Bones of Betrayal

All characters over 18 and fictional. Hope you enjoy.

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Chapter 1: The Deception.

My heart sank when Jake's name lit up my phone like a bad omen. I almost let it go to voicemail. Almost. Instead of hearing my Mom's voice in my head about missed opportunities I answered. Regretting it the moment I heard his condescending voice.

"Teddy," he said, that practised big-brother voice that always managed to sound both superior and needy at the same time.

I hated the nickname, always had and he knew it.

"Need a favour bro."

I was stretched out on my couch in a pair of old sweats, guitar across my lap, half-heartedly working through a blues progression I'd been chasing for days. The late October light was already dying outside my window. Halloween was only two nights away.

"What kind of favour?" I asked, even though I already knew the shape of it. Jake only ever called when he needed something.

"The band's playing the Sigma Kappa Halloween party. Big deal. Packed house, free booze, slutty girls in slutty costume. Problem is... my wrist's still fucked from that spill last weekend. Doctor said no heavy playing for another week."

Bullshit. Jake's wrist was fine. I'd seen him posting videos of shredding half-ass solos two days ago. I knew the real problem was that Jake was mediocre and knew it. On a normal night, he could fake competence. On a night that mattered. Like a paid Halloween bash at his girlfriend's sorority house, he needed someone who could actually play.

Someone who wouldn't make his band look like the half-baked amateurs they were.

"You want me to take your place," I said flatly. It wasn't the first time.

He told me his plan. Secretly we both show up in the same skeleton costumes. Full bone makeup, those half-masks that cover the upper face. Under the stage lights, nobody'll be able to tell us apart.

He had a point there. Although just a year older we looked more like twins, especially at a glance.

"You play the set, I take the credit after. Easy. The band doesn't have to know. Claire doesn't need to know. Everybody wins."

Claire.

Her name landed in my chest the way it always did when I heard it. Jake's girlfriend of eight months. Dark hair, usually wore in a messy bun. Sharp green eyes that missed nothing, a laugh that was lower and dirtier than you'd expect.

I'd only met her three times. The first time she'd caught me staring at her and smiled like she knew exactly what I was thinking. The second time, she overheard me writing a songwe had a nice chat about it. The third time we had spent most of the evening talking while Jake was off doing something else. She'd hugged me goodbye a second longer than necessary and I'd spent the rest of the night trying not to think about the way her body had felt against mine. I had no business thinking about her like that at all.

"How much?" I asked, because money was always tight.

Jake snorted. "Five hundred. Cash. Plus you get to play in front of a room full of drunk college girls who think guitarists are gods.

Come on, Teddy. You know you're better than me. Always have been. Just do this one thing and I'll owe you."

He already owed me. Years of it. Every time he'd taken credit for a performance I'd done. Every time he'd play one of my songs and let people believe the clever riff was his. The way he would swagger off stage leaving me to pack up the gear in silence.

The resentment lived under my ribs like a second heartbeat. If I was already booked, I would have said no on principle. But I was between bands at the moment. Five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars any day of the week.. And Claire would be there. I hated that the second reason mattered more.

"Matching costumes," I said. "Full skeleton. Makeup and half-mask."

"Already ordered two. Same size. I'll drop yours off tomorrow. Makeup kit too. We can do the faces at my place before we head over. You stay in the mask the whole set. After the last song, you slip out the side and I walk on like I just finished. Clean."

Clean. Right.

I said I'd think about it and set the phone down. I stared at the ceiling, and reached for the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the side table. Two fingers, neat. Then another. The blues progression under my hands turned meaner. By the time the second pour was gone, the resentment felt sharper and the risk felt smaller. The whiskey made the idea of standing on stage in Jake's place, with Claire watching, seem almost reasonable. I called him back.

"Fine. I'll do it, send me your set list,"

Jake laughed. A short snort of relief.

"You're a fucking lifesaver. Text me when you're free tomorrow so I can drop the shit off. And Teddy? Don't fuck this up. Claire's been talking about this party for weeks. I need it to go perfectly."

He hung up before I could answer. I set the phone down and kept playing, letting the blues progression fill the quiet apartment. Somewhere in the middle of it I realised I was already imagining the stage lights, the half-mask cutting across my face, the way Claire might look up from the crowd and not know which brother she was watching.

I knew, even then, that I shouldn't have agreed.

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Chapter 2: The Performance

The Sigma Kappa house was already pulsing when we pulled up. Digital bass rattled the windows. Strings of orange lights bled across the front porch. Costumed college girls spilt out onto the lawn. Nurses, witches, devils, and more than a few who had decided "sexy" was the only theme that mattered.

The air smelled like spilt beer, perfume, and the faint chemical bite of dry ice. I was glad I'd drunk some whisky before arriving. If only to calm the nerves.

Jake had done the makeup himself in his bathroom an hour earlier. White base, black hollows around the eyes and under the cheekbones, sharp lines turning our faces into identical bone masks. The makeup even went down to our torsos. Black with a bone ribcage and spine painted on my lean muscles.

