both arms around his old friend, holding him close to his body. Wesley knew Blaine for so long he didn't know him as Blaine Anderson the designer, he knew him as Blaine, the trouble maker who used to get into all sorts of problems with the young agent. Wes pulled back and looked over the designer's shoulder at the attractive woman who took a glass of champagne from a waiter. "Oh my…how did you ever land a beautiful demoiselle like that?" Blaine 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. Wesley whistled underneath his breath and smiled to Blaine, thanking him for choosing models from his agency for the show tonight. It was incredible coverage for the young man's modelling agency for them to provide all the women and men for tonight. The two spoke for a while, Blaine keeping a constant eye on the woman behind him before he was suddenly whisked away by more admirers.

He spoke fluently in French to them, but his eyes continued to stray towards the beautiful, elegant woman standing some feet away. He could see a much older man approach Simone to speak to her and unexpectedly a hot flush of jealousy faired up in his cheeks and chest.

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

"Monsieur Anderson." 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 Madamoiselle?" he relied, nodding his head to some people who acknowledged him walking by. The room was filled with laughter and music, chatter of fashion and gossip being spoken in a range of international languages in the room.

"You seem rather…." Her tongue slid along her lip as she mulled over the word she needed. Her dark eyes flickered to Blaine's and she smiled. "Possessive."

"I like to get my own way." Blaine 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 truly beautiful, breathtaking, even. Everyone in the room was gazing to the gorgeous, powerful woman on his arm and Blaine couldn't be prouder with his purchase.

The evening went amazingly. There was no snide comments or snickers in Blaine'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 Blaine 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." Blaine said as 3AM approached and he walked with the woman out of the large building. Simone was pulling her cardigan close to her body, and Blaine pulled off his jacket. She made to deflect the offer, but before she could, he placed it on her shoulders and wound a warm arm arm around her waist and held her closer. She laughed underneath her breath and looked to Blaine 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. Blaine 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 waiting car for her. She stood with one hand which was still holding the red rose upon the door and looked to the young designer for a moment. "I like to get my own way." He reminded her with a smile, and she laughed ever so gently, holding the rose to her mouth, the soft petals touching her perfectly plump lips.

"We shall see, Monsieur Anderson." She said with a smile, sitting into the car as Blaine placed the top hat on his head and closed the door, standing on the curb as the vehicle drove away, the young woman in the back, looking out 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, rundown buildings and dirt along the street, she lifted the many skirts of her dress so it didn't drag along the grubby streets and she walked briskly, her loud heels clunking along the pathway as she walked along. Her footsteps grew faster with each and every step. Although there was no one around, she was still uncomfortable, she hated this place, hated living here. The young woman didn't stop her quick steps until the shabby door of the apartment opened to her key and locked it behind her.

In the under-furnished but warm living area a blonde young man sat by the fireplace, laying against some comfortable cushions. Samuel Evans was a want-to-be artist, he wished to be sitting in Montmartre with the masters, making great money from his talent but he was still confined to some chalk sketches on the Parisian streets. He sat up when he heard the door open and smiled gently to the young brunette who entered.

"There is some soupeif 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 broken looking glass was hanging over the hearth. She brushed some ringlets from her forehead and inspected her reflection.

Sam looked up as Simone hooked her fingers in her luscious locks and pulled off the horsehair wig, revealing short cut but still chestnut 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." Kurt Hummel mumbled, his confident and smooth persona gone now that Simone was to be put away for the night. His feet were aching. He hated these heels. Sam just nodded, unfazed, this routine was nothing unusual. He sat and listened to his roommate complain for ten or so minutes about the pains from that heels could cause on a young man's feet.

The next part of the nightly routine was for him to turn around and ask Samuel to help him with the lace along the back of his dress. The young blonde didn't even need to be asked this time, he knew the pattern too well. Kurt turned his back to his best friend, pulling off the cardigan and jacket belonging to his date as the buffer male walked over, long fingers nimbly working the complex lace and Kurt sighed with relief when his friend helped him peal away the tight fabric only to have him help with the corset next. While Samuel untied the laces Kurt stretched down the front of the corset and pulled out two chicken breasts, able to breathe better as the ribbed cage came undone, revealing his hairless but still masculine chest.

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

"Wash that off." Sam said and Kurt smiled, walking over to a pile of clothing in the corner of the room and picking up a face cloth. The elder watched the young man walk into the bathroom and he sat back against the cushions, gripping some pages and charcoal, drawing.

He and Kurt had been living together for some years. Both had been born in America but Sam had lived much of his life in South Korea. They had met in this great city well over a year ago and the two became swift friends. A struggling artist and a wishful song writer, both gay and both lost in the bright world of Paris. Kurt was a beautiful young man but struggled with confidence issues. He had learned to play guitar at a young age and he bucked on the streets, wishing to be a singer but he was hardly scraping by on what he had. And when it came to a love life, no matter how beautiful Kurt was, there was few men in Paris who would look to him and see the beautiful man beneath the poor exterior.

Kurt had become sick of being invisible. Over a year ago Samuel 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' Kurt 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." Kurt 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 thin form. He smiled shyly at Sam who smiled and opened his arms. Kurt walked over, crawling up along the couch into the stronger arms, and he laid into his best friend. Sam smiled, pressing a kiss to Kurt's temple and wound his strong arms around the boy's slight frame.

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


edited by this-is-pants on tumblr :3