#pose 28

“Is this to your liking, Young Master?” the chief seamstress asked, her eyes averted from his own as befitted her station. Shamrock made a circular motion with his finger, which you correctly interpreted to turn in place. He sighed heavily, sitting upright and rising to his now towering height. The other servants cowered and shifted backwards as he walked towards you but you remained in position, your hands folded neatly in front of you as you waited. Despite the fact that you were the only slave among servants, you were the only one not afraid of his presence.

“Acceptable. Leave,” Shamrock commanded. The seamstresses and servants bowed before scurrying away from the room like vermin, only you and Shamrock remaining after a moment. He circled you slowly with his hands behind his back, admiring you like you were one of the precious statues in the many hallways of his palatial home. 

“Do you find this dress suitable?” Shamrock asked, stopping for a moment to rub the rich green brocade between his fingers.

“Do you, Young Master?” you replied, waiting patiently for his answer. He frowned as he dropped the fabric back down.

“It is slightly less hideous than the other options. It will have to do, I suppose,” Shamrock replied with a sigh, giving you one final glance over. With you standing on the stool, your face was much closer to his own as you calmly watched him consider you. Shamrock had the fleeting urge to wrap his arm around your emphasized middle, and pull you to his front. Instead he gave you a languid smile as he reached into his pocket.

“You look rather…unadorned,” Shamrock drawled, his eyes twinkling. Since you didn't have a birthday, he decided to gift you a bauble on his own. Better to share the day with you than his fool of a brother. Shamrock pulled out a thin golden chain complete with a small emerald pendant dangling between his fingers. Your eyes widened but you waited for him to elaborate. Shamrock held the necklace in front of your face, allowing you to examine it with your eyes for a few moments.

“Thank you, Young Master. It is better than I deserve,” you whispered, your eyes entranced by the gem. 

“Move your hair,” Shamrock requested softly as you obeyed his command. He carefully placed the necklace around your neck, ensuring the clasp met with a soft snick. 

Though it looked rather plain, Shamrock had spent a significant sum on it. The chain itself was of course gold and the pendant a precious gem but the high cost had come from paying the Lock Lock devil fruit user to enhance the clasp. Once it was put on you, no one would be able to remove it except for Shamrock himself. Some slaves wore collars all the time, this would be no different, he had reasoned to himself. Just a finer caliber of collar, one that he could bear to look at daily. It really was a fine addition, Shamrock thought as you admired the jewel now flush against your chest. You shivered as he picked up the gem with one finger, testing its weight before letting it drop back to your skin.

“Change into your normal attire, I will remain here,” Shamrock said with a wave of his hand to dismiss you. He lent you his arm to step down from the stool, afraid you’d trip on the long skirt that had yet to be tailored to perfection. Stepping back, Shamrock gave you one survey before plopping back down on the couch, making it scootch backwards with the force of his fall. You bowed deeply to him before leaving the room, heading towards the servant’s antechambers that where you’d left your daily clothes. 

As the servant’s door shut softly behind you, Shamrock’s awareness prickled. Twisting his head towards the main door, Shamrock’s eyes widened slightly as he saw Father staring into the room, his eyes boring into his son’s. Father said nothing and kept walking, but Shamrock took the meeting for what it was.

A warning.

A few days later and the castle was abuzz with the upcoming event. Shamrock’s birthday and subsequent celebration was the following day and despite the late hour, servants and slaves alike were running about the castle in preparation for the event. You’d been sent to your closet early that night, Shamrock was anticipating a tiring string of “surprises” and presents and he’d be requiring your presence for all of it. The only thing that kept him from leaving the events or avoiding them entirely was the knowledge that you stood calmly behind him, tacitly reminding him to behave in a manner befitting the only son of Saint Garland and not the petulant child he no longer was.

The upcoming schedule made Shamrock feel restless, his leg bouncing as he sat during dinner. After locking you into your closet and securing the key once more around his neck, Shamrock had gone riding with Titus under the light of the moon. Shamrock naturally excelled in all manner of sport, fighting, and educational matters, but horseback riding was one of Shamrock’s favorite activities.

He’d gotten Titus as a young man, picked him out personally from the live auction. Father had requested Shamrock to select another slave for his retinue, but he hadn’t been interested. First of all, Shamrock had you for all his purposes - he didn’t need another slave - and certainly none as sloppy as those they saw at the auction. Besides, Shamrock wanted a horse all his own, one that would consider only him to be the master. He’d ridden all the horses in the stables, and for as grand and fast as they were, they weren’t his.