The half-masks covered everything from the bridge of the nose up, leaving only our mouths free. In the mirror we looked the same: two skeletons with the same build, the same dark hair tucked under the battered top hats. The same tattered jackets framing our painted torsos. Under stage lights our own Mom wouldn't tell us apart.

I kept the half-mask on from the moment we left his car. Jake clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough to sting.

"Side door to the stage is through the kitchen. Band's already setting up. You go straight on. I'll hang back until the last song. Remember. Stay masked, play the set, then disappear. I walk out and take the glory. Easy money."

Inside was chaos in the best way. Bodies packed the main floor. Music thundered from speakers someone had cranked too high. Solo cups floated past. A girl in a red devil bodysuit brushed against me and didn't bother apologising. Her eyes flicked over the painted bones on my face and she smiled it what looked like recognition.

The stage was a raised platform at the far end of the living room, lights already hot and white. The rest of the band consisting of bass, drums and rhythm guitar. They were in various half-assed skeleton costumes and looked relieved the moment they saw me step up.

They didn't know about the switch of course. They just knew Jake's wrist had supposedly healed enough for him to play. Later I found out they were looking to kick my brother out of the band. So I was helping him out in more than one way.

I strapped on my brother's Strat, quickly checked the tuning by ear with headphones, and felt the familiar calm settle over me. Whatever else was true about Jake and me, this part was mine. The guitar never lied. The last of the whiskey still sat warm in my blood, steadying my hands even as it loosened up my inhibitions. I loved performing but needed some Dutch courage.

The crowd noise dipped when the lights hit us full. Someone whooped and a few phones came out to film us. I leaned into the mic and let my voice come out lower, rougher, the way it always did when I performed.

"Alright Sigma Kappa! How we doing tonight!"

The crowd drunkenly cheered. I looked around at the rest of the band to check they were ready.

"This one's for the witches and the liars. 1-2-3-4,"

We opened with "I Put a Spell on You." The Creedence version. Slow, swampy, and bluesy. The drums locked in behind me like a heartbeat. I let the first notes bend and hang, then dug in. The riff was pleasant enough on paper. But in practice, it was pure filth.

I closed my eyes under the half-mask and played like the room wasn't there, like the only thing that existed were the strings under my fingers and the way the notes wanted to ache. My voice was dark and husky sounding out clear above the din of the crowd.

By the second verse, the talking had stopped. I could feel the shift. Bodies turning. Eyes on the stage. A girl in a black cat costume near the front lowered her drink and stared. Another in a classic white sheet with eye holes cut out swayed closer, hips moving without thinking.

I opened my eyes and found Claire.

She was standing off to the side of the stage, half in shadow. She looked stunning in a short black dress with thin straps and a pair of cat ears. She somehow looked elegant instead of cheap. Her dark hair was down, falling over one shoulder. A red plastic cup dangled from her fingers. She wasn't dancing. She was watching me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.

For a second I forgot the half-mask was there. Forgot I was supposed to be Jake. The solo rose under my hands and I let it go. Bluesy, mean, full of every quiet resentment I'd carried for years. The notes bent and screamed and then resolved into something almost tender. When the song ended the room erupted.

Cheers. Whistles. Someone yelled for more.

We gave them eight more songs. One was a dirty blues number. Another a mid-tempo rocker that had half the floor jumping. Then a closing instrumental that let me stretch out and make the Strat talk. By the last chord my shirt was stuck to my back under the costume and the bone makeup around my mouth had started to crack from growling. The crowd went wild but I tried to marshal my performance. Not going to go over the top and risk discovery.

We finished with a flourish and the crowd loved it. I stepped back from the mic, unstrapped the guitar, and moved toward the side of the stage exactly the way Jake had wanted. The lights were still bright. The half-mask still hid the upper half of my face. No one stopped me. No one even looked twice.

Jake was waiting in the short hallway that led to the kitchen, already sliding his own half-mask into place. He clapped me on the back, then strode past me onto the stage as if he'd just finished the set of his life.

The crowd noise rose again. I watched from the doorway as he raised both arms, grinning that wide, entitled grin, and let the cheers wash over him. Jake soaked it up, pointing at people, mouthing thank-yous, already rewriting history in real time.

Claire had moved to the front. She was smiling up at him, proud and a little flushed from the heat of the room. Jake leaned down, kissed her quickly and publicly, then straightened and accepted another round of congratulations from someone in a vampire cape.

I stood in the shadows of the hallway and felt the old, familiar burn climb the back of my throat.

Years of it. Every stolen credit. Every time I'd swallowed it because he was the older brother, the louder one, the one who always got the girl and the spotlight and the easy story.

Tonight he'd taken the applause for a performance he couldn't replicate if his life depended on it. The five hundred dollars in my pocket suddenly felt like nothing.

I turned away from the stage before the anger could show on the lower half of my face. The party roared on behind me. Music restarted from the house speakers, laughter, the clink of bottles. Somewhere in that noise Claire was still looking at the wrong skeleton.

I pushed deeper into the house, past the kitchen, toward the quieter back rooms, the half-mask still tight across my eyes and the taste of copper in my mouth.

I was supposed to just slip out and leave. But that wasn't going to happen now. The night was only getting started and I wasn't going to miss out.

