Pay to Play - Incest

All characters are consenting adults aged 18+

“Remember that time you promised—no, *swore*—you’d get me *anything* I wanted for my birthday? Like, *anything* anything?” Hailey tilted her head, letting her sun-bleached blonde waves cascade over one shoulder as she smirked down at her brother.

Pete blinked slowly, his pupils dilated enough to swallow whole galaxies. “Did I say that?” He dragged the words out like they were stuck in molasses. “Was I... you know...” He gestured vaguely toward the coffee table where a small mountain of cocaine glittered under the lamplight, meticulously arranged on a black mirror like some kind of blasphemous altar. A bent Queen of Hearts card and a metal straw—purchased specifically for its “aesthetic” from some pretentious Etsy shop—lay beside it like ritual tools.

Hailey rolled her eyes so hard Pete half-expected them to get stuck. “Uh, *yeah*.”

“Was I high?” Pete asked, though it sounded more like a philosophical pondering about the nature of reality.

His sister’s gaze dropped pointedly to the tableau between them: the pristine beaker bong with its hypnotic red-and-blue rings, the mason jar stuffed with weed so pungent it could floor a moose, and the stainless steel grinder sitting open like a mechanical mouth waiting to be fed. She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “*Yeahhhh.*”

“Well, Hailey,” Pete said with exaggerated solemnity, like a disappointed professor, “you *know* better than to ask me for shit when I’m blitzed out of my gourd.”

“I didn’t *ask*,” she shot back, crossing her arms under her chest in a move that did *wonders* for her cleavage, not that Pete was looking. Much. “You *offered*. Like a dumbass.”

“You should feel *guilty*,” Pete continued, ignoring her. “Profoundly guilty. Morally bankrupt, even. Taking advantage of your poor, defenseless older brother in his time of need—”

“Defenseless?” Hailey snorted. “You’re *twenty-one*, dickwad. And I just turned eighteen—happy birthday to me, by the way, *again*—so maybe *you* should start acting like the adult here.”

“I *did* wish you happy birthday this morning,” Pete said, nodding sagely.

“Yeah, while you were pissing in the shower because you forgot how doorknobs work.”

“Technicalities.” Pete waved a hand dismissively, then immediately regretted it when the room spun. “*Anyway*, you’re legally an adult now. Time to take responsibility for your actions. Like not extorting birthday gifts from intoxicated siblings.”

Hailey planted her hands on her hips—narrow enough to make a Victorian corset weep with envy—and leveled him with a look. “First of all, *shut up*. Second, I *knew* what I wanted before you ever opened your dumb, drug-slurred mouth. I was *going* to pitch it to you as a legit business opportunity—”

“—whoa, whoa, *entrepreneurial* speedbump here—”

“—that could *benefit* us both,” she barreled on, “but *nooo*, you had to go and promise me *anything* with that dumb, slack-jawed grin of yours—”

“Stop the pitch,” Pete interrupted, rubbing his temples. “I need to get more high—higher—*hella* high for this conversation. My morning joint’s already wearing off, and I can *feel* my IQ dropping by the second. Stay.” He pointed at her like she was a disobedient golden retriever before lurching to his feet.

“But—”

“*Stay.*”

Hailey groaned as Pete stumbled toward the kitchen like a newborn giraffe on roller skates. He yanked open the fridge—nearly taking the door off its hinges—and emerged triumphantly with a white pastry box tied with a blue ribbon, the kind of ridiculously overpriced shit from that bakery downtown where the cupcakes cost more than a tank of gas.

He plopped the box on the table with all the grace of a drunk rhinoceros. “I need a candle,” he announced, as if this was the most logical next step in human history. “Don’t move.”

“Pete, *Jesus*—” Hailey whined, but he’d already vanished again, leaving her alone with the cocaine and her own growing frustration.

When he returned—holding a single, slightly melted birthday candle he’d dug out of the junk drawer—he flopped onto the couch and grinned. “Open it. It’s from Sugars and Sweets and All Things That’ll Give You Diabetes.”

Hailey’s eyes lit up. “I *love* that place.”

“Course you do. It’s got pot in it.”