Titus had stood out to Shamrock immediately, his proud bearing in stark contrast to the various whip marks trickling blood over his fine red coat. He was huge - larger than any other horse for sale that day - and completely wild. Shamrock had nearly begged his father for the horse, warned by the current owners that the horse was defiant, proud, and would be difficult to train.

And he was - the horse was haughty, arrogant, and all around a pain in the ass. Shamrock loved him immensely.

Everyone expected him to whip Titus or starve him or engage in any number of cruelties that were used to break horses. Shamrock did none of that. He simply visited the horse every day, brought it apples and carrots, and treated it well. Once the horse grew tolerant of Shamrock’s presence, he threw a blanket over its back for the day. The next he added a saddle but didn’t sit upon it. When the horse kicked an errant stable boy, Shamrock did not punish the horse. Everything he did in the company of the horse was to put it at ease. Shamrock had it eating out of his palm within a week and was riding it the week after.

Titus liked only Shamrock but seemed to tolerate you well enough. You’d been in the background of every visit, inuring the horse to your scent. Shamrock had forced you to feed Titus by hand, grabbing your wrist tightly to remain in place as the horse ate apples from your palm. You didn’t put up much resistance, though you were frightened by the gigantic stallion. He’d even had a stable boy show you how to maintain Titus, though that wasn’t part of your regular routine.

The sound of hooves pounding the packed dirt was barely perceptible as Shamrock pushed Titus faster and faster over the familiar paths, jumping hedges and riverbanks with learned precision. Shamrock’s mind was able to calm when he was riding, focusing only on the path that lay directly ahead. He’d been trying to shake certain thoughts and ideas that kept cropping up - namely about you. How it thrilled him when he was able to make you smile, how soft your eyes became when you looked at him in the privacy of his chambers, how you’d read to him or tell him stories at night just as you always had since you were children, how he longed to smooth the slight wrinkle between your brows when you were unsure or frightened, how your figure grew ever more luscious by the day…Shamrock needed a few hours away from you to stifle these thoughts and regain focus on his training.

Finally, after a long and exhilarating ride, Shamrock returned his stallion to the stables, patting its red flanks gently as the stable boy took the reins. 

Despite his mind still mulling over the upcoming celebrations, Shamrock paused before bursting into his private chambers. A barely perceptible sound - the tinkling of bracelets if he guessed correctly - was unfamiliar and incongruous. He was glad he already locked you into your closet, it might buy you the precious few seconds you needed until he was able to kill whoever was lurking in his chambers. 

Using his haki, he felt the person inside was a woman, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous. Shamrock drew Cerebus soundlessly as he opened the door to his chambers, scanning for the threat. To his surprise, the woman was sitting on the edge of his bed rather than in a fighting stance.

“Welcome back, Master Shamrock. Care to join me?” she asked, her painted smile mouth quirking up at the corners as she patted his bedspread. Shamrock did not return the smile, nor did he resheath his sword. 

“You dare enter my chambers in my absence?” Shamrock said quietly, his angry presence filling the room without the need to yell. The woman’s smile faltered but she regained it quickly as she brought her arms in front of her, pressing her impressive breasts together for Shamrock’s perusal. 

“I was sent as an early birthday present by your father,” she said with a languid smile. Inwardly, Shamrock groaned. He couldn’t send the prostitute away without engaging with her in some kind of way lest he displease Father.

“Am I not to your liking?” she pouted, sticking her lower lip out like a spoiled child. This time Shamrock did scoff loudly. There was no way to avoid the scenario, so he might as well get it over with.

“Barely tolerable. Undress me,” Shamrock demanded, securing Cerebus back within its scabbard. This was some kind of test from Father, Shamrock was sure of it. He needed to play along, at least for a while, until Shamrock figured out his next move. 

“I’m more than tolerable , I’m the most expensive, beautiful courtesan-” the woman began huffing at Shamrock whose frown had deepened.

“A whore is a whore. Undress me,” he stated in a bored tone.  She flicked her eyes over him, clearly not expecting this reaction. She quickly shifted her gears and gave him big doe eyes, now playing the ingenue. Her shoulder slumped forwards in a show of submission as she tried to work her charms over him. Shamrock resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

This wasn’t his first sexual experience - servants and other nobles had been throwing themselves at him since he could remember. Sometimes Shamrock would allow himself minor dalliances when he was interested - as long as you weren’t in his presence. He’d gained a reputation as an excellent lover, though he truthfully didn’t care either way. But tonight he was in no mood for such matters and wished he could dismiss the woman entirely.