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Chapter 3: The Plan Forms

I stayed in the half-mask. The hallway behind the stage smelled like spilt beer and cheap cologne. Music from the house speakers had already taken over, a thudding bass line that made the floor vibrate under my boots.

I kept walking, past the kitchen where a girl in a nurse costume was mixing something neon green in a plastic pitcher, past a couple pressed against the wall who didn't notice me at all. The bone makeup around my mouth felt tight where it had started to crack from the heat of the lights. But I didn't wipe it off. Not yet.

Jake was still on the stage when I glanced back through the doorway. Arms raised, soaking it in. The half-mask sat crooked on his face now, the same white base and black hollows I'd watched him paint on both of us an hour earlier. From this distance, under the orange string lights, we were still indistinguishable.

Clair was still right there at the front, smiling up at him the way she'd smiled at the guitar twenty minutes ago. Cat ears still perfect. Short black dress with those thin straps that kept slipping a little every time she moved. She looked proud. Happy.

Something hot and mean slid under my ribs.

I turned away before it could show on the lower half of my face.

The back of the house was quieter. A long hallway lined with closed doors, a couple of half-open ones spilling low light and laughter. I found an empty corner near a window that looked out over the side yard. I leaned there for a moment. Arms crossed, watching the main room through the open archway. People flowed past in costumes that left almost nothing to the imagination. A devil in red latex. A witch with glitter on her cleavage. Two girls in matching skeleton bodysuits who weren't trying half as hard as Jake and I were.

Jake worked the room as if he owned it.

He came off the stage after another round of congratulations and headed straight for the drinks table. I had a perfect view and shrank into the shadows. Claire followed a few steps behind him, still holding her plastic cup. He grabbed two beers, handed her one, and kissed her again. Longer this time, one hand sliding low on her back like he was claiming her in public. People clapped him on the shoulder as they passed.

Someone in a vampire cape shouted something about the set being the best the house had heard all semester. Jake laughed that easy, entitled laugh and accepted it all.

Claire stayed close. Every time someone pulled him into a conversation she waited, eyes scanning the crowd the way people do when they're looking for the person they're supposed to be with. Once she glanced toward the hallway where I stood. Her gaze slid right over me. No recognition. Just another skeleton in the shadows.

An idea popped into my mind fully formed. A horrible, devilish idea.

It didn't come with a plan. Not yet. Just the shape of it, sharp and clean as a bent note.

If she couldn't tell us apart under these lights, with the makeup and the masks and the costume, then neither could anyone else. Not for a few minutes. Maybe longer.

Jake had spent years taking credit for things that weren't his. My riffs, my solos, my fucking talent. All while I stood in the wings and swallowed it. Tonight he'd done it again, right in front of her, right after I'd given he the best performance I could do.

What if I took something of his the same way?

The thought should have felt cold. Calculated. Instead, it landed warm, tangled up with the memory of the way Claire had looked at the stage while I played. The way her mouth had shaped the lyrics. The way her body had swayed without her noticing.

I'd loved her from the moment we met. That kind of obsessive love at first sight kind of feeling. Smitten my grandad would say. Wanting her and wanting to take something from Jake were tangled together now. Revenge with a pulse.

I stayed where I was and watched them.

Jake got pulled into a conversation near the stairs with two guys. Claire waited a minute, then drifted a few steps away, still scanning the crowd. Who was she looking for? The lighting in this part of the house came from string lights and a couple of lamps with orange bulbs. Shadows cut across faces. Costumes blended. My pulse kicked harder.

I could walk out there. Stay quiet. Let her find me. Let her think the hand on her waist was his. Let her think the voice close to her ear was her boyfriend's. Take the attention he'd stolen tonight and turn it into something that belonged to me for once.

The part of me that had always been the quieter brother, the one who packed the gear while Jake took the bows, said it was wrong. Said Claire deserved better than being the weapon in a fight that started long before she showed up. I knew wanting her didn't give me the right to use the resemblance to my brother this way.

The rest of me. The part that hated watching him raise his arms and accept the cheers. Didn't care. I pushed off the wall. The half-mask stayed on. The bone makeup stayed cracked around my mouth. I moved through the edge of the crowd like Jake had. Unhurried, like I belonged there. A girl in a sexy nurse costume brushed past and glanced up at the painted ribs on my chest. She smiled. I didn't smile back.

Claire was near the drinks table again, alone for the moment. Jake was still talking near the stairs, back half-turned. She lifted onto her toes once, scanning, then settled, waiting. The thin straps of the black dress had slipped another fraction. One cat ear sat slightly crooked from the heat of the room. She looked soft in the low light. Open. Unsuspecting.

I stopped a few feet away and let the idea settle fully into place.

If she mistook me for him, I could take her the same way he'd always taken the credit. One conversation. One touch. One moment where she looked at the wrong skeleton and gave him something that was never meant to be shared.

The resentment under my ribs and the want lower down in my belly twisted together until I couldn't tell which one was louder.

I took one more step and Claire turned her head.

Her eyes found the half-mask, the painted bones, the open jacket. Recognition flickered. A small smile starting at the corner of her mouth. She thought she'd found him.

