I'm Half Doomed, And You're Semi-Sweet
Messmer the Impaler x Aster (Tarnished OC)
2355 words
Aster falls victim to the dangers of a poison swamp. Messmer is grateful to the powers that be that he survived.
(18+ NSFW, Messmer discovers the joys of eating out he/him pussy. highly self indulgent content)
Despite the appearance he has been ordered to curate, Messmer has always been a romantic at heart. It is something that he had long written off, attempting to truly give himself to his mother's cause. Aster had rendered a lifetime of this work utterly moot.
It had frustrated Messmer, to have these feelings swell and threaten to burst from his chest whenever the little knight was in his presence. He is grateful for his bravery in kissing him that fateful evening, for daring to sweep the demigod off his feet. He owes much to that simple gesture.
But, love is not always a happy thing. Sometimes it breeds fear. That is the case here, when he receives word from a soldier that Aster had been found, collapsed just inside the main gate into the Shadow Keep. He makes for the infirmary with haste.
“Poison, lord commander,” a medic informs him as soon as he enters the private room in the corner of the basement. “But he is alive, and will stay that way with any luck.”
Messmer exhales, a breath he did not know he had been holding in. The thought of Aster dying had been forcibly blocked from his mind, but the relief it had not come to pass is there all the same. To be so kindly granted succor, after all of his suffering, only to have it snatched brutally from his hands, would have been far too cruel of the Greater Will. He approaches the cot where Aster appears to be in a fitful sleep, scarred skin pale and clammy from feverish sweating, and finds it to be a mournful sight. He laments his inability to truly help.
He has enough faith in his medics to leave for the time being, requesting that he be sent for the second Aster awakens, no matter the time. Day turns to night, and as the night creeps on, he finds sleep eluding him anyway. He is at his desk, head in hands, when there is a knock at the door. He does not even speak to the soldier, and his pace quickens to a run the second he is out of sight.
“You came,” Aster speaks softly as Messmer enters the room. He is sat up now, still sickly-looking but far from the brink of death. His shirt had been removed, revealing his thoroughly scarred chest. The redhead did not know he could be so delighted to hear his voice.
“Of course I did,” he coos softly, Aster raising an eyebrow at the still unfamiliar kindness. Messmer pulls up a chair and sits. He notes it is actually an appropriate size for him, and reasons that this private ward must be for when those close to him, like Rellana or Gaius, are injured. “How do you feel?”
“Atrocious,” the brunette laughs dryly, “but better. I thank thee for asking.”
Messmer reaches out and tenderly brushes greasy, sweaty hair out of Aster’s face. The smaller man is still beautiful like this, he thinks. He wonders if, in another life, he would have been claimed by someone like him as some sort of concubine, or if he is simply so smitten by now that he is bewitched into holding such a high opinion.
Aster takes in the thoughtful look on the demigod’s face, the trembling lower lip, and brings a far smaller hand up to Messmer’s own. “You were worried,” he states. He does not need to ask. He is right, anyway. Yet, the older man scoffs.
“I had every right to be. Or do you mean to question my judgment, hmm?” The hand that had been tenderly caressing Aster’s cheek frees itself from his grip and shifts to a harsh grip on Aster’s jaw, forcing eye contact. “Is this where you try to tell me that I should not have been concerned?”
Aster knows he is right to expect that. He is reckless at the best of times, and everyone in the keep he got to know would without fail come to assume he has a deathwish. But this time is different. Messmer was not the only one who mused upon their blossoming romance in his absence - the thoughts of which had given Aster the strength to drag himself back to the Shadow Keep, to get himself home, albeit barely. He could not handle the thought of Messmer mourning him.
“Not at all,” Aster throws his hands up, signaling surrender. “It was foolish of me to become so afflicted in the first place. I…” He hesitates briefly. “I regret the lack of caution deeply. I am sorry, Messmer.”
The uncharacteristic apology has Messmer’s grip loosen, his expression softening. His name rolls off of the little knight’s tongue like a jewel sparkles in candlelight - alluring, precious. He nods, accepting the apology. “I have decided I will not be allowing these solo expeditions of yours any longer.” Aster begins to frown, but Messmer continues swiftly. “You will be accompanied by a small band of soldiers. If something happens to you, then I know you will be returned to me.”
Aster gives him a puzzled look. When he first entered the Impaler’s service, it was with the understanding that his search for answers as to what Miquella had done to Mohg - his “petty curiosity”, as Messmer had so disrespectfully called it - was to be kept separate from the labors of his army. For Messmer to change his tune in such a way, Aster is both grateful and amused.
“You do not mean to just stop me entirely?” He asks tauntingly. Messmer looks offended.
“Aster,” he starts, in a threatening tone. “You must think lowly of me if you believe I have not come to care for your quest.”
“I do not. But nor do I think you care for that, either.” Aster smirks, moss green eyes meeting Messmer’s, one golden, one forever closed. “Thou art a jealous sort.”
Oh, this little Tarnished lad is fortunate Messmer feels such fondness for him. The serpents that reside within him hiss. Before complaints can be made, Aster continues. “I only mean to say that I believe you care for me. Even if my desires are not so aligned with your cause.”
Messmer’s heart skips a beat. The winged serpents return to a more restful position. “I cannot say you are wrong,” he mutters after a pause.
Against better judgment, Aster scrambles on aching limbs to move close enough to kiss the lord commander, falling from the edge of the cot and into his lap as he struggles to hold his own weight up thanks to the poison weakening him.
“Idiot,” the demigod mumbles against his lips, but strong hands come to hold the ailing lad all the same. Aster’s lips are dry and cold, but this does not make the kiss any less enjoyable. Indeed, it is a testament to how lucky Messmer is. He holds his lover close, gently stroking up his spine. “You need to rest,” he mumbles, not quite willing to just force him back into the cot.
