Chapter Text
It was unusual for Shamrock to be so taken with a commoner. His brother avoided anything from below with disgust and distance. To be exact, a sword’s length of distance. As if merely seeing them breath would rot his eyes. A startling contrast to his younger twin who keeps a diverse garden with many pretty flowers.
No, it was downright uncharacteristic. So, his father decidedly chose to be more lenient (unlike him) and encouraging (who is this man?), no matter how his favorite son’s strange taste manifested. Even if it wasn’t for no Amazon Lily, but a common clown. With admittedly beautiful long, cerulean blue hair, exquisite makeup, and a ridiculous red nose, there was something oddly eye-catching. To be exact, there was something to pull, something to look upon, and something to mock.
That caught Shanks’ eye, who was perpetually bored, affluent with all the time he obtained from shirking his noble duties. And while it was also unusual for him to envy his twin, especially since it was rare for his twin to possess anything interesting, Shanks has always known that everything Shamrock had was his and vice versa.
Until now. His usually sensible brother doted on it like a prize. No, like a wife.
He would have also bet his sword before if Shamrock had developed interest in mortals, they would be beautiful, boring concubines, trained into absolute obedience and docility. Not this house servant that at Shamrock plucked from obscurity that somehow was the most alluring object in any room.
Shanks couldn’t understand how, even with the vacant look, the perfect, boring manners, and the ridiculous large nose, he could stop thinking about the clown. He never chose strife with his brother, his only ally in this frigid household with a monstrous patriarch. But he’s also not the brother known for discipline or patience.
Buggy’s smile is so earnest, more sweet than cotton candy. But his rare smirks and childish pouts that come with an adorable flutter—this is what has iron hold over Shank’s most loyal limb. An oddity he can’t place.
His brother has decapitated many for much less. Instead of steel, Shamrock rewards the clown’s antics with his attention, something he is so stingy with, even with Shanks, his favorite and only brother. After a week, Shamrock is eating from Buggy’s slender fingers, kissing into his palm like it’s chocolate. Their father even asked if the Amazon Lily were taking stray mutts to train seduction arts. Impossible, but for the first time, any attempts of their father to try to change Shamrock’s mind and disperse this sole favor… failed.
Seduced.
Shamrock has been seduced.
“Shammy…”
Shanks tried to ignore the blue haired curled up on Shamrock’s lap like a well fed kitten as his elder brother looked over papers.
“Yes, Shanks?”
“Spar with me.” Shanks whined.
Shamrock paused, looking up. His younger brother, known for his laziness, spends most of his days avoiding his holy knight duties. As the eldest, he has been scolded by their father whenever Shanks skips training, and has mostly given up at getting Shanks to pick up a piece of paperwork befitting his position. Paperwork that more than often ended up on his desk.
Before Shamrock said anything, a slender hand reached up to grab his shirt. If Shanks didn’t know better, he would think the fiend was just restless in his sleep. No, the witch had his brother under his thumb.
Shamrock smiled. “Maybe later.” Taking his hand to reassure the slave that he had no intention of going, he watched as Buggy readjusted comfortably in his lap. He focused his attention on the pile of reports. “If you’re bored, you can take some of these with you.” A clear dismissive.
“Oh no, I’ll find Gunko.” Shanks mumbled out quickly. Changing his brother’s mind was a meaningless endeavor, well, unless you were a blue-hair vixen. Before turning away, the red nosed man opened his eyes at him and gave him a look that didn’t belong to a mere servant before focusing back on Shamrock.
Shanks felt his throat dry. Witch!
Buggy had expected this mission to be a failure. It was dangerous, foolhardy and Dragon tried hard to convince him against it. Celestial Dragons were hell’s scum on this earth and holy knights were the very worst of them, enforcing their so-called superiority with a sorrowful trail of death and torment.
But Buggy knew this mission could change the tide now, and only he, someone who could go undercover undetected, invisible, male, and disfigured as he was, had the best chance of them all. His observational haki was most likely to be able to survive detection. His swimming was also the best of all the Revolutionaries, the ocean was a second home to him— any escape was slim to none, but one by water would be his best bet. Trained to finely control his own presence, making himself practically disappear in plain sight, he could be the perfect servant hiding amongst these so-called gods. Scum!