The plan formed right there in the space between us, hot and deliberate and already tangled with everything I wasn't supposed to feel.

I didn't correct her. I almost stepped forward. Then I saw Jake.

He was near the stairs, half in shadow, the same skeleton jacket open, half-mask pushed up onto his forehead so his face was fully visible. A girl in a red devil bodysuit had him backed against the wall. She was laughing, low and close.

Jake's hands were on her waist. Then higher. He leaned in and kissed her. Slow open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that wasn't a mistake or a dare. The kind that said he'd done this before and planned to do it again.

Claire was still looking at me, waiting, that soft recognition on her face.

I stayed where I was and watched my brother for three more seconds.

The girl in the devil costume slid one hand under his jacket. Jake didn't stop her. He kissed her deeper, then said something against her mouth that made her laugh again. He looked completely at ease.

The cold clarity hit, but so did the whiskey still warming my blood. The rational part of me said to walk away, to let Claire know the truth. The rest of me. Still half-drunk on whisky and adrenaline said fuck it. Just once. Just tonight. Jake had taken the applause and now he was taking another girl. Cheating on Claire in the same fucking room! I closed the distance before the better argument could win.

If she mistook me for him tonight, at least the hands on her would belong to someone who actually gave a damn about her. At least for a little while she wouldn't be giving herself to a complete prick who treated her like shit.

"There you are," she said, voice warm and already soft from drink.

"I looked everywhere."

I didn't tell her what I'd just seen, didn't tell her the truth. I simply let her reach for me, and this time the decision felt heavier than pure spite. Glancing over her shoulder I already saw Jake had disappeared with that Devil girl.

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Chapter 4: The Mistake & First Contact

Up close the orange string lights cut sharper shadows across the half-mask. She smelled like vanilla and beer and the faint chemical sweetness of dry ice that still clung to the house. One hand came up and rested lightly on the painted ribs of my jacket, fingers splaying like she had every right to touch me.

"Needed air," I said, keeping my voice in the lower register I'd used on stage.

Close enough to Jake's that the difference wouldn't register through the music and the alcohol.

"Place got loud."

She smiled, the same small private smile I'd seen her give him earlier.

"You were incredible tonight. Seriously, I've never heard you play better. I know all the girls are so jealous of me right now"

The words landed like a hand around my throat. She thought he'd done it for her. The whole performance, the extra bite in the guitar, the way the chorus hit harder than before. All of it credited to the wrong skeleton.

Anger flared hot under the thrill. I let both of them sit there together.

"Glad you liked it," I said.

Claire stepped closer. The space between us shrank to almost nothing. Her free hand found the edge of the half-mask, fingertips brushing the painted bone along my cheek.

"You're still wearing this. It's kind of hot, actually. Mysterious skeleton boyfriend." She laughed under her breath, the sound lower and dirtier than the polite version she used in daylight.

"Come here."

She didn't wait. She rose onto her toes and kissed me. It started soft. Testing. The kind of kiss that assumes history and permission. Her mouth tasted like the beer she'd been holding and something sweeter underneath.

For half a second the guilt rose sharp and clean. This is Claire, she thinks you're him, you have to stop this! Then the rest of me shoved it down. Jake was off doing god knows what. Tonight I was looking after Claire.

I kissed her back passionately. My hands found her waist, the thin fabric of the dress warm under my palms. She made a small sound against my mouth and pressed closer, body fitting against the open jacket like she'd done it a hundred times. The half-mask stayed between us at first, plastic edge catching against her cheek. I angled my head and deepened the kiss. Her tongue met mine without hesitation.

The affection she'd brought with her turned to frisky fingers sliding under the jacket, nails scraping lightly over the painted ribs on my chest, then lower.

We broke apart only long enough for her to breathe, "Side room. Now."

I let her pull me along into another hallway that was dimmer still. A half-open door on the left led into what must have been a study or spare bedroom. There was a desk pushed against one wall, a low couch, a single lamp with a red scarf thrown over it. Bathing the room in light the colour of old blood. She shut the door behind us with her heel. The music from the main floor became a distant pulse.

Claire didn't waste time. She pushed the top hat off my head, and reached for the half-mask. I caught her wrists gently.

"Leave it," I said. "For now."

She laughed again, that low dirty giggle.

"Kinky. Alright skeleton boy, have it your way."

Her hands went to the jacket instead, shoving it open. The white bone makeup across my collarbones and sternum was already starting to soften from the heat of my body and the press of hers. She dragged one fingertip through it, smearing a pale streak down toward my stomach.

"You're a mess," she murmured, almost fondly. "Like it," she added biting her lip.

I backed her toward the couch. She went willingly, still smiling, still thinking this was the continuation of a night with her boyfriend. When the backs of her knees hit the cushions she sat and pulled me down with her. Her skimpy black dress rode up. I settled between her thighs and kissed her again, harder this time. The half-mask pressed into her forehead. White body paint transferred onto her cheek in a ghost of a smear.

"Jake," she breathed. But her eyes stayed locked on the half-mask a beat too long, as if realising something.

