Author's Notes: Gender fluid!Tamaki and Benio, still both adjusting and stretching their wings. Mixed pronouns at this point in their lives, currently dependent on how they feel on the given day (before they feel comfortable not leaning on the clothes so much). I wrote this several years ago on Livejournal, and if I had time would probably revise it with what I know and understand now, but at the moment I'm just going to post for archiving purposes. Still, hope you enjoy!

She came to the Suoh second mansion and the first thing she said to Tamaki was, "You may have some talent."

Tamaki thought that was fairly obvious, but didn't say so. He did, however, invite the great Benibara-sama inside because that was just polite, no matter what kind of maiden she may be, and because she also may have had some talent. He wondered if he should call her Benio, or Amakusa-san, or Benibara-sama, or Lady of the Red Rose—and then she said, "Tilt your chin up and turn your head to the right."

Tamaki, in the middle of his entrance hall, did just that. And preened.

Benio's smile was more teeth than mouth. "You'll do just fine."

"Really?" asked Tamaki, and was pleased.

Benio and Tamaki had quite a lot in common, actually. Tamaki found it to be rather extraordinary, all things considered. They liked roses with their breakfast and traded elated tales of their mothers—the beauty and grace of a French aristocrat, the strength and elegance of the former Zuka club president—while eating at the rounded corner of Tamaki's dinner table. He'd rarely had to share it before. He liked the feeling. He missed companionship in the little things and, while this wasn't as close-knit as the host club, there was a spark quite like it.

They both enjoyed dramatic television and praiseworthy women and a really good show. Tamaki thrived in learning how to arrange flowers. Benio triumphed herself at learning basic piano lessons. They swapped, and melded, and laughed.

But the real lessons were in Tamaki's room, where Benio learned the perfect cut of a suit. She'd smooth down the fabric, adjusting her posture, and Tamaki clapped because there was nothing more impressive than bone meeting skin meeting cloth in a man. He showed her how to bend just low enough in a bow to kiss a woman's hand without seeming overly crowding. He taught her voice inflection. Proper male etiquette that no one would willingly teach a growing lady. She was already so far in her studies that he hardly had to touch her at all, of course; it was highly admirable.

And then it was his turn.

Tamaki never said so, but Benio must have known if she came—that Tamaki loved it when it was his turn, and loved feeling his back bare and exposed to air.

He fancied it was another person entirely that stared back at him in the mirror.

He was tall, but so was Benio—it wasn't hard to find the dresses with her help. The first week had been grueling. His fingers shook too excitedly to handle a razor next to his legs, so they turned to wax to make them smooth. Before he even stepped into a shoe, he had to learn how to walk. What to say. How to frame his mouth, lower his eyes. The only thing he hadn't needed to relearn was how to smile; it was eccentrically endearing, Benio had announced, and worthy of maidenhood, that one little secret!

The next week was wonderful. The first time, Benio undressed him—not a single bit of interest, he'd thought, and pouted—and he'd donned the undergarments first, feeling red in his cheeks. They were restricting, but not uncomfortable; they were soft, and the panty hose slid up his legs like water or cream. Then Benio touched his cheek and helped him step into the dress, and it was beautiful, Tamaki thought, her pale hands on the soft blue of the skirt, the gentle wave of the gown on his pale legs. His entire body trembled as it slid up his body, and he couldn't feel his arms when he put them through the sleeves, the ends of which settled over his overly-large hands, to hide, to change them. The collar fell just so, enough to hide his lack of natural endowments and yet still show enough of the delicate line of his collarbone to distract the eye. Benio had chosen well.

Benio did up the back of the dress, pulled it tight, and said, "Let me do your hair and face."

So she did. And Tamaki watched her—her brow furrowed in concentration as she took creams to his face, powder to his eyes, and products to his hair. He felt the curled ringlets he normally styled out settle on the back of his neck and behind his ears. He shivered when she ran gloss over the bottom of his lip, tugging at the sensitive skin there. He thought he'd come apart, but she said, "I'm done."

He looked in the mirror.

"She's beautiful," said Benio proudly. "She's the perfect addition to the Zuka club!"

She looked like her mother. Tamaki smiled.

It wasn't a game, really. Benio claimed she was prepping him—for what, Tamaki wasn't sure—but the weeks went past. No one discovered their secret. There was no motive. Indeed, after the first weeks, there was no more mention of the host club or Zuka club whatsoever.

He thought, rather abruptly one day, that maybe Benio just wanted someone who understood.

They really were so much alike.

"It started with just a thought," Benio said, pursing her lips as she applied Tamaki's mascara. Tamaki tried very, very hard not to blink.

"Yes?"

