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"Here's looking at you, kid."
You think, and not for the first time, how much better it'd be if Mammon is with you. It's a reoccurring daydream, that the white-haired demon with his horrendous jacket (that you may have stolen once or twice or twenty times), would appear, all bickery and tsundere , with a snap of your fingers.
A few months have passed since the graduation of your exchange year in Devildom, and whilst your main concern should be on how to adjust back to human life, it's currently stuck on how all the pleasant memories you've created are slowly turning fuzzy.
But not this one. Never, you swear to yourself, this one.
Your phone screen, the only other glaring light in the dorm living room besides the TV, displays a series of old texts you've exchanged with Mammon. It matches - the same words looking back at you right now is exactly what the main lead of the Japanese drama on TV is saying to the heroine.
"Here's looking at you, kid."
“What, Mammon, did you hit your head or something?”
“No! Sigh… I guess I’m not cut out for sweet talk. It’s too damn embarrassing. I heard that line in a drama, so I thought I’d try it out.”
It is the first week of winter break and the building is quiet with the absence of all of your dormmates who have left to spend time at their homes.
It’s cold. It’s dark. It’s lonely… whoever can blame you for feeling so needy?
“But it didn’t really work, did it? I shouldn’t have said it. You’ve gotta say these things in your own words, yeah?”
Both ankles are locked over a heavy blanket on the plush living room sofa to keep your legs spread wide as you lay there, a free hand making messy circles and tapping again and again at your clit, the sticky mess coating your fingers.
"I love you, MC."
You continue on, eyes shut as you let your phone fumble around in the blankets, thumbs spreading your lips wide as you imagine a particular second-born demon kneeling between your legs.
His white hair would fit right at home underneath you, and the thought has your hole fluttering and clenching around nothing, especially when you sprinkle in the thought off with him taking his cock in hand, using the tip to smear it messily on your throbbing bud before popping himself inside you with a low growl, grinning at your hips twitching and the whine of his name on your lips. "F-fuck, Mammon—!"
"Yeah?"
...what.
Immediately straightening up, your hands search for your phone in the dim low lighting of the living room. You must've accidentally clicked Call when you let go of your phone, shit shit shit—!
"Wha- who's callin'?!" A pause. "MC—!"
The interval, if you had to guess, must've been him lifting the phone from his ear and actually checking for the first time whose call he had answered.
Which is fantastic news for you, because it gives you precisely 0.5 seconds to pretend like you weren't just spanking it to the thought of him. Jeez, would that be an ego trip to remember.
"MC? Ya there?"
Wincing, you shrink further into the human blanket avalanche you've created. "Heeeey, Mammon."
"Finally! Had me thinkin' it was all just a booty call."
"...you mean butt dial?"
"You humans and your complicated vocabulary. Say, here's an idea: how 'bout ya stick with one (1) idiom, then stick the rest up someone's ass?! Or— or better yet, why can't you just come back to Devildom? Look at me, I'm forgettin' and failin' SO many things 'cause of ya!"
You laugh at the demon's antics, momentarily forgetting the fact that, y'know, you were knuckles deep in your own pussy a few seconds ago.
"Our 'study sessions' were iconic..."
On the other side of the line, you can hear him getting excited. "Weren't they?! The bestest! Sure, they ain't the most surefire way to get all A+ — or even a passing grade — but who needs those?! A+ are for NERDS!"
"It's a school day right now, isn't it?" If you remember correctly, RAD's own winter break doesn't start in a few weeks.
"For sure! It's... around 2pm, or somethin' like that. Everyone's all antsy for that big test in Seduction 301. The succubi got it in the bag, though, for sure. The succubi, and yours truly, The Great Mammon!"
Outside, the cold winter blast of air creeps its way through the nooks and crannies of the sliding door you didn't cover with tape earlier. You shudder, not at the howling noise, but the cold blanketing your partially nude body. Right. You were kind of in the middle of something just now, weren't you?
The fact that he’s calling himself yours doesn't help...
"Wait, well, if I get an A+ in Seduction, then that makes me one of 'em nerds... but I gotta pass at least one subject, or Lucifer'll hafta blow everythin' outta proportion again…”
Fuck, fuck, it feels so good. Memories of his voice don't do justice to its real life inspiration. Deep down, somewhere in you, you know there's guilt. Clueless Mammon having no idea what you're doing on the other line, only excited to catch up with his favourite human? Of course there's guilt.