“You *asshole*!”

“Only *half* has pot,” Pete clarified, tilting his head thoughtfully. “Left side, I think. Or was it the right? Either way, I *definitely* had you in mind when I bought it—because I’m a *great* brother.”

Hailey flipped him off with one hand while popping the box open with the other. Inside sat a monstrous chocolate chip cupcake—more like a small cake, really—drenched in chocolate glaze and crowned with a single, plump maraschino cherry. It was easily big enough for two. Pete’s gaze lingered on the cherry for a second too long before sliding up to Hailey’s thighs—tan and toned from years of gymnastics—and then higher, until he was grinning up at her like the Cheshire Cat.

“I’ll light the candle,” he declared, fumbling with a lighter. “You’ll make a wish, we’ll eat our halves, and *then* we’ll talk about whatever harebrained scheme you’ve cooked up. In *one hour*.”

Hailey groaned. “Why an *hour*?”

“Because *last time*, it took exactly fifty-nine minutes for you to start undoing your top buttons before you got to the point,” Pete said matter-of-factly. “I’m being *proactive*.”

Hailey’s cheeks flushed pink. “*That* was *one time*—and I was *drunk*!”

“And yet, here we are.” Pete smirked. “One hour, Hailey. Give me sixty minutes of peace before you ask me to bankroll your latest disaster.”

“You’re *insufferable*,” Hailey muttered, but she leaned forward anyway as Pete lit the candle with all the ceremony of a medieval coronation. The flame flickered between them, casting shadows across Hailey’s face that made her look unfairly ethereal.

“Make a wish,” Pete said softly—then ruined the moment by adding, “But don’t wish for a pony. Dad *hates* ponies.”

Hailey rolled her eyes again—honestly, Pete was surprised they hadn’t fallen out of her skull yet—but she blew out the candle with a huff. The smoke curled between them like a lazy serpent.

“Now *cut the damn cupcake*,” Hailey demanded, already licking her lips.

Pete obliged, sawing through the dessert with the precision of a stoned surgeon. He handed her half—the *right* half, because he was *pretty* sure that was the non-weed side—and watched with amusement as she took a bite big enough to choke a horse.

“Classy,” Pete remarked. “Real *ladylike*.”

Hailey flipped him off again, her mouth too full to retort.

Pete grinned.

One hour.

Then the *real* fun would begin.

And Pete had the sinking feeling—just like last time—that he wasn’t going to say no.

Not to her.

Never to her.

*Damn it.*

Pete’s grin widened into a full-blown shit-eating smirk as Hailey spun on her heel, her bare ass cheeks jiggling just enough to make him mentally revise his “Top 5 Hailey-Ass Moments” rankings—which, okay, *maybe* was a weird mental list to keep about his sister, but fuck it, the view was *spectacular*. “Yeah, yeah, act shocked,” he called after her, leaning against the doorframe like the world’s most relaxed degenerate. “Not the first time I’ve paid to see those,” he added under his breath, because honestly? That Vegas trip where she’d drunkenly flashed him for fifty bucks still lived rent-free in his spank bank.

Her retreating form—all that smooth skin, the way her thighs rubbed together just *so*—paused mid-stride. Pete seized the moment to yell, “It’s not perverted if you’re high, Hailey!” with the confidence of a man who absolutely knew he was full of shit but would die on this dumbass hill anyway.

Like a goddamn jack-in-the-box, Hailey’s head snapped back into the hallway, her face doing that adorable scrunchy thing she *thought* made her look pissed but actually just made him want to pinch her cheeks. And maybe bite them. “Yes, it *is*!” she hissed, as if volume control had personally offended her. Then, like she’d remembered she left the oven on, she ducked back into her room—only to pop out again like a particularly judgmental groundhog. “*Perv!*”

Pete clutched his chest in mock devastation. “Ouch. And here I thought ‘enthusiastic admirer’ had a nicer ring to it.” He waggled his eyebrows, because if you’re gonna lean into being a creep, you might as well *commit*. “Besides, you’re the one who keeps *presenting* the goods. Ever heard of a fucking robe?”

Hailey’s answering middle finger was about as predictable as his morning boner.