But it had gone wrong from the beginning. He hadn’t expected to attract the attention of Figarland’s oldest son, the commander of the holy knights, who was famous for his lack of interest in mortals and anything from the ground below. While the knight’s family kept a disgustingly appropriate number of slaves for a world noble, the knight himself unusually took none of his own. Not out of kindness but out of disgust and pure apathy.
Within a day of being an invisible entity, cleaning and serving, scurrying undercover with a pleasant smile, Shamrock had zeroed onto him like a bear to honey. The interest was so painfully obvious, Buggy believed his cover was blown, resorting to a last resort pivot to a suicidal assassination, instead of the original espionage. But that plan was also foiled by days of coincidental encounters. In the servant corridors, Buggy dreamt of large swords being unsheathed, and he walked every corner as his last, expecting to feel cold steel sliding between his ribs. It became the point where Shamrock’s gaze was as heavy as a physical hand on his neck tightening.
Right as he was considering aborting the mission as a failure, he was ambushed by the twins, in the noble fashion of speaking over him like decorative furniture, Shamrock revealed a more carnal interest in Buggy.
“What on earth did the blue mouse do to you?” said an incredulous voice.
“What?”
“Gunko said you were practically stalking a blue mouse with a funny nose.” Buggy closed his eyes to meditate to contain the bristling of his soul against the needles remarks of his shame.
“I don't know what you are talking about.”
Buggy would have disagreed. Even, now he can hear the voices coming nearer as if the owner had a magnetic pull to him.
“That’s what I said. There’s no way my holier-than-thou big brother is following around a common mouse.”
That was the moment where they crossed the hallway that Buggy was stationed for dusting. It has only been the fifth time that Shamrock had crossed paths with him today, and it was barely noon. His spying had been very hindered by this, but even his normal duties were suffering from the constant interruptions. But as Shamrock and Shanks approach, he lowers his gaze, folding his hands in front of him and painting on an empty but pleasant smile. He has had a lot of practice with the subservient pose when his betters came near.
“Wait the—” Shanks’ eyes widened as he stared at the blue hair.
“Shanks.” Shamrock cut him off, trying to drag him forward on their walk.
But from years of practice, Shanks ducks from Shamrock’s arm to get a closer look at Buggy, crouching close.
“You are stalking the little mouse.” Shanks said delightedly, “What did he do? Is he a spy?”
It takes every piece of Buggy’s years of training to keep his heartbeat even and his breath seamless. It’s a good thing that his initial difficulty in controlling his expressions and rage, led him the most severe training in control. For such a terrible student, he had a good teacher, one that would be proud to see him now. This mission always meant death if he caught the wrong attention on the wrong day. It just hurts his pride, not knowing how he messed up to get the commander's attention on him so quickly. He'll be calm until he strikes.
“No, not a spy.” Shamrock said, seeming surprised at Shank's question. But not as surprised as Buggy.
It’s awkward. Two of them are staring at him while Buggy can only see his feet. He pretends he's on a ship sailing the blue, instead of being scrutinized by two monsters. It’s uncomfortable, and Buggy doesn’t think it can get worse. Well, it could easily get worse, he can still get decapitated. No, a quick death wouldn't be so bad.
“You—!” The word pierced the silence, and Buggy can already hear the grin on Shanks' face to know it can't be any good.
“Shanks.” Shamrock’s voice is loud.
“You like him!” Shanks said in childish awe.
“Shanks!”
Buggy almost wants to look up to see what would surely be an amusing face on the older Figarland. He bites his lips. He is furniture. Furniture doesn’t look.
Shanks grabs the mute servant, tilting his face up by its chin to get a better look. It was just as outrageous as Gunko had stated. Like a clown with a big, round, red nose that drew attention to it like a beacon. So odd. A far cry from the Figarland family’s collection. This was no lily or rose. But, there was something about it, his fingers moved from the chin to touch the ridiculous red nose.
Before he could touch it, his target disappeared behind a glove. To his surprise and amusement, Shamrock moved between the two of them, covering Buggy’s face with his hand.
