All American Boys
Chapter 44: Rose Garden Dreams
Cyril was right across the room, standing there, ready for the taking. My eyes were focused on him as I carefully made my way past the flurry of suits and dresses. He had just finished talking to an older man in a crisp black blazer, and the latter was beginning to wander away.
I knew exactly what I wanted, and I knew exactly how to get it.
"Where have you been?" he said in a rather hushed tone, as if he was afraid the people at the party might hear him.
"I took a walk in the garden with Isaac," I replied, realizing there was no point in lying. "He offered to show it to me, and I needed some fresh air."
"Oh, I see, he does know the mansion pretty well, " Cyril replied, adjusting his cuffs. "Back when his dad was alive he'd bring his children over, ever since we were little."
"So I suppose you two go way back," I said. "What happened?"
Cyril shrugged.
"I don't know," he replied. "He had always been a quiet kid. Never really talked much. We played in the yard once and he got violent – learned to stay away ever since. But I really feel bad for him, poor kid."
"Yeah," I said, looking down at my feet. "Poor kid."
If only he knew the pain my poor boy endured. All the pain on that pure soul who didn't deserve any of it. But that pain was not meant to be shared. It was what was special between Isaac and I. Only I understood him.
Only I could help him. I was the only one who walked this earth who could help him with his pain. No one else.
But I remembered what I had to do.
Looking up, I painted a sweet smile on my lips.
"Well," I said. "You seem to be free now."
"Wha-"
I seemed to have taken him off guard. I took a step closer to him, looking into his hazel eyes. He averted his gaze in a flurry.
"I've missed you so much," I said, making sure no one else was in earshot. "It's been so long."
And it was true, it has been a while since I was ever intimate with Cyril. Not that I particularly enjoyed it, but intimacy was still intimacy. A mere physical action intended for both parties to feel good. There was only meaning to intimacy if you attached a meaning to it. For me with Cyril, it meant nothing at all.
The same could be said for my words – nothing more than a mere string of sounds escaping my lips. Truth, lies, meaning, those are all attached and constructed by those listening. They chose to be misled by what they chose to hear.
And if Cyril's own naivete convinced him to think that the times spent together meant that I actually loved him, then he had only himself to blame. He himself chose to believe that. He chose to construe a disgusting pastiche of me. A pastiche of me that he thinks loves him.
I studied his cheeks as they grew progressively more red.
How pitiable.
"Yeah," he replied as he took a step back. "I missed you too."
He was cornered. Like a lion hunting its prey, I finally made the pounce.
"I was thinking. . ." I began, sinking my teeth into my lower lip. "Maybe we should spend some time together.
In a calculated move, I played around with my collar, pinching and tugging at it carefully. I noticed his eyes tracing my neck, just where I wanted it.
"It won't take long," I said, looking over my shoulder.
Cyril's hazel eyes darted from left to right, scanning our surroundings.
"I guess you're right," he muttered, his lips curled up into a smirk. "And besides, it wouldn't take long."
I chuckled. This was almost too easy. With a nod, he walked past me towards the exit, and I followed suit, but making sure to keep my distance.
As I walked behind him, I rehearsed the scenario in my head. Sure, it was a rather hasty plan, but it was still better than nothing. After all, I always planned things perfectly. Nothing I ever planned went wrong.
He'd get me upstairs without suspicion, preferably into his parents' bedroom. When he was distracted, I'd rummage through the drawers for the cross. If she wanted it to be convenient, it would be on the vanity waiting for me to take it. Ready for me to take it back to its rightful owner. They were so wealthy they might not even miss it if it were gone.
Before we stepped into the foyer however, I remembered a crucial detail, something I had observed on the way in – there were hired security on the main stairs, there to make it known that the upper floors were out of bounds. If Madame Crawford were to realise one of her precious jewels were missing, Crawford would be questioning people to see who could possibly be the culprit. If the guards saw me, I was absolutely done for.
"Cyril, hold on," I called out, reaching to grab his sleeve.