“Hmm,” Aster ponders on the statement. “Perhaps you are right. But I think I need you just as much.” The words send a shock through Messmer, like lightning. He is used to being feared, to being respected. Desire is something new, a foreign concept he has yet to acclimate to.
Still, it reminds him of his thoughts when Aster was away. Back to the first kiss, back to his feelings on the matter. He had come to realize that he wishes to return the favor, and to do so he must surprise the Tarnished. He must ignite a fire that burns hotter and brighter than the one that he set within his own loins.
“Then it is back on that cot with you, little mouse,” Messmer says with a small smile. He handles Aster with a smile, setting him on the edge, sitting upright. He leans down, breath hot against his ear. “Would you believe I had some ideas in thine absence?”
Aster’s cheeks feel warm, and it is not his fever returning. “Ideas?” He repeats, voice barely above a whisper. Messmer takes the blush to be permission to show, rather than tell, and deft fingers make quick work of the fastening of the smaller man’s trousers and undergarments, and Aster is grinning in a way that Messmer has only seen before on the battlefield - the expression of a man who has another exactly where he wants him.
Aster does not want to ever forget the sight before him - Messmer, a demigod, a violent tyrant that he should by all rights fear, is on his knees in front of him. He takes a fistful of crimson locks, and tugs gently to gauge his reaction.
Messmer's mouth opens ever so slightly, cheeks flushing. He liked that. The smaller man is appreciative of this fact, and gives a wry smile, a smug look that only serves to deepen Messmer's blush. He's so easy, Aster thinks.
Messmer wraps large hands around Aster’s thighs, pushing them apart. He does so slowly, and Aster cannot tell if this is in an attempt to tease or if he is somehow nervous. To his credit, Messmer is not sure which it is either.
Aster’s cunt is already shining with slick, the anticipation having clearly affected him, and Messmer cannot control himself any longer. He groans when he finally tastes him, and gets to work quickly, like a starving man who has finally found sustenance. His tongue feels hot against Aster’s flesh, eagerly exploring folds and drinking him up. When a few exploratory swirls of his tongue around Aster’s clit have the younger man whining, he takes it upon himself to wrap his lips around it and suck. This draws a soft, pretty moan from Aster, who almost collapses backwards onto the infirmary cot.
Messmer cannot have that, and so throws Aster’s thighs over his shoulders, and brings his hands to Aster’s waist. They almost completely encircle him, holding him securely in place. Aster covers his mouth with a calloused hand, attempting to stifle the noises that now spill freely from him. His other hand remains entangled in Messmer's hair, and firmly keeps the demigod in place, as if he would ever choose to stop now.
It is addictive to hear Aster losing himself to pleasure like this. He wishes he had thought of this sooner, he wishes to do this every day. The man tastes sweet, too. A serpent coils around Aster’s waist, supporting him so that Messmer may utilize his hands in his quest to pleasure his little mouse. Aster gasps when he feels two long, bony fingers enter him, the stretch more than welcome, wetness allowing them to slip in easily.
At no point does Messmer avert his gaze from Aster’s face, and as if reading his mind a second serpent winds its way around Aster’s arm so as to pull his hand away from his face.
“N-no… The medics, they’ll hear-” Aster’s protests are cut off with a pitiful, disappointed whine when Messmer pulls back, flashing a sadistic grin before he talks.
“Why would that be a problem? This is my castle, if I wish to please you then nobody can question that decision.” He withdraws his fingers now, too, relishing the desperate look on his lover’s face before he returns them to their rightful place, along with a third. Aster, unsilenced, yelps loudly as the action catches him completely off guard. Messmer hums approvingly, pleased by watching that pretty mouth hang open in lust.
“A right bastard, you are.” Aster pretends not to love the idea of being caught like this, for someone to see how Messmer is worshiping him. It is cute that he acts as though he has any shame.
“Perhaps,” Messmer answers simply, before returning his mouth to where it ought to be.
Inspired by the pretty song that Aster sings for him, Messmer chases the smaller man’s release. With a curl of his fingers he drags them against his sweet spot, to which Aster can only cry out the demigod’s name. The walls of his cunt pulse around his fingers, signaling that Aster is close.
Messmer the Impaler takes conquest seriously. From start to finish, every move is calculated, with the aim of nothing less than total victory. It is, in his mind, often most crucial what one does towards the end of battle. After all, in order to wipe out a settlement, one cannot get sloppy and miss stragglers. It is with this same logic that he quickens the pace with which his fingers fuck Aster, and he takes a bet on allowing his teeth to lightly graze the little cock in his mouth. Of course, he chose wisely. It cannot be more than a minute before the hand in his hair tugs harshly, the knight’s thighs trembling as he wails and cums for him.
He does not relent quite yet, but does slow, allowing Aster to come down from his high. When that occurs, he removes his fingers and replaces them with his tongue, enjoying the cacophony of overstimulated noises that spill from Aster’s lips. Once he has had his fill, he withdraws completely, looking up at the man from his place on the ground with smug satisfaction.
Aster pants heavily, his eyes wild. His mouth opens and closes, but words do not come out. It is clear the orgasm floored him - wrecked him, just as the demigod planned. Messmer feels proud of himself, more than he has in some time.
When the brunette returns to himself, it is with an expression of awe. “You do always have the most wonderful ideas,” he says softly. Messmer shrugs and stands, and goes to help settle the knight back under the sheets. Aster tries to protest. “No, no - what about you?” Messmer only chuckles.
“Thou’rt still sick, are you not?” He places a kiss to the top of his head. “Rest, little mouse. I will visit thee in the morning.” Aster is smiling when he pulls away.
“You are terribly kind to me, Messmer.”
“Perhaps,” he answers, before exiting gracefully.