"I was very angry at you over the poor maiden Haruhi and your schemes to keep her." Benio clicked her tongue. "Don't blink."

"It's ticklish!"

"It's just," she continued, voice deepening, "you really had something in you. It was dying to be released properly. Not something different from you, but maybe... The way a kaleidoscope twists and narrows in on different patterns of beauty. New planes of being. You in reformation."

Tamaki tried to imagine who that might be.

During the day, he simply never thought about it. Like always, he threw himself into what he was doing at the moment, within the moment, and dreamed of nothing but the moment. He endeared himself to anyone who came to the club. He screeched at the twins. He laughed at Kyouya. He ate cake, and was cheerful, and hugged Haruhi as many times as she would allow. The world was carefully kept; like a pretty bauble, it shone.

He felt tired, sometimes, at the end of the day. Just a little.

"It's not that you're pretending anything," Benio told him, once. "We're just so much. We're too much. We've got so much inside of us that it's hard to contain it, so why should we?"

Tamaki thought about that. He said, "I can't wear a dress to school, though. You can get away with what you do, but it's not the same for me, is it?"

Benio put a hand on his head. "No," she agreed. "But it should be."

Benio was a charming, incorrigible man. He boasted, and toasted, and laughed with his head thrown back, and settled his chin on his fist in the exact manner Tamaki did when reeling in a girl at the club. He always looked dashing—smartly cut suits, long coat tails, a slyly tipped hat. He sang while he dressed. His facial bones were strong. Tamaki felt absurdly calm in his presence.

Tamaki made a rather irresistible woman. She folded her hands properly, but would laugh with such sincere delight that it felt like her entire person were open. She tilted her head to catch her earrings on the light. Her eyes, warm behind their dark, sooty lashes, were softer than the rest of her frame promised. She always looked beautiful—pale, short blond curls framing a mischievous face, a smile that never grew thin.

It was only natural, really.

"You're a terribly lovely maiden," said Benio, quietly, touching Tamaki's cheek. Her breath caught.

"You're—"

But she didn't get to finish. Benio kissed like the world was going to end and Tamaki thought maybe she'd pretend for a while it was.

"What are we going to do?" Tamaki asked her, before his eyes could slip shut. The sweat sticking his hair to the back of his neck was uncomfortable. He buried his face in the pillow.

Benio was tracing circles on his back. "Fight the good fight," she said, bravely. Even without the suit, without the shoes, without the strip of bandages to hold back her breasts, Tamaki couldn't think of her as only a woman anymore.

"Ohh, it's so exciting."

"An exotic, sinful affair!"

"Turmoil awaits us at every turn. Danger and the suspense of being discovered!"

Benio laughed and kissed his shoulder blade. "We were made to live in the spotlight. It seems strange we're stuck in the dark."

Tamaki giggled. He said, "We're awfully bright for the dark—we can make our own spotlight."

He was still Tamaki.

He was still Tamaki, even with lace pinching at his torso and ribbons in his hair. He was still Tamaki, even with red painted on his mouth and fake extensions tickling his bare back. He was still Tamaki, no matter how many gloves or high heels or hats he wore. He felt like himself, more like himself, was every inch of himself. The more he became, the less he felt like a stranger when he saw the person in the mirror. He was Tamaki at school but she was Tamaki here, too, and sometimes, in halting progression, it didn't matter what clothes were buttoned up.

And so he was Tamaki, too, when he was with Benio. He was fascinated by her contradictions—the strong muscles of her thigh against the slenderness of her waist, the broad shoulders and pointed chin, the way she could make him fall to pieces with her thin fingers, piano fingers, nails cut close so they wouldn't hurt, and then be so breathless when he paid homage to her with his tongue and teeth. He was never quite sure if he made love to her or if she made love to him, and sometimes it was both, and sometimes they just laughed it off and sprawled in bed for hours because it didn't matter. She had him in skirts, and she had him in nothing. She was Benio.

"Don't think it's love," she told him, grinning broadly. "It's just that you're so pretty."

"Gentlemen who sweep others off their feet should at least pretend it's love," Tamaki complained. He didn't mean it, but it still should be said.

"I'll keep that in mind."

"All those girls you charm, don't break their hearts. That makes for a truly despicable man."

"Didn't I tell you that?" Benio wondered. Then she chuckled. "You're my prize student. Don't tell my fanclub."

"Don't tell," sing-songed Tamaki.

"Don't tell," she whispered, pressing her forehead to his back, bare and exposed to air.

At some point, Tamaki learned to put on his own makeup. He knew how to arrange a skirt properly. But if he was the only one in the room, he felt lonely. It only mattered when there was someone who could see him.

One day, over their tea and roses, Benio said, "You could be my wife."

Tamaki laughed at her.

Then he said, "I could."