The name hit like a slap. I answered it with my hands sliding higher under the dress, with the deliberate choice not to stop. Guilt tried again. She likes you, actually likes the real you. If she gets the chance she might want you too. This is fucked! But the thrill of the deception drowned it.

Anger at Jake rode right alongside every other feeling. He was cheating on her. Like he was cheating at everything in his life.

Claire's hands were busy. She found the front of my pants. Working the button and zipper with the easy of someone who knew exactly what she wanted. I helped her shove them down far enough. She wrapped her fingers around my rock-hard cock and stroked once, twice, the motion unhurried and certain. The bone makeup on my lower face cracked further when I exhaled against her ear.

"Been thinking about this all night," she said, her voice rough now.

"Watching you up there. The way you played that solo like you were fucking the guitar."

I didn't answer with words. I pushed her dress higher, found the edge of whatever scrap of lace she was wearing underneath, and dragged it down her legs. She lifted her hips to help. Her thighs parted for me without hesitation. I settled between them, the head of my cock dragging through her wet folds. She was already ready. Tipsy, frisky, completely certain of who she was about to fuck.

As I pushed inside Claire's head dropped back against the couch cushion. A soft, broken sound left her throat. Her hands gripped the open edges of the skeleton jacket hard enough that more white base smeared onto her fingers. I buried myself to the hilt and stayed there. Breathing through the tight perfect clench of her, through the knowledge that she thought I was Jack. That the man inside her was her boyfriend.

Slow at first. Deep. Letting her feel every inch. The couch creaked under us. Her cat ears finally came loose and tumbled to the floor. I braced one hand on the back of the couch and used the other to keep the half-mask from shifting too far. Every time I thrust she made that low sound again, the sexy little groan.

"Harder," she said.

I loved hearing her demand so I gave it to her.

My rhythm turned sharper. The slap of skin on skin cut through the muffled bass from the party. Claire's legs wrapped around my hips. One of her hands left the jacket and fisted in the dark hair at the back of my neck, pulling me down so she could kiss me again. A messy, open-mouthed kiss, tasting of beer and need. More makeup smeared between us. She looked wrecked already and we were only getting started.

I fucked her as I'd always dreamed of. Every stroke carried the double weight of want and spite. The thrill of her body taking me while she still believed the lie. The anger that Jake would walk around tomorrow thinking the cheers and the girl still both belonged to him.

Guilt tried to surface every time she whispered his name. I liked her. That was the problem. The thrill shoved it back down and I didn't stop.

Claire came first. Sudden, sharp, thighs locking around me, a broken "fuck, Jake" spilling out of her while her body clenched and fluttered. The sound of his name in her mouth while she came on my cock should have killed the heat. It only made it meaner. Guilt flared one last time, cold and clear, then the anger and the want drowned it completely. I chased my own release harder, deeper, the half-mask digging into my face, white and black makeup now thoroughly ruined across both of us.

When I finished it was with my face buried against her neck and her legs still locked around me. The last pulses of come dragging a rough sound out of my throat that she probably thought was familiar.

We stayed like that for a long moment. Breathing hard together. The red light made the smears of makeup look almost intentional. Ghost-white streaks on her skin, dark smudges around her eyes, the cracked bone lines on my face half-transferred onto hers. Her dress was bunched around her waist. My pants were still shoved halfway down my thighs. The half-mask sat crooked now, one edge lifted enough that if she'd looked closely she might have seen the face underneath.

She didn't look closely. Claire's fingers traced absently through the smeared white on my chest.

"That was... wow. You were different tonight. In a good way." She laughed softly, still a little breathless.

"Guess the skeleton brings out something extra."

I eased back just enough to look at her. The guilt finally pushed through the heat, cold and clear. She was smiling up at me with complete trust, completely certain the man who'd just fucked her was the same one she'd been dating for eight months. The same one who had no idea what was happening in this room right now.

I should have told her. Instead, I brushed a smear of white from her cheek with my thumb and said in a voice still low.

"Something like that."

Outside the door, the party kept going. Laughter, bass, the distant sound of people enjoying themselves. And somewhere was my brother. Perhaps still cheating with that Devil girl. Having no clue that I had just creampied his girlfriend.

Claire stretched beneath me, cat ears forgotten on the floor, dress still hiked up, makeup from my face painted across her skin like evidence. I looked down at her and realised the night was nowhere near over.

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Chapter 5: The Pull-Back

Claire's fingers kept tracing slow circles through the smeared white on my chest like she had all the time in the world.

I was still inside her, still half-hard, still breathing against the side of her neck where black liner from the half-mask had left a dark streak. The red light turned every mark on her skin into something that looked deliberate. Ghost-white fingerprints on her collarbone, a pale smear across her lower lip, the faint shadow under one eye where the mask had pressed too hard. Her dress was bunched around her waist. One cat ear lay on the floor near the couch.

She looked thoroughly fucked and completely content. The soft, trusting way she smiled up at me made the whole room feel suddenly too small.

"You good?" she asked, voice lazy and warm. "You went quiet."

I should have stayed quiet. Should have kept the half-mask on, kept taking what Jake had always taken without looking too hard at the cost. Instead, the guilt that had been circling the edges of the heat finally sank its teeth in. The last of the whiskey still sat warm in my blood, but it no longer felt like courage. Just another excuse I didn't deserve.