But pleasure overpowers guilt any day. And your fingers curling and reaching spots within yourself evoke so so much pleasure.
"Yo! Isn't it SO cool that we can be talkin' to each other even in different timelines? Is that the word? That's not the word.”
Control your breathing. There's no telling what would happen if Mammon finds out what you're doing while he goes on his tangent. Calm, collected... "It's timezones, Mams."
The sound of snapping fingers. "RIGHT! Timezones! That's it!"
You're close. You could be close. Only one problem though: while you are many things, 'quiet during cumming' is, unfortunately, not one of them. Evidence of this is your almost-whimpers as your brain splits between letting you feel ecstasy or keeping you on the edge.
Mammon picks up on this. "Yo, you okay, MC? What were ya doing?"
"M-me?" Breathe, oh my God. "Oh, when I called you? Nothing, just... just reading old texts, no biggie."
"You know, you don't hafta do that if we just — and stop me if I start soundin' ridiculous — make new texts? "
Good-naturedly, you roll your eyes. "Very funny. And they say Beel is the class clown."
"Nahhh, not intentionally."
You miss this. For sure, you miss the back-and-forth banter and the ease between you and Mammon, but time and distance has proven itself to be the ultimate test. It's easy now, but who's to say it'll be the same in the next few days? The next few minutes, even? As if sensing your thoughts, Mammon clears his throat.
"Hey, MC. Were ya really just reading our old texts? 'Cause it ain't much, plus I'm no critique when it comes to that, but all those words just really give too much freedom to the imagination."
Confusion. What does he mean? Opening your mouth to ask this, the sound of your notification beat you to it.
You have received one (1) new text.
It's an image attachment from Mammon. What greets you isn't a meme, or a selfie of him running from his #287 punishment of the day, no, no, it was...
Him. Shirtless. Sprawled on his bed, legs spread, camera angled directly towards a V leading down to a more... desired region.
Gulp.
"...oh."
"Call me a visual learner." Sure enough, you can hear his stupid, smug grin in the tone of his voice.
You hastily stop your actions, throwing the comforter onto your body and repositioning, all while yelling at him. "Mammon! You said you're in school! There's a TEST!"
"Ah ah ah, I said it's a school day. Never said I was there!" he defended himself. "Look, MC, if it was a contest, I can't hold a candle to Asmo when it comes to this, so I can't" — you hear his arm waving — "detect 'lust' or 'wantonness' or whatever. That's not who I am. I'm... the betting man." His voice turns low and sultry. "So, I'm willing to bet all my cards that ya were touching yourself just now."
"..."
"Then. Am I right or am I right?"
"You're annoying is what you are."
Laughter. "Says the one who was rubbing her poor sensitive pussy when I was busy telling ya bout my day."
The embarrassment from earlier haven't even had time to recover, yet here he is, painting you a fresh coat. "You see, I was about to have a boring day, normal even. Be bored without ya 'round, then find some way to mess with Lucifer, then get hanged upside down or boiled in snake oil or somethin' like that. I won't even give a flyin' fuck, 'cause that's the most entertainment I get down here."
Your heavy breaths are the only response Mammon gets, not daring to chime a word in at this particular part of the story. He seems satisfied with your decision. For now.
"Then you called, and holy shit, did that easily make this day skyrocket to my Top 10."
"Y-yeah?"
"Then I figured out what was happenin'," he continues. "and, well, only thing I can say is, wow, you're makin' it real hard to not miss ya. "
You can't control the sounds coming out of you right now, even and especially, the unintentional slip of "Mnn--! Mammon..."
He grunts at the sound of his name escaping your lips.
"Send a pic."
N-now? You look around the dorm living room, before it dawns on you that this man knows what your bedroom looks like. If you take a picture, it won't take his demon brain that long to register that you are, in fact, not there. He can sense the hesitation in your silence before you could even hastily decline.
"From a gambler's perspective," he begins. "This can go one of two ways. Did ya know, that on a standard US roulette wheel, there are... 18 black slots, 18 red slots and two green slots. Your chances of hitting a black or red are equal, 47.4%." The sharp, focused way his voice sounds spreads like a warmth down to your core. " This translates to a 52.6% probability that the house will be scooping up all your chips on a black/red bet. The 5.26% 'spread', we call it a house edge. What? You didn't think they were paying the bills on even odds, did you, MC? "
You shake your head, not that he can tell.