My boyfriend turned around, a look of slight perplexion on his face.
"Is there some other way up?" I asked, lowering my voice as I stepped closer to him. "I don't really want people to think. . ."
Cyril raised an eyebrow.
"That you're with me?" he asked.
"Please don't get the wrong idea," I said, fidgeting with my cuffs. "I'm just not really comfortable with people seeing us. . .you know."
"Oh, right," my boyfriend replied, as if he just remembered something. "Yeah, I'm sorry."
Our relationship was never public, and we've never announced it or anything. Still those who knew him knew we were close, but I doubt they knew the true extent of our relationship. Of course, it was still one-sided. Cyril assumed that I was ashamed and scared of being caught, and why should I correct him? If it all worked in my favour without me needing to reveal more than I needed, that all the better.
But of course, my main concern was never about getting caught being in this relationship, it was about being seen heading upstairs. If I took the diamond necklace, and I had been seen upstairs, that would certainly be the end of me.
Cyril led me through the back of the ballroom and into the corridor leading to the kitchen attached to it – to have a kitchen purposefully built for functions just attested to the wealth of the Crawfords. The catering staff were all busy in the kitchen, too busy to notice a pair of boys quietly making it down the hallway.
The service staircase led upstairs into another corridor. The walls were panelled, and the wood polished. The floor was white marble, shiny and clean. The only sound to be heard was our footsteps. My heart was thumping in my chest, but I need to say focused on my mission.
"Well we have to be quick," Cyril said once we were sure there was no one around. "I can't miss my dad's speech."
"Are you saying that I don't last long?" I replied, raising my eyebrow.
"Always witty now aren't ya?" he chuckled. "Now let's get to my room."
I mirrored him.
I rested a palm on his back as we walked, and I could feel him shiver. He probably had been wanting this for so long. I for one was happy to oblige.
He'd get what he wanted, and so would I.
Placing my hand on his shoulder I leaned in, bringing my lips to his ear.
"I could do you right now in this hallway," I said, my voice low and breathy, "Right fucking now."
He turned beetroot. I couldn't help but smirk as I pulled away. He was too easy.
He turned to look left and right. Oh, how naïve, he couldn't possibly have believed me could he?
Cyril was an idiot, and he will get what he deserves.
Nonetheless, he was frustrating me. My mind was racing. I needed to find a way to get the boy to lead me right into the master bedroom – and fast. His absence would be noticed.
"How about your father's fancy bedroom?" I suggested.
"What?" he asked, perplexed.
"It's the fanciest room in the house isn't it?" I said, raising my eyebrow.
"Come on, you can't be serious," he replied.
"What if I am?" I whispered in his ear, running my hand down his back, lower and lower.
I felt him shiver.
"Fine, fine," he relented. "This way."
We turned right along the hallway until we reached the end. The bedroom was guarded by a pair of heavy double doors. They panels of wood were merlot, going along with the imposing, regal theme of the entire mansion. No wonder Cyril preferred his beach house. The Crawford Estate, with its winding halls and chandeliers was to put it simply, suffocating.
"Well," Cyril said as he closed the door behind us, locking it. "We're here."
It was an impressive bedroom, gaudy to the point of nausea. The vanity was made of ornate wood, oriental motifs carved into its sides. The bed had a canopy of purple silk, its pillows plump and blankets thick. It had been set neatly, ostensibly by one of the numerous household staff.
Cyril had taken off his blazer and placed it aside. We wouldn't want our golden boy to show up to daddy's function with a crease in his perfect clothes.
"I'm gonna go prepare," he said.
"Sure," I grunted.
I watched as he walked into the en suite. He closed the door behind him, perfect.
Almost immediately I sprinted over to the vanity, opening up drawers, frantically looking through boxes. It had to be here. Lockets, rings, necklaces of gold, silver and pearl – but no diamond crucifix. My mind began to panic. In my mind I had it all planned out, picture perfect. Alicia's crucifix would be waiting for me, just for me to grab it and take it back to the person it rightfully belongs to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.