It's quick, but Buggy is ready. He has been deadening his body since they turned the corner. Any sight of a Celestials meant the possibility of violence for a person of his lowly status— and him countering instinctively and striking a holy knight would be signing his death warrant. Even dodging could lead to maiming and further hurt. He relaxes his body to take a hit, but instead, he barely registers the touch, so light upon his brow. But this moment of gentleness ends as the long, elegant fingers wrapped more firmly around his eyes with the grip of a swordsman.
His sight darkens under the long fingers. There’s a startling moment of tension, silence in the hallway, Buggy again sees and hears nothing but his own heartbeat. Every part of him wants to claw the hand from his face and take three hundred steps from this spot.
Then, he finally hears. Shanks’ laughter is youthful, the kind that comes from an always full belly.
“A late bloomer after all! I had no idea you had such a particular taste.” Shanks thinks what a pity for this funny flower; his brother has never taken interest in mortals before, but he’s has never been known to have a gentle touch for pretty, delicate things.
Buggy feels Shamrock’s grip tightening, pulling him backwards until he makes contact with a broad chest. The edge of Celebrus’ ornate handle digs into his hip, and he forces himself to fall limp. For better or worse, he can feel Shamrock’s heartbeat behind him. It's loud against the noise in Buggy's head.
“Yes, I want this one.” Shamrock says slowly, overturning each word as if he is realizing this himself as he says it, both of his hands curving possessively around Buggy’s face from both sides. He is surprised to feel heat blooming from each point of contact, instead of just dread.
The next day, Buggy found him relieved of his regular servant duties and dressed in Shamrock’s colors marking him as a personal bed slave. Saints are vile creatures. It is hubris to think he’d be able to avoid this route. Fate has never been particularly kind to him.
But as an unexpected twist, it opens a new door. As Shamrock’s shadow and bed companion, he is privy to information he could have only dreamed of accessing before. Closer than ever to what the revolutionaries could use to outmaneuver and counter, yet he constantly under the watchful eye by the commander of the holy knights. Not to mention, he is bedding the enemy, walking into the den of a soulless monster.
So even with the option of escape at his fingertips, Buggy chose again to throw himself into the lion's den. Ending his mission meant more death, more slaves, and losing the chance of quickening a better, free world. If anyone could trick a holy knight with some good whoring, well, it would be Buggy the Star Clown.
It helped that he was good at acting coquettish in bed and demure enough to appear harmless enough to play into Shamrock’s deep rooted belief in blood superiority. In public, Buggy kept himself as boring as wet paint to avoid attracting more attention than being Shamrock’s sole bedwarmer. He didn’t want to draw any attention from Garling. The man made him shiver, a far cry from the kind father Roger had been.
But the youngest son, Shamrock’s twin, was a nuisance. Just as he had gotten Shamrock straightened out, he could now feel Shank’s staring at him.
Known as the failure of the Figarlands, Shanks seemed to resist all expectations by doing nothing. His father left him alone since his talent seemed to lie in his capacity to drink and whore. Worse of all, Shamrock doted on him like a child, even though they were only a few moments apart in age.
Like many times earlier, he felt the prickle of a gaze on him.
As a pleasure slave, he isn’t given much clothes to impede Shamrock's hands. He is led or carried by Shamrock room to room in translucent cloth that shimmers, barely covering the edge of his bottom. For his status as Shamrock’s, he’s been given a golden collar and bracelets, covered in rubies. Even if they are gilded chains, a reminder of his lowly position, Buggy can’t help but love how the gold glistens against his hair and skin. If Buggy is not dead by the end of the mission, he’s taking the gold chain and rubies with him.
Without a doubt, he is loyally married to the pursuit of freedom and liberty, but jewels and gold are his two secret mistresses. In a better world, he would be free to devote his life to treasure. Instead of trying to save this stinker world.
Despite his appearance, only a few people have the status or idiocy to stare at him so blatantly in front of Shamrock.
So when he is sitting on his knees by Shamrock’s side, keeping his face blank and peaceful as he collects terrifying information dispensed with savage normalcy, Shanks makes his plea known again.
“I know what I would like for my rank promotion.” Shanks says after all the other petitions were finished. Buggy swears he has been dozing in his chair for most of it. It’s been a long day of slave trafficking, city burning, wife stealing plots, Buggy just wants to stretch his legs and send a message to his revolutionary contact. Save some lives from these monsters.