"But now, see, “always bet on black” is a real iconic movie line. It's risky. It's crazy. It don't work!" he exclaims. "The thing about risky and crazy ideas, though, is that when it gives you profit, it gives. you. profit. "
He lifts his eyebrow. Only one. "You won't forget that risky, crazy night for a looong time." You're well aware of the options on what to do from now, and he voices it out for you, "Suuuuure, we can play it safe. Scared someone might walk in, on either you or me, so we call it off, you say, have a good rest of the day, Mammon, and I say, you too, MC, miss ya, and hang up." He pauses for a beat. "Or — "
" — or we can bet it all on black."
The corners of his mouth pull up. "That's my girl."
Shit. And just like that, your hands go back to wandering and roaming the surfaces of your body.
"So? You gonna go big or go home, treasure?"
His seducing voice is on speaker as you open your Camera app and angle it directly upwards, knowing perfectly well his favourite view of you. With every second, his impatience grows, so you hurriedly send the ones you deem best. He sighs, followed by muffling sounds that could only be interpreted as him repositioning himself on the bed. "Thereee we go."
Mammon likes to hear you play with yourself. Something about the act just drives him to pure insanity, easily making him the hardest he’s ever been and will ever be. The absolute fucking boost in his ego at the fact that just thinking of him has you all wet and bothered.
It doesn’t take long before he starts to unbuckle his pants and stroke himself, shutting his eyes and filling the pitch black darkness with memories of the two of you together in the past. Fuck. Why can't those memories be the present, the future, even? Although he's not really at a place to complain about events happening in the present, what with his cock currently twitching with every sound you let out — every whimper, every desperate cry of his name — being enough evidence that he is, in fact, loving every second.
Heavy breaths exit your mouth when you hear him speeding up, the sounds of squelching and slapping echoing around the room. You begin to wonder if any of his brothers would come looking for him, skipping school and all, but he quickly knocks you out of thought when he groans loudly and directly into the device's microphone, tailed by a string of curse words, fucking you dumb.
"Gonna - hmph! - gonna make this quick so that you can make it to that test," you manage to pant out mid-thrust, head fuzzy from how quick your fingers are pounding into you.
"The Seduction class test?" Mammon asks. "Think I'm acing it pretty good right now, don't cha think so?"
You cover your mouth to stop yourself from crying out, and instead chant his name repetitively onto your palm. If Mammon was there, you know exactly what he'd do: snatch your hand away from your mouth, grip it tightly, look at you, fuck you harder, wait for you to scream his name again and again, over and over. He'd command you, louder, baby, louder - let 'em hear the pretty noises they won't ever hear ya make for them. C'mon. J-just for me, right, treasure?
"Oi—" his real life voice warns.
Reading his mind, you remove your hand and fill the room with the noises usually reserved for late nights behind locked doors. No one's around, not in this weather, but you don't exactly have a streak of good luck going on. "Someone might hear me, Mammon," you whine in between moans.
"Kinda the point, baby." An airy laugh, then a pretty moan as he keeps stroking, keeps breathlessly dirty talking, keeps furiously fucking his fist.
Soon enough, you both reach closer and closer to the edge, your own legs threatening to close on their own accord the same time he throws his head back. Breaths getting heavier, greedy minds losing control of their own bodies.
"You — shit — y-you're not in your bedroom, are ya, treasure? Where you at?" A second goes by, then two, then five.
"Ahh. Living room, huh? Shoulda guessed. Hey, d'you think you can cum and leave a stain for your dormmates to find? What am I sayin', 'course you can. C'mon, I'm lettin' ya. When I let ya do somethin', you do it, right? Right? You're my good girl?"
You cry out his name as you feel a shiver run down your spine, him in the background urging you to let go, it'd be so easy, it's gonna feel so good, baby, and you immediately release on your fingers.
Still moaning his name seconds after, the aftershock makes you tremble and your words slurred. The sound of your reaching your climax is all it takes for Mammon to reach his, and he's spilling all over his hand and chest, a long groan escaping him as his eyes shut, mouth dropping open as his head falls back.
He's panting when he finally opens his eyes, biting his lip as he slowly pumps his cock, wanting to make sure he gets every last drop. God, he’s making oh-so-pretty noises that you wish you could go for a second round right then and there. But that'd be selfish to ask... right?
"So?" Mammon asks, out of breath.
"How'd I do, Teach? Worthy of that A+?"
You forgot you're talking to the Avatar of Greed, though.
"A few marks short," you reply. "Make sure to see me after class for extra credit."