No, no, not at all.
My hands trembling, I opened every box, wooden, felt and velvet. But it was not there. I heard the bathroom door open, and I quickly slammed the drawer shut.
I took a look in the mirror, staring into my own reflection. My cheeks were flustered. I told myself that I was alright. That it's going to be okay. I can find another way.
"I'm ready."
I turned around to see my boyfriend. I could only force a smile as my heart pounded in my chest. I had to will myself to stop trembling.
"Hey, you alright?"
"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm just nervous that's all."
"You don't have to be nervous around me," he chuckled, with his air of sickening nonchalance.
I watched him as he unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor. His thighs and calves were toned, but I didn't really feel aroused.
All I thought about how it was all his fault. I hated him, I truly did. I hated him with every fibre of my being. I hated him for having such a good life, he had everything that he wanted. I hated that he was so ignorant of everything. I hated how he blissfully enjoys his life, the life his father had built on the blood of others.
I absolutely despised him.
I couldn't wait for the day he was no longer useful, and I could finally discard him. Putting up a farce with him was tiring. Lying to him was tiring. But I had to do it for the sake of myself, for the sake of justice, for the sake of everyone whom the Crawfords have wronged.
He called me over to him, and I dragged my feet over. We started to touch, and he took my jacket off. I felt my trousers began to tighten. I thought, might as well get this over and done with.
Our lips met as he began to kiss me, latching himself onto me like a leech. I could feel his longing from the way he moved. I simply mirrored it- stroking the back of his hair, running my hands down his back. I gave him what he wanted.
He knelt down in front of me as he undid my trousers, and pulled down my trunks. I was already hard, and just let my body enjoy the sensations as I felt his soft lips on my head. His fingers made their way around, tracing circles from my inner thighs to my scrotum. It drove me crazy, and I hated him. I hated him for making me enjoy it. I grabbed his dark locks as I pushed myself further into his mouth, thrusting harder as I reached the back of his throat. His eyes directly looking at me drove me even further with lust. I just went faster and faster as he choked.
"Choke on it, bitch," I whispered under my heavy breathing.
I noticed the mucus dripping down his nose but I didn't stop. Only when I grew tired of his mouth did I yank him away from my member.
Cyril finally caught his breath, exhaling deeply.
"That was so hot," he said as he panted. "What's gotten into you?"
I only smirked as he stood up. I reached and grabbed his muscular behind. He knew what that meant.
"It's been so long," Cyril whispered in my ear as he nuzzled against my neck.
I turned him around and he leaned against the edge of the bed, arching his back. I wasted no time and immediately got him ready with some lube that he had taken out earlier from the bathroom. It was strange that he knew where the lube was in his parent's bedroom but that was none of my business. All I wanted was to plunge myself into a warm, pink, and tight hole and forget about everything.
And that I did. He let out a yelp as I shoved it all in with one stroke, his cheeks slapping against my groin. He let out a moan as I thrusted in and out. I grabbed him by his hair and pulled him towards me.
"Oh, Alex!" he moaned as I rammed him.
He was tight, and his muscles were gripping against me. I hated to admit it, but it felt good. Yeah, I hated him, but I can't deny that he was a good hole to fuck.
I don't think I lasted long, and after a while I could feel that familiar sensation build up from the base of my groin. I leaned back as I grabbed onto his muscular ass, giving it an occasional spank. He seemed to go wild when I did that, so I only did it more and more. I loved hurting him. It was what he deserved.
I felt I was getting really close, and I brought my hand up and swung at him so hard. He nearly shouted in pain as my palm hit his flesh. My hand stung too, but I didn't care. He stumbled forward onto the bed, and I fell on top of him.
It pushed me over the edge, and I was overrun by ecstasy, hitting my climax. With a moan, I came inside him.
After I was done, I headed over to the bathroom to clean myself up. I straightened up my collar, and gave myself a wiped down my member.
As much as I hated to admit it, it felt good.