“Oh?” Saint Garling looked at his youngest son and smiled. Shanks is seldom motivated. But as his rank, he is entitled to have and take.
Shanks looks at Shamrock, “Big brother, can I borrow your little blue mouse for a night?”
It takes every part of Buggy’s training to stop his eyes from narrowing, maintaining a dreamy complexion that didn’t suit the current situation. Slaves do have the luxury of having any opinions. Or thoughts. Shamrock doesn’t seem surprised by his brother’s request. He takes a hand and sets it on the sapphire hair, lazily combing through it. A movement that is somehow both possessive and unbothered.
While Buggy knows in some ways Shamrock might be trying to comfort him, there’s nothing about this interaction that doesn’t remind him how easily his throat can be pulled back and slit. Instead of acting on his instinct to pull away, he leans his head gently into Shamrock’s grasp like a good whore.
“Shanks,” Garling says exasperated, for an unnerving turn of events seems to be on Buggy’s side, “Can’t you pick literally any other slave? Your older brother has only one. You can have your pick of any in the realm, much more beautiful, worthy…” Garling makes it obvious how much he despised the strange-looking slave at any opportunity. To see his other son pulled in his orbit must be aggravating to say the least. This is the kind of discord that could get a slave pulled apart at its seams.
Shanks, shameless as ever, turns to Shamrock, “Please, dear brother?”
Internally, Buggy fumes. This fucking spoiled brat. Externally, his face is stone.
“Dear little brother,” Shamrock finally says. His roaming fingers scratch gently into Buggy’s scalp without pause. Buggy lets an unconcerned smile float to his face as his stomach soured. He knows nothing good can come of this. “You may borrow him. Return him without a single scratch or I’ll be most upset.”
Shanks smiled brilliantly at his brother, before settling his eyes on the crouched figure next to him. Buggy has his eyes cast down, refusing the offer to meet the eyes he knew were on him. Like trying to swim past a sea beast with a blood wound. “Thank you.”
Garling sighed. His children are still so young, but they’ll play nicely or he’ll remove the distraction. Even though this ridiculous slave appeared to stubbornly know his place, avoiding traps for easy… dismissal. There was something about him that annoyed him like the persistence of a mosquito bite. He had been so pleased Shamrock had shown interest taking mortal rewards befitting his station, pity his taste in trash was appalling.
Buggy tried to remind himself he had already decided to stay on mission, even if it required entertaining scum like celestial dragons. He has always been a sucker for a pretty face; he just didn’t realize this affliction was so powerful to grovel in front of the kind of man who could cut down a defenseless woman without blinking. In front of her children. Then decapitate the children.
He tells himself he would have chosen this path even if it was Sommers. But he also knows he is a sucker for a pretty face.
He hasn’t seen Shamrock’s violence firsthand yet. But he reads the reports, and his “master” is no better than his father. But men like Shanks who benefit off slavery without losing sleep, are no better than the ones holding the whip.
He knows it unnerves Shanks that Buggy had yet to fall for any of his attempts to bed Buggy by pretending to be Shamrock. His antics of mimicking his twin seems to amuse Shamrock, but it infuriates Buggy. With any other celestial, a mistake like that could lead to an immediate execution. In fact any mistake at all could lead to death. Buggy has his hands full dodging Garling's traps without the younger Figarland trying to fuck around for attention.
Now he has gotten official permission, Shanks has pushed Buggy into two choices. Bed Shanks or cut the mission short. If he chooses the former, his risk doubles. From his spies, Shamrock and Shanks have the lowest death rate with their bed fellows. Shamrock likely from his lack of interest in keeping any before Buggy, but Shanks is pretty notable due to his extreme interest in fucking anything and everybody. Even so, Buggy doesn’t know if he can satisfy two holy knights while trying to take down the celestial system.
If he picked the latter, he would be turning his back on so many lives he could save with the suffering of one. Buggy’s life has already been saved twice, by Roger and then Dragon. It seems obvious what he should do.
And technically Shanks has the same face. What’s one fuck? If it means hundreds of thousands more survive. If it means even one slave more is freed. If it means he can stop the next God Valley.
And if he can’t bear it, he’ll go down fighting. He can always leave a certain celestial with a limb or two short. Leave Mary Geoise better than he entered it.