This was Claire. Not a nameless girl at a party. Not a convenient stand-in for revenge. I'd wanted her before Jake ever called asking for a favour. Wanted her in the quiet, inconvenient way that had nothing to do with spite.

The anger at my brother was still there. Sharp, familiar, earned. But it no longer felt clean. Using her to settle a score that started years before she showed up suddenly felt as shitty as it sounded. The thrill of the deception curdled. The makeup smeared across both of us stopped looking like evidence of a perfect crime. It started looking like something I couldn't wash off fast enough.

I eased out of her carefully. Claire made a soft sound of protest, legs still loose around my hips.

"Hey. Where are you going?"

I sat back on my heels, tugged my pants up enough to be decent, and reached for the half-mask that had slipped crooked during the last few thrusts. My voice came out rougher than I meant it to.

"Need a minute. Head's spinning a little. Too much beer."

It was a weak excuse. Jake never admitted weakness, never stepped away from her like this. But Claire only blinked, still flushed and soft, and nodded like she understood.

"Okay. Bathroom's upstairs if you want water or something. I'll be right here." She stretched, unselfconscious, dress still hiked, the white streaks of my makeup bright against her skin in the red light.

"Don't take too long. I'm not done with you." The words landed like a second punch.

I stood, shrugged the skeleton jacket closed as much as it would, and left the room before the guilt could turn into something I said out loud. The hallway felt colder after the heat of her body. Music still pulsed from the dance floor, laughter and the clink of bottles drifting down the hallway. I took the stairs two at a time, half-mask dangling from one hand, bone makeup cracked and ruined across the lower half of my face.

The upstairs bathroom was at the end of a quieter corridor. I locked the door behind me, flipped on the light, and stared at the stranger in the mirror.

White paint was smeared across my mouth and chin. The black hollows around the eyes had run into dark streaks down both cheeks. The half-mask had left a red pressure line across the bridge of my nose. I looked exactly like what I was: a thief who had just stolen something that didn't belong to him. And I was only now feeling the weight of it. It was Jake I felt indebted to to but Claire. I had stolen her love and affection for another guy.

I turned on the cold tap and splashed water over my face. Makeup ran in grey rivers down the drain. I scrubbed harder. Dragging the cheap drugstore sponge left by the sink across my skin until the bone lines were mostly gone and only faint grey shadows remained. The half-mask sat on the edge of the sink like an accusation. I left it there.

The mirror now showed Ted. Not Jake. Just me. Same dark hair, same mouth that had just kissed her under pretences, same eyes that had watched her come while she said the wrong name.

I braced both hands on the porcelain and let the conflict tear through me properly for the first time all night. Part of me still wanted to go back downstairs, put the mask on again, and finish what we'd started.

The rest of me knew it was already too late for that. She deserved better than being the weapon in a fight between brothers. She deserved to know whose hands had been on her. Whose mouth. Whose cock she'd just come around while whispering the wrong name.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

"Jake?"

Claire's voice was muffled, still a little breathless.

"You okay in there baby? You've been gone a while."

I closed my eyes.

One more second of the lie. One more chance to walk back out, put the mask on, and pretend the guilt hadn't landed. Or the first step toward something that might actually cost me more than I could bear.

I unlocked the door.

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Chapter 6: The Discovery

Claire stood in the hallway, still flushed, dress straightened just enough to be decent, one cat ear missing and the other crooked. White streaks of my makeup still marked her collarbone and the side of her neck. She looked soft and expectant. Completely certain she was talking to the right brother.

"You okay?" she asked again looking concerned. "You look... different. Did you wash the makeup off?"

I had. Most of it. The mirror had shown Ted, not the skeleton. I'd grabbed the half-mask at the last second and put it back on. More scared of her reaction than wanting to deceive her. The dim lighting still did a lot of work to hide the truth.

"Yeah. Needed to breathe." My voice came out flatter than I meant.

"Give me two minutes. I'll find you downstairs."

She searched my face for a second longer than felt safe, then nodded. "

"Don't take forever. I'm serious about not being done with you."

She turned and headed for the stairs. I watched her go until she disappeared, then stepped fully into the hallway and shut the bathroom door behind me. I only made it three steps.

A door farther down the corridor stood half-open. Low light spilt out. Soft, wet sounds. A quiet female laugh that cut off into a gasp. I should have kept walking. Instead, I moved closer, and looked through the gap.

Jake was inside.

The skeleton jacket hung open off one shoulder. The half-mask was gone completely, tossed on a dresser. His pants were shoved down around his thighs. The girl from earlier. The one in the red devil bodysuit, was bent over the edge of a bed, costume peeled to her waist. Jake had one hand fisted in her hair and the other gripping her hip.

He was fucking her with the same easy entitlement he'd used to take the stage applause, head tipped back, eyes half-closed, completely unconcerned about anything outside that room.

Ten minutes ago he'd kissed Claire in front of the whole house like she was the only one who mattered. Five minutes before that he'd accepted cheers for a set he hadn't played. And now he was balls-deep in someone else.