“Of course, Master,” the courtesan cooed, rising to cross the room to where Shamrock waited. His eye momentarily flicked to your door, wondering if you could hear the ordeal. He didn’t want you to hear him speaking so crassly but there wasn’t much he could do to avoid the situation. Her soft hands began removing his riding outfit, her garishly painted nails gently scraping his skin where it was bare. Your bare nails were clean and buffed, not needing a coat of red to make them presentable in his eyes.

“I’m happy to serve your every need,” the courtesan purred, removing his riding jacket and throwing it carelessly to the ground, running her hands over his shoulders and back. You never threw his clothes, Shamrock thought, you always folded them carefully to avoid further sullying them. The courtesan slowly unbuttoned his undershirt, her fingertips grazing his chest as she worked. Shamrock felt like yawning, the artifice of seduction had never been of interest to him. He preferred earnestness and awkwardness over beguilement and learned charms but he could work with nearly anything, he supposed.

Now half naked, Shamrock allowed himself to be led back to the bed, though he yanked his hand away from the woman as soon as they reached it. She leaned back, her nearly translucent robe opening down the middle as soon as she spread herself on the bed.

“How can I please you, my Lord? May I rub your-”

“By shutting up,” Shamrock replied tersely, pushing her back onto the bed. The woman bit her lips but nodded, removing her robe completely and awaiting his next move. Shamrock acknowledged that she wasn’t bad looking, she was beautiful as she had claimed. Her breasts were tipped with rosy colored nipples, budded in the cold air of his chambers. There was no hair on her body anywhere below her head and her skin was finely oiled and scented. Really, she was a lovely looking package and most men would be thrusting into her already. 

“Turn over,” Shamrock commanded, removing his belt from his pants. Perhaps if he didn’t have to look at her he would be able to stomach the experience better. The woman dutifully turned over onto her stomach and hoisted herself to hands and knees and waggled her rear end. He should have told her to shut up from the beginning , he thought.

Fisting his half hard cock in his hand, Shamrock began to pump himself in preparation for entering her. He didn’t really care if she enjoyed this or not, this wasn’t for her - or him -  to enjoy. It was just something he had to do if he wanted things to go smoothly with Father. Shamrock closed his eyes as he trailed his fingers over her soft skin. 

He tried to imagine something erotic, something that would make him want to pound into this stupid courtesan. He tried thinking of the other servants he’d had before, or even some of the noble women who were attractive but nothing was sparking his fancy. After a moment, Shamrock’s mind drifted to his favorite fantasy, the one he thought about every night - the one that featured you . In his mind, Shamrock would be alone in his chambers and would go to your door, unlocking it to see you shivering with fear. The fantasy didn’t always start there, but he knew very well what his mind would play next. 

You’d look up at him, your eyes wide with admiration, as he extended his hand to you. You’d take it and he’d pull you to standing.

“Don’t be afraid,” Shamrock would say. You would nod your head and place your hands gently on his shoulders, pressing your front to his. He’d feel your breasts and puckered nipples through your thin shift as you waited, licking your lips in anticipation. Shamrock would wind an arm around you, pulling you closer. Your breath would hitch and he’d see the raw desire in your eyes but the persistent fear you’d have to make the first move. 

“It’s alright, I’ll always protect you,” Shamrock would say, tilting your chin up even further with two fingers. You’d swallow but nod again, trusting in him completely as your lips parted with a small gasp. Shamrock would slowly lower his face to yours, kissing you softly. It would be the first time you’d ever been kissed, he’d teach you everything he liked. Your fingers would grip onto his shirt as you breathed quickly, your heart fluttering in your chest. 

“Just like that,” he’d murmur, leaning down to kiss you again. He’d move on to kissing your jaw, his hand coming to cup your face. You’d tilt your head to the side, trusting in him to make you feel good…

Shamrock felt his cock harden in his hand as he continued to stroke himself. If the sex was to be at all pleasurable for him he’d have to tend to the woman, he begrudgingly admitted. He found her clit with one hand and lazily started rubbing it while continuing to stroke himself  Closing his eyes again, he returned to his fantasy of you.

