Mianite Stories

Soft Things

(Short Motanite fluff is what I'm giving you for Christmas.
FYI for story purposes- I believe that even if they don't need sleep, gods still can sleep)

Dianite had noticed how Mot seemed to enjoy the softest of things. The first time had been when he'd gifted him a red scarf, made from a fabric only found in a far away land. He'd noticed how Mot had wrapped it around his mottled neck eagerly, then gently pressed a corner against the infected part of his cheek, seeming to enjoy the feeling of the soft fabric against the flaky spores.

Another example would be on their first expedition together.

No matter how many times Dianite tried to drill the fact that he doesn't need sleep into his worker's heads, they still wouldn't get it. So when he had a voyage scheduled to take him to a trading deal, a room was prepared for him on the ship, much to his annoyance. Deciding to spare his new champion from sleeping uncomfortably in the hold, he offered his room, knowing Mot would be thankful of the silk blankets and soft pillows. Sitting at the desk that night, he looked behind him to watch Mot settle, noticing again how he gently rubbed the silk sheet against his mottled cheek before setting his head down to sleep, unknowing of the god curiously watching him.

One of the more heart-melting examples, as Ianite would say, was the day Alyssa came into their lives. Dianite hadn't expected his champion to be late for the first time ever that day, but he also wasn't expecting him to walk in bruised and burnt with a child in his arms either. After many sessions with mortal 'groomers', as Dianite liked to call them, both Mot and Alyssa were cleaned up. And as Dianite observed Mot being his new-found fatherly self, he noticed how he'd place his cheek against the small, sleeping child's now dry hair, contently humming to the girl.

One example of which Dianite looked back at sometimes, was the day he had to lead a patrol to fight some monster, probably just the usual. He and Mot walked towards the area that was being terrorized by the monster with a force of twenty trained soldiers marching behind them. It was a rainy spring that year and, to everyone's annoyance, a sudden downpour crashed on top of them. The soldiers had their shields to help them and Dianite summoned his wings from whatever spell he used to conceal them and used them as an umbrella, unfazed by the rain. Mot was left to walk in the rain, annoyed by the fact that he didn't bring a shield. Looking down, he continued walking forward with no complaint, though, he looked up sharply when he felt something touch his head. When he realized Dianite's left wing was resting in his head, sheltering him from the rain, he looked over to the god. Dianite's head was turned to the side, seeming to inspect the bland field they were walking alongside, looking flustered. Dianite turned his head back into Mot once he looked away and noticed how Mot hesitantly pushed his dappled cheek against a stray feather, looking quite pleased with himself.

Dianite may have many examples and memories of Mot loving all the soft things, but his absolute favorites would be they way Mot gave him affection. Those occasions where Mot would press his face against the crook of Dianite's neck or place his head under god's chin, savoring the soft red skin. But his absolute favorite example was the way Mot seemed to melted when Dianite's soft lips met his usually chapped ones. It was in those occasions Dianite realized he also loved soft things. He realized he loved Mot's silky dark-blond hair when he ran his fingers through it, he loved Mot's soft earlobe he would sometimes nibble at when he wanted to mess with his champion, he loved Mot's soft neck, which he bit at constantly, and there was so much he loved.

But he especially loved Mot overall.
With his defiant eyes, sharp tongue, oh so kissable lips(and he kissed them constantly of course), and strong words.

And Mot loved Dianite.
He loved that devilish smirk, those powerful eyes, the rare touch of his soft wings, and he even loved those coal-black horns, which he would sometimes find pushing against his back when Dianite had unpleasant dreams.

They both loved each other. Their only regret?

That they didn't realize it sooner.

(Happy Holidays!)