Whatever guilt had been left in me after the bathroom mirror simply evaporated.

It didn't drain slowly. It vanished. In its place came a cold, sharp clarity that felt almost like relief. Jake had never deserved the credit. He had never deserved Claire. He had never deserved the easy story where he got to be the talented one and the loyal one at the same time.

Claire was downstairs waiting for a man who was currently balls-deep in someone else. She had come on my cock while saying his name. She had looked at me with trust that belonged to a version of us that had never actually existed. And the man she thought she was waiting for was proving, right now, exactly why that trust had always been misplaced.

I stood there long enough to watch Jake's rhythm stutter and hear the girl moan his name. Then I turned away before either of them noticed the open door.

The hallway felt different on the walk back. Lighter. Meaner. The remaining grey shadows of makeup on my face no longer felt like evidence of a crime. They felt like the last traces of a costume I no longer needed.

Claire was still his girlfriend on paper. But the ledger had finally balanced itself without my help. At least from my brothers perspective. Jake had taken everything he could reach. Now I was going to take the only thing left that still mattered. This time I wasn't going to do it under his name. I chucked the mask away and headed downstairs.

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Chapter 7: The Return & The Reveal

I found her in the same side room.

The red scarf still hung over the lamp. The couch still carried the faint scent of sex and cheap makeup. Claire sat on the edge of it, dress pulled back down, bare feet on the floor, the remaining cat ear discarded somewhere out of sight. She looked up the second I stepped through the door.

Her eyes moved over my face. Clean now, no half-mask, only the faint grey shadows that cold water hadn't fully erased. Something in her expression shifted.

She didn't look confused. She looked like she'd been waiting for exactly this. For me.

I shut the door. The bass from downstairs became a distant heartbeat again.

"You washed it off," she said quietly.

"Yeah."

Silence stretched. I could still feel the cold clarity from the hallway upstairs, the image of Jake fucking the girl in the devil costume burned clean behind my eyes. The last of the guilt was gone. What remained was simpler: I wanted her, she had just come on my cock thinking I was someone else, and I was done pretending.

I opened my mouth to tell her the truth.
Claire beat me to it.

"It was you the whole time, wasn't it?"

"When did you know?"

"The first solo." She gave a small, almost private smile, then it faded.

"Jake never plays like that. He never looks at me like that either. And then later... the way you kissed me. The way you fucked me. It didn't feel like him." She paused, eyes steady but cooler.

"I've met you three times, Ted. I remember all of them. Especially the last one. That doesn't mean I'm not still pissed that you let me call you by the wrong name while I came."

The room felt smaller. Hotter. The edge in her voice cut clean through the residual heat from earlier.

"I saw him," I said. "Upstairs. With someone else."

Claire's expression didn't crack the way I expected.

She only nodded once, slowly. "Red devil costume?"

"Yeah."

"He's done it before." Her voice stayed even, but something tired and sharp moved underneath it.

"I pretended I didn't notice for a while. Told myself it was just the parties, alcohol, whatever. Tonight I stopped pretending."

She looked at me directly.

"So when I saw you playing your heart out for me instead of the one who's been lying to me for months... I let it happen."

The black dress still sat slightly crooked from earlier. White smears of my makeup remained on her collarbone and the side of her throat like evidence neither of us had bothered to wipe away.

"I've liked you since the second time we talked. I've tried to deny it but I don't feel the same when I look at Jake. We don't have the same connection we have. Even only seeing a you a few times I could tell."

She took a step closer. Then another. Closing the distance herself.

"I was tired of being the girl who waits while disappears with someone else. Tonight the costumes made it easy. I wanted it to be you. That still doesn't erase the part where you let the lie stand while I came."

"You're gonna have to make it up to me now," she said forcefully. Still with a hint of lust.

The last step between us disappeared. She closed it. Pressing up against me as I kissed her. This time there was no half-mask between us, no borrowed name, no careful lower register. Just my mouth on hers, open and certain.

Claire made a soft sound and opened for me immediately, hands sliding up my chest, under the open skeleton jacket, nails digging in like she'd been holding back the first time. The residual anger still needed somewhere to go. She gave it to the kiss, then to the jacket, shoving it off my shoulders with more force than the first time.


I backed her toward the couch without breaking the kiss. When the backs of her knees hit the cushions she sat and pulled me down with her, already tugging at my jacket off my arms.

"Off," she muttered against my mouth. "I want to see you."

I shrugged out of it. The white bone makeup that remained on my collarbones and sternum transferred onto her palms as she pushed the fabric away. She looked at the smears, then at my face, and something hungry and satisfied moved through her expression.

"Still a mess," she said, echoing her earlier words.

I pulled the dress up and off her in one motion. No pretence of leaving it on. No half-measures. She lifted her arms to help, then reached for my pants with the same urgency. I got them down and kicked them away. When I settled between her thighs again there was nothing left between us but skin and the residual streaks of Halloween makeup.

Claire's breath caught as I kissed down her throat, over the white smears still marking her collarbone. I kept going lower, dragging my mouth across the soft underside of her breast, then further still. She made a quiet, surprised sound when I pushed her thighs wider and settled on my knees between them.