When they get back to Shamrock’s room, Buggy goes to sit on the bed, the way he knows Shamrock likes after meetings like this. He sits down, facing up, coy as he opens his thighs towards his knight, and spreads his arms up over his head, making a show to grab the silk bedding under him. He’s fully defenseless and the sad excuse for clothes he wears rides up to his waist.
Shamrock likes to pretend to be unfazed. Taking his time as Buggy falls back on his sheets until he can’t. It’s only a few strides to kneel onto the bed over Buggy, and touch what’s his.
Buggy’s hole is already lubricated with coconut butter and a hint of perfumed oils, so it’s easy to sink two fingers into the warmth. Buggy gasps as if it’s the first time. The fingers thrust slowly as if he’s trying to make butter inside of him, steady and unending.
“You’re upset.”
Buggy is just trying to keep his head. Shamrock has an unfair level of patience and a level of sadism for pushing him to the edge. Most of their conversations happen like this— with something inside of Buggy. Until he has no choice to fail… and see if Shamrock would be pleased by the outcome or not. He hasn’t died yet.
“No sir…. I’m yours to use or give away.” Buggy’s voice is uneven as Shamrock continues to thrust his fingers leisurely, finding the spot that will make it harder for Buggy to think. It drives Buggy nuts how his body refuses to adjust despite housing the man’s sizable cock for hours. As if each time, his body believes it’s the first and needs to be reminded anew. It’s aggravating and the reason why he dedicates time to prepare himself every morning. It makes him feel particularly whorish, feeling slick down there when he’s performing his spy duties. But it’s better than being caught unprepared for Shamrock’s sex drive. He can’t always tell what sets off Shamrock’s appetite, but he can safely bet it’ll be hard, fast, and long.
“Yes, you’re mine. But my dear brother is not easily motivated. It’s my responsibility to grant him a fitting reward, so he will strive to reach his potential.” It’s frustrating how Shamrock's voice can remain so calm and smooth while driving Buggy to his wits. Shamrock releases his cock from his uniform without breaking his rhythm. Buggy has no time to adjust before two fingers become a cock, stretching him wide with force. He presses in until his balls slide against his skin, and Buggy’s bottom is flushed against Shamrock’s front. It’s like all the air has been sucked out his chest. The familiar ache of being stretched and filled goes straight to Buggy’s head.
He can’t put oils deep enough all day without making himself sick, so Shamrock’s cock is only well lubricated on entry. As if it’s helping Shamrock get a foothold to jump off and dash into Buggy with the speed of rapier thrust. The deepest point burns. His entrance aches as it stretches obscenely around the wide base. The holy knight doesn’t care there’s a vast difference in size and length between his fingers and his cock.
Buggy feels tears in his eyes. Any emotion is a death sentence for slaves, but so far, Shamrock allows it in bed.
Shamrock has developed a fixation on his hair too, touching and pulling on it hard. Buggy started doing his hair in braids and pony tails to help guide the knight into where to pull to avoid agony mid-coitus.
His stamina is also inhuman, pressing and folding him in different positions. Right now, he’s pulled Buggy down, so he can lay side by side, lazily fucking in and out of Buggy without much effort. Shamrock quickly found the limits of Buggy’s flexibility could lead to new positions that could help him press his cock by maneuvering his limbs. Unnecessary with the size of his sword, but Shamrock found this helped get the best noises from his little blue mouse.
Right now, he has a grip on one of Buggy’s legs, bending it to his pet’s chest while the other one is pinned straight. He maneuvers those pretty little legs all without pausing his thrusts. As his knee bends to hit his stomach, Buggy feels like Shamrock manages to unlock another inch and it steals the breath from his lungs.
“You’re still so tight,” Shamrock mutters happily. Buggy catches the words even as he wonders exactly Shamrock expects him to be folded up as a lopsided pretzel and being impaled by the only thing he’s found that comes close to celestial in this land.
Buggy doesn’t say that. His mouth is busy being buried in the sheets. As Shamrock’s other hand snakes to hair, pulling a fist of his braids, Buggy can’t cover his mouth, and he yelps. He can feel the signs of Shamrock beginning to reach his release. The feeling of heavy balls hitting him, and the quickening of the thrusts.
But the inhuman width also means, every moment in Buggy has the prostate pressed deeply without any chance of respite until Shamrock removes himself.