He’d sweep you off your feet and set you on the bed gently. Your brow would be furrowed, your nervousness getting the better of you. You’d never laid on his bed before and certainly didn’t have any romantic or sexual experience. He’d lay you down on his pillows then tenderly start to remove your shift from the bottom hem, running his fingers over your legs as he moved it upwards. Your face would be flushed and your chest heaving, even these activities would have your thighs trembling with anticipation. He’d ruck your dress up to your waist, leaving you only in your plain cotton panties. He would be able to see that they were soaked, practically drenched in your desire as you watched him with hooded eyes.

He’d remove his own shirt quickly, unable to bear a single more moment of not touching your skin. He’d place a hand between your thighs and gently pry them apart to slot himself between them, leaning over you once more to continue kissing you. He’d slowly trail his fingers up your inner thigh as you shut your eyes, the embarrassment too much to handle as your face flushed all over again.

Shamrock’s vision was broken as he heard a high pitched moan and saw the courtesan was now rubbing herself against his fingers. She was wet and wanting, her cunt practically dripping. At some point in the fantasy, he had started reenacting his movements in real life and teasing the whore. Deciding she was ready enough, Shamrock pulled her back to him as he aligned his cock with her hole. After shoving himself in, he heard a lewd low moan, making him scowl. He could do it, all he had to do was pretend that it wasn’t some random woman beneath him, that it was you. 

Shamrock fisted her hair in his hand, pulling hard as he began fucking her from behind. He smacked her ass a few times, eliciting a pleasure fueled whine from the woman. He wanted to do such things to you, he did, but not for the first time together. He’d teach you everything you’d need to know about pleasuring him. The slap of his thighs against hers had Shamrock trying to imagine you again, his eyes sliding closed once more.

But it didn’t work this time. Shamrock couldn’t block out the woman and focus on the one he wanted to picture in his mind. 

Her hair wasn’t the same color or texture as yours, her skin not roughened with days of hard work, her voice not the one he was accustomed to morning noon and night, her smell not of laundry soap and tea but fragrant incense from the New World. 

She wasn’t you.

“Get out,” Shamrock growled in the woman’s ear as he pulled her head back towards him by her long hair.

“Wh-what?” she asked, her face reddened from where he’d been fucking her into the mattress. Her eyes were glassy and distant as she tried to continue rocking on Shamrock’s cock. 

“Get. Out.” he snarled into her face, pushing her off of him. Her reverie broke as she fell face first onto the bed but quickly scrambled off, her face draining of blood as Shamrock’s haki started sparking. He didn’t need haki to scare the weak woman away but his mood was so volatile he couldn’t control it. The woman grabbed her robe not even covering her nudity as she fled. 

Shamrock sighed heavily and collapsed on the now mussed mattress. Rolling onto his back, he rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead and closed his eyes. He’d be able to tell Father he’d fucked her, he’d completed enough of his duty. But there was a bigger issue at hand - Shamrock couldn’t ignore his feelings for you any longer. Yes, he wanted you physically, that was no grave sin. Masters often were with their slaves sexually, it was practically expected. But his feelings ran deeper and he’d been in denial for so long. 

Allowing you to speak to him. Having you watch him during practice. Changing his decisions for you. Keeping you safe from others. Changing your quarters to his room. The branding. Teaching you to read. Giving you new clothes. The necklace. 

All of it was one large sign pointing out his greatest vulnerability - you. 

Even now as Shamrock lay in his bed, his skin itched with the need to remove the scent of the interloper. He wanted you, not just in body but in spirit and soul as well. You were his and he’d be yours - there would never be another for you as long as he was alive. He could never articulate these feelings to you - you’d be executed and he would be punished, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Shamrock wasn’t sure what to do about the revelation, his nerves already fried from Father’s “gift.”

Shamrock reached over on the bed and found his pants, putting them hastily over his legs. The key to your door laid heavy on his neck as he padded quietly towards your door.

Shamrock unlocked the door with shaky fingers, pulling it open slowly so as not to startle you. You were there, watching him with doleful eyes as you moved to a kneeling position in front of him. 

Shamrock didn’t know what to say, how to tell you that he didn’t want to have sex with that woman, that he couldn’t bear another moment with her when all he wanted was you in his arms. 

“Change my sheets. I am going to bathe,” he ordered. You didn’t reply, just nodded your acquiescence as you always did. Shamrock offered you a hand as you stood on wobbly legs, as unsure as a newborn calf. Once you were up, Shamrock left for the bathroom as he had said he would. Only now it carried the shame of retreat.