Cyril entered the bathroom a few moments later, and headed over to the toilet bowl.
"You had fun?" he asked as he sat, emptying myself from inside him.
"Yeah," I grunted as I put my underwear on. "It was nice."
"I didn't even come," he chuckled. "You must've been that excited to finish."
"Oh," I muttered.
I didn't even have the energy to mutter an apology I didn't even mean. I simply didn't care about his pleasure. I didn't care about what he felt.
In my head the only reason we were supposed to have sex was so that I could retrieve that necklace. I had failed, and an immense sense of shame washed over me. What was the purpose then for me to attend this party?
Without the necklace, I would never be able to prove the Crawford's involvement in Alicia's murder. Everything feels like it was for nothing.
I felt like a total failure.
After getting dressed, the both of us headed downstairs to attend Hugh Crawford's speech, but not before Cyril bashfully tried to clean up his parents' bed.
I sat beside Cyril as I sat through that dreadful speech. False promises of greatness and grandeur if he was elected senator. How he promised how his party would unite our divided nation, heal the rifts that have torn our great society apart.
To my surprise, he invited the chairman of the All American Party, Albert Hartford to the stage with him. Perhaps everyone had expected this, and I was too self-absorbed in my own goals to notice.
Albert was a rather short man in a brown suit. His black hair was parted to the side, with a well-groomed moustache and beard. The whole room stood up in applause.
He had recently risen to popularity, from the provinces to the cities, from the country lanes to the golden shores. His speeches were described as charismatic and enigmatic, drawing Americans from all walks of life to him.
I never really paid too much attention to him, probably because I never really cared about politics, but even I couldn't escape him. He was born in Brooklyn, and he had served in the Iraq War, and rose to a high rank in the military. From the little that I know, I've heard he had written a book detailing his vision for a new, revitalized, and strong America. I suppose the very public endorsement of the mayor of Bethlehem to Albert Hartford was enough to see where this constituency was voting. It was a significant boost to him, given the important and wealthy people that lived here.
"It is important that the American people be our priority in anything that we do – all people." He said, somewhere down the line of his speech. "Not just the poor, but the wealthy as well. There is no society without the rich and the poor, it is only the natural order of things. And that order is under attack with this oil crisis. The American Dream is under attack, and we must preserve our way of life no matter the cost.
"If I get elected, I will make sure those who threaten our great nation will suffer terrible consequences, and we will purge them out, from within, and from without."
There was a loud round of applause echoing through the hall. I personally didn't care for it, but I clapped my hands half-heartedly anyway.
It was then when I noticed the golden haired boy seated across the aisle from me. By some chance he turned around and I found myself looking into his bright green eyes at me. He gave me an awkward smile, and I did the same.
A wave of guilt washed over me, just like it did when I saw him for the first time earlier. It was not only Cyril that I had to put up a farce with, but with the sweet golden-haired boy too. He must never know the things that I have done. He must never know what truly lay behind this veneer. He can never see me for who I truly was.
In that ballroom crowded with so many people, I felt truly alone.
Author's Note:
First of all I just wanted to say thank you so much for all your unconditional love and support. When I left to take a break this book only had about 40,000 views and as I am writing this it has nearly doubled that amount. Secondly, I'd like to really apologise to all of you for the extremely long break, I've been going through a difficult period in my life and I've finally picked up writing again. I've lost interest in writing for a long while which was sad given that it was something that I truly enjoyed and I feel so sorry for making all of you wait this long.
I'm resuming this project because it was something that I was so excited to share with the world, and to see so many other people invested in it too makes me happy and motivates me to finish this book as well.
I've also started a new book, mostly for me to process my own emotions and personal experiences titled Monsieur Laurier, and I would really be so grateful if you would check it out as well and tell me what you think. It's a book about grief, loss, and picking up the pieces and if you want to feel or just be sappy I guess it would be a book for you.
Once again, thank you so much for all your reads, votes and comments! I really appreciate every single one of you.
- holysacrilege
5/9/2020