"Oh my," she groaned.

I looked up once, met her eyes, and then put my mouth on her.

Her head dropped back against the cushions with a sharp inhale. Her fingers found my hair immediately, not pushing, just holding on as I licked her slowly, with deliberate motions up the length of her pussy. She was already wet, the taste of her was heavenly as I took my time. Open-mouthed kisses against her clit, the flat of my tongue pressing firm circles, then softer flicks that made her hips twitch.

"Fuck," she breathed, voice low and rough.

"That's... argh! Don't stop."

I didn't. I slid two fingers into her while I kept working her with my mouth, curling them just enough to find the spot that made her thighs tighten around my head. Claire's free hand gripped the edge of the couch. The red light painted everything in the room the same heated colour. Her flushed skin, the remaining black shadows near her eyes, the white streaks still on her chest.

She tried to stay quiet at first. The bass from party still throbbed through the walls. The door wasn't locked, but the longer I stayed between her legs the less she seemed to care. Soft, broken sounds slipped out of her every time I sucked gently on her clit or dragged my tongue lower to taste her. Her hips started rolling up to meet my mouth, chasing the pressure.

"God, Ted! Right there! Right there Fuck!"

I hummed against her and felt the vibration make her jolt. Her fingers tightened in my hair as I kept the rhythm steady. Tongue and fingers working her in the same unhurried, focused way I'd strummed my guitar. No rush. Just the sound of her breathing getting ragged and the wet slide of my mouth on her lower lips.

Claire came with a sharp, muffled cry, thighs clamping around my head, body arching off the couch. I stayed with her through it, slowing only when the last tremors eased and her grip on my hair loosened. I pressed one final soft kiss to the inside of her thigh before I climbed back up her body.

Her eyes were dark, pupils blown, lips parted. She pulled me into a messy kiss that tasted of her, then reached between us and wrapped her hand around my cock, stroking once, slow and deliberate.

"Now," she said against my mouth, voice still shaky.

"I want you to come inside me."

I started moving. Deep, steady strokes that let her feel every inch. The couch creaked. I braced one hand beside her head and used the other to keep her hips tilted exactly where I wanted them.

She pulled me down into another kiss, messy and open. One of her hands left my back, dragged through the white makeup still streaked across my chest, and deliberately smeared it across the upper curve of her own breast, then higher, pressing the pale streak against my mouth as she kissed me harder.

"Me fuck me baby," she said against my lips.

"Harder. Knowing I want it to be you."

I gave her everything she asked for.

The rhythm turned sharper. Skin slapped. Claire's nails raked down my back hard enough to sting. I fucked her through one orgasm with my name in her mouth, then pulled out, flipped her onto her hands and knees, and pushed back in from behind.

She arched immediately, pushing back to meet every thrust.

One of my hands fisted in her dark hair; the other gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. The white she just spread across her chest transferred onto the couch cushion beneath her in long smears. Black shadows from the earlier eye makeup still faintly marked her temple.

"Fuck you feel so fucking good Claire," I said in a hoarse voice.

"I've waited toh since the first time I saw you!" I grunted as sweat dripped down my back.

Claire moaned, low and dirty. "Don't stop. God, don't stop."

I didn't plan to ever stop fucking her. She was mine as long as she wanted to be. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight circles while I kept the deep, punishing rhythm. She came again with a broken sound, thighs shaking, walls clenching hard around me. I stayed inside her through it, grinding deep, until the aftershocks eased.

Then I pulled out, turned her onto her back again, and hooked one of her legs over my shoulder. The new angle let me go deeper. Claire's eyes flew open. Her hands gripped my forearms.

Her eyes stayed on mine. "Ted! Argh! Yes! Yes! Come in me, baby! Take me! Argh!!"

That was all it took.

I dropped her leg, leaned down, and fucked her through a third orgasm with my forehead pressed to hers. When I came it was with her legs locked around me, her voice in my ear saying my name over and over, and the last traces of skeleton makeup. Some of it deliberately placed by her own hand. Smeared between our bodies like the final proof that the costume had done its job and was no longer needed.

We stayed tangled afterwards, breathing hard. The red light made every smear on her skin look deliberate. white streaks across her breasts, dark shadows near her eyes, the faint imprint of my hands on her hips. Claire traced a pale line on my chest with one fingertip, then looked up at me.

"He's going to figure it out eventually," she said quietly.

"I know," I said breathlessly.

"I don't care." She shifted closer, one leg still draped over mine.

"I'm done waiting for him to be the version of himself he pretends to be. Tonight I got the brother who actually loves me."

I brushed a smear of white from her cheek with my thumb. The same gesture I'd made earlier when she still thought I was him. This time it felt honest.

"Good," I said. "Because I'm not giving you back."

Outside the door, the party kept going--laughter, bass, the distant sound of people who still thought the skeleton onstage and the skeleton who'd taken the girl were the same person.

In the red-lit room, with makeup smeared across both of us and the truth finally on the table, none of that mattered anymore.
 Claire kissed me again, slow and certain, and I let the last of the night's resentment burn itself out against her mouth.

The bones of the betrayal had done their work. What remained was ours.

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