This usually means, Shamrock either will either pump the full length of his cock until Buggy is deaden to anything but pleasure or he’ll angle to grind his tip to hit there, so there’s slope of friction at each stroke, bullying his insides until he devolves into a puddle. Shamrock has rewired his body in ways that he fears have ruined him for softness. With the rumors sayingShamrock has never taken a lover before, and Buggy fears he is paying for taking the man’s virginity with hours of his precious sleep as well as his poor bottom and sanity.
As he approaches the edge, Shamrock will fuck deep and shallow to make sure the moment of his release is at its deepest. Sometimes he’ll fuck Buggy through it, this time, he presses in, letting his cock be milked dutifully by the heated walls. The hot fluid flooded the deepest crevices of his stomach, so the only thing Buggy can think of is how lucky he is not to have a womb. Shamrock fucks as if he wants children, and he pities the person who might carry this man’s hellspawn.
His own cock is aching at its limit, but in the haze, an elegant hand grips it without any intention of letting Buggy find release. It’s such a pretty, wicked hand. For a perpetrator of violence, Shamrock has no scars; his hands are smooth as if he has been shielded from hard labor or the cruelty of the world. If Buggy hadn't watched the Shamrock train, he wouldn’t have known how vicious this pretty hand on his cock could be.
Despite his current struggle, it’s not unusual for Shamrock to prevent Buggy’s release. His disappointment regarding the mismatch of their overall endurance is a recurring topic. This is not a Buggy problem, this is in the realm of a normal human being problem. There’s no doubt, Buggy would never leave the bed if Shamrock wasn’t horribly loyal to his father’s work. Buggy considers that distracting Shamrock with sex might an added benefit for the cause.
If Shanks is anything like his brother— his numerous lovers makes sense. With his brother's lack of work ethic, a single lover would perish under such tireless lust.
Shamrock stills as he finishes draining his privileged substances into his favorite hole before rolling them both into a tight embrace. Still connected, Shamrock murmurs into his ears. “I can tell you’re still upset, little bug.”
Buggy stiffens at the presumption that he had lied, still hard and joined below, he knows in this position, there’s no way Shamrock can’t feel every reaction. With that thought the cock buried in him twitches happily at Buggy’s nerves.
Also little?! Despite Buggy biting back any retorts, it’s hard not to notice Shamrock’s natural ability to find the soft places to poke, probably from his skill with torture. Buggy bites back a response that they are the same age. But he supposes this man also calls Shanks his baby brother despite being only mere minutes older. But in that case, Buggy is five months older, and it shouldn’t matter, if not for how patronizing Shamrock can get, especially in this position.
Shamrock enjoys the warmth and smallest twitches that give bits and pieces of his devious pet’s feelings. He likes to keep his little pet on the edge, it feels like the only way to see glimpses of the little hidden bits. He’s not in a hurry. It’s intriguing understanding this strange desire to care enough about a mere commoner to want to take him apart without killing him. Watching his clever little mouse strive to please him, struggle to take him, and ultimately always do, it was all maddeningly addictive.
There are so many layers, and Shamrock looked forward to consuming every single piece. If only he was a woman, Buggy would be the perfect, beautiful wife, smart enough to know his place and birth strong heirs.
“I’m worried. I won’t be strong enough to serve two holy knights.” Buggy gasps as his cock is rough handled. Truth, mostly. Lying like this would be a fool’s errand. It would be nearly impossible not to give away hesitation or deceit with his skin pressed against Buggy’s back, speared into his core like this. While he was a masterful liar, he would rather not risk it, not with Shamrock’s tight grip on his member, not with any chance of having it ripped off.
To hide any reaction or sign of deceit, he surrendered his pride and clenched back, massaging Shamrock with a rhythm that wouldn’t read as fear but lust. It’s satisfying feeling the knight’s wince if only it didn’t spur him back to hardness so quickly.
“You won’t. My dear, you will do your best.” Shamrock lays hand on Buggy’s waist to still his fidgeting. Then once he has full control, pulls back slowly to push in with a few shallow thrust. The sound of the wetness makes inside is intoxicating like Shamrock is fucking a little pool inside the tightest channel. Buggy writhes around him as his sensitivity skyrockets, and Shamrock rocks back into him, stretching his rim wider, so some pearly substances escape.