Shamrock came back after a brief bath and a change into clean clothes, pleased to see that his bed looked now like it always did, the interlude with the whore erased from his room. You were by the door to your room though you hadn’t gone back in, standing at attention while pressing the nail of your thumb between your index finger and thumb. Shamrock knew all your tells - you were nervous and scared. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly, coming closer towards you. As he reached you he saw your red rimmed eyes - you’d been crying.  Shamrock wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close to his chest, your smaller hands fisting into his shirt in surprise. You looked up at him, uncertainty flickering across your face. You blinked rapidly and stiffened in his arms - he’d never made such a bold move before. 

“Do you desire this? Desire me?” Shamrock asked into your ear, his thumb roving your cheek gently. You bit your lip as a flush spread from your cheeks to the tips of your ears and you nodded mutely. Putting his two fingers under your chin, Shamrock was about to fulfil his fantasy when a knock resounded outside his door.

“Saint Garling requests your presence, Young Master.” Your breath caught as Shamrock held you even closer for a moment, squeezing you against him. 

“It’s alright, I’ll always protect you,” Shamrock murmured, kissing your forehead. Letting go of you, Shamrock put on his clothes unhurriedly, as if this was a common occurrence. In truth, he hadn’t been summoned by Father in years but it likely had something to do with the whore from earlier. Shamrock affected his normal bored look as you fixed his hair. All too soon, Shamrock was ready to leave for Father’s summons.

“I’ll be back shortly. Remain in your room,” he said by way of goodbye before throwing open the door with a flourish. A sinking feeling in his stomach warned him this wasn’t a congratulatory brithday wish.

A few moments later Shamrock was in Father’s office, standing in front of the Adam’s wood desk as he had when he was younger. The opulent office always made Shamrock trepidacious, as Father had always administered his cruel punishments within. Father was smoking his ever present pipe and facing towards the windows. Shamrock stood silently, awaiting whatever Father had to say. 

“Your toy is well polished, Shamrock.” Father let his sentence linger in the air, though Shamrock didn’t answer. He’d had enough conversations with Father to know he wasn’t done speaking yet. Pungent smoke wafted away from Father as he continued.

“It follows you about like a well trained hound. It wears a bejeweled necklace now, as well as fine dresses and shoes. It looks almost pretty, does it not?” Father swiveled to face Shamrock, a raised eyebrow alerting Shamrock to remain quiet.

“You didn’t even enjoy the whore I sent to your room for your feelings towards the slave,” Father continued. Shamrock’s mouth opened before Father gave him a look. “I inspected her personally,” Father said with finality. Shamrock shut his mouth with a snap, his hand unintentionally seeking the pommel of Cerebus.

“It is time to put away your toys. You’ve grown too attached to this one and spent far too much time with it. You’re a man now, not a child. It can’t be anything more for you than a pass time, a bauble to enjoy momentarily. Starting next month you will be training to be a God’s Knight. Your pet may not join you,” Father intoned, his eyes flashing with ill concealed anger. Father waited a moment as if in thought.

“Where shall I send it? Perhaps to Saint Sommers? Saint Saturn? Or shall I have it killed? It is not worth much, though it does have its charms, ” Father asked with a sickening grin, tapping his pipe against his lip. Shamrock kept his mask of impassivity on his face despite the anger threatening to consume him - any reaction would give Father further ammunition against you. Shamrock didn’t think he’d send you to any other Saints - you knew far too much about the goings on in his household. If anything, Father would kill you in front of Shamrock as a test of devotion. Father watched Shamrock intensely, setting his pipe down against the rich brown desk. 

“May I speak, Father?” Shamrock asked in a blithe tone after a few moments of silence. Father nodded as he sat in the fishman leather chair behind the desk. 

“You are right, it has outlived its usefulness. I would like to kill it myself before I leave for training. I don’t like sharing my possessions,” Shamrock drawled, putting all his weight on one leg. Father’s face split into a wide grin.

“Excellent. I await its head. It may live through your birthday celebrations if you wish.” Father said, steepling his fingers. Shamrock bowed and turned to leave - the conversation was over.

Shamrock left Father’s office with his back straight and head held high. He reached the closest restroom and vomited into the porcelain sink, the bile continuing to rise even after there was nothing left in his stomach. After a few minutes Shamrock rinsed his mouth and wiped his face on the back of his hand. Looking at himself in the mirror, he made a vow. One that he'd keep for a lifetime.

He would always protect you. He just needed to figure out how.