“I thought I was only yours.” Buggy makes his voice waver which is easy in this position. This is a tricky one. Buggy doesn’t think he is anyone’s, but in terms of what is happening at the moment, this morning, many times yesterday, too many times the day before that, Buggy is very much Shamrock’s cockwarmer.
Shamrock feels the tremble down to his cock. Usually he loves the efforts his pet takes to distract him, but this time, there’s a note in that simple statement that rings untrue. It’s galling that Buggy might believe he isn’t his. Stranger so, it’s not the rush of disgust that Shamrock feels when he sees trash that doesn't know their place. No, Shamrock finds himself enticed with this strange desire to allow Buggy his little games and half-truths, to see how long his little pet can keep whatever he is hiding alive. How long before Buggy can’t deny that he is Shamrock’s in every way, as he cums, breathes, and eats on his whim.
Perhaps he is being too lenient lately, so he presses him back into his sheets, tightens his grip on the sapphire hair he adores until he feels the hold on his cock tighten and then he withdraws.
It’s delectable how Buggy grips him on the way out like he can bear to part. It’s deliciously painful tight. He has Buggy’s bathwater treated with enough rejuvenating water to allow for the joy of breaking him anew every time. Enough to make a blind man see. It’s more cruel than kind with the size of his manhood, or so he’s been told. His delightfully clueless slave has tried to lessen the fit with oils, not understanding how hours of taking Shamrock hasn’t made the fit any easier. He’ll allow it for now, for the image of his blue haired pet, preparing himself every day to be taken by him is pleasing to think upon.
With his tip, glistening with his cum, Shamrock says with his usual elegant disregard, “You are mine to do as I please.” The words roll off the tongue easily. When he pushes back in, there’s no mercy. The sudden emptiness gives Buggy an understanding of how much was enduring, and the sudden reemergence of the offender has Buggy careening over the edges. He hates begging, and it’s unfortunately something Shamrock loves.
He wouldn’t be surprised if Shamrock left his cock tied up like this as a punishment for questioning him. He has lasted longer in the past, but this is Buggy’s least favorite game.
“Please, Shammy.” Buggy whimpers, “I want to come with you.”
Any other slave, Shamrock would have taken his tongue for the ego to take his noble name and butchering it. Instead, his other hand tightens his grip around Buggy’s member, pulsing in his hand. His thrusts are disciplined, almost violent with the rhythm. The knight has always fucked Buggy with the same approach he took everything, as if he is trying to dominate through power and perfection. If he wasn't so big, it would only by hypnotic how he can maneuver him like a rag doll and empty himself like it's an routine exercise, leaving Buggy a mess and Shamrock glistening from the afterglow. Buggy is enamored by how someone so arrogant and beautiful can fall so easily for honey trap like him.
When he finally releases Buggy’s cock, it takes but a breath to have him sprinkling over himself. Shamrock loves being inside Buggy when he comes, the walls milking his cock are persistent. He is fascinated at how hard he becomes watching Buggy loses himself. It was only a matter of time before his little pet drew Shanks’ eye. Despite his younger brother’s lack of discipline, as twins, their tastes and passions have always been more similar than not. It's best to not get too attached to a slave anyways and finding something to motivate his brother, it just makes sense.
Shamrock kisses Buggy’s neck with a tenderness that instantly has him on edge. “My little vixen, your next orgasm will be with my brother. I want you to treat him well after all.”
He pulls one of the blue ribbons from Buggy’s hair and ties his cock up in a pretty bow. One that Buggy could easily untie if he didn’t mind risking a more severe punishment.
As Shamrock starts to wake up inside him, Buggy realizes the day is still young.
Hours later, Buggy wakes to Shamrock sliding out of him. His cock still helplessly needy, dripping against his thigh. His throat is scratchy from overuse. He hears Shamrock talking to someone, Hana, probably.
“Just lace up his hair, wipe him down, and send him to Shank’s room.”
Hana looks at Buggy and nods. Despite Shamrock's usual appearance of indifference, the ravaged body on the ruined sheets spoke of something closer to madness.
That’s how Shanks retrieved him, an eager cock tied up in a pretty blue bow, with plenty of evidence of how his last hours were spent.