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Mammon's highest love in the world is money and all the things associated with it.

Gold. Silver. Gems. All lovely things to have, so long as they don't have to pay for it. It's an avaricious and selfish love, Mammon won't ever deny it, but they won't ever care, either. For a lot of people, coming in second to material wealth is a deal breaker.

Reborn, just like always, isn't most people. He doesn't expect them to be a decent person, because they're not. He doesn't expect them to do anything without getting something in return, because they won't. They're both mafia at the end of the day, after all. It's the kind of profession where you can't criticize on account of how you've probably dirtied your hands just as much and downed your own share of vice. So Reborn doesn't judge their endless greed, and he teases some of their dreadfully shitty personality but he never really condemns.

It's the kind of acceptance that they've only ever found in the Varia, where gender or age or vice doesn't matter so much as killing ability.

Although... Mammon's never put any of their coworkers on their knees in barely anything at all.

Money is Mammon's highest love, but Reborn comes in somewhere around second, and the illusionist has no problem mixing the two together. Although... Tonight, in this case, it's not strictly money.

Their eyes rake over Reborn's lean and finely toned body, appreciating every bit of him. It's an easy thing to do. He takes frustratingly good care of himself and it shows: in the seemingly effortless shine of pitch black hair swept back, in the curves of his stomach that hint of relaxed muscle all the way to that firm chest. Even how he presents himself to them is evidence. His flexibility has always been something Reborn has flaunted, whether in his professional life or personal one. For now, all he can do is spread his legs as wide as possible without doing the splits. If his hands weren't behind his back, Mammon is almost positive he'd be touching himself as an additional temptation. Baring his cock is the best he can do.

And he's still so infuriatingly smug.

Mammon lets him get away with it for the time being. The handcuffs linking his wrists aren't the typical kind of steel, but brilliant ones of gold and glittering with jewels, more like thick bracelets bound by lovely chain. Where they stand doesn't let Mammon see them clearly. They only know what the bonds look like because it was them who chose the glittering things. Mammon doesn't need the sight, however. They only need to see the effect: the tension in his shoulders from keeping his arms pulled back, and the submission he hands to them on a glorious silver platter.

Reborn could break out if he truly wanted, after all. He's clever, flexible, and ridiculously powerful. Gold isn't the strongest material either. Only something hardened by Lightning flames could have a chance.

Power trips don't usually do anything for Mammon. This, however? With Reborn?

It makes them want to make it so that he can't even walk, one way or the other. And this is only the beginning.

Their fingertips ghost against his exposed throat, and they watch as he tilts his head back in quiet satisfaction. It's perfect for the placement of the collar about his throat. Leather or lace, those are nice options, but this is a brilliant gold to match his handcuffs. Set exactly in the middle is a polished purple diamond, and flanking it inside the gold are dragonflies. Crafted so finely in the material, they seem trapped in an eternal race. It's craftsmanship at its best. When Reborn had first caught sight of it, Mammon had spotted the flattered and pleasured edge to his smile.

Following the collar are various necklaces- some delicate chains which rest against the arch of his chest, others heavier to hold alternating opals of deep purple and glimmering yellow. A few stick close to his collarbone, a contrast to the lavish chains which sensuously hang down to his taut stomach. It's already a glaringly decadent image. Mammon adores it.

Their touch lingers against his body and the jewelry alike. Seeing him this way, maybe they should have dressed up as well. Simple high waisted lace lingerie and leather boots with heels that could kill someone are nice. There's no way they couldn't be. Mammon can't fool themself with that kind of thinking, not when Reborn's gaze had taken its sweet time in sweeping over their body at first sight. It's simply plain.

Oh well. Mammon doesn't dwell on it for long. They only smirk down at their lover. Leather heels are a show all their own, and there's nothing more satisfying than pressing a stiletto heel right into Reborn's sternum. Adrenaline hums through their chest down between their legs as he falls on his back, pretty little chains a chorus as they collide against one another. A purr rumbles out from their chest at those dark eyes looking up at them. It's like looking into an abyss of desire. They want to fuck him then and there.

Patience is a troublesome virtue like that. It clashes horribly with their want for immediate gratification. The only thing that makes it worth it is the idea of how much better he'll look with even more gold on him. For a moment longer, they press their heel into his chest and his eyes flutter from the effort his lungs have to give for simple air. When they pull back, he almost seems disappointed. They grin. "Masochist," they murmur, nudging his leg with a boot. It's the first word that's been spoken since this little scene has started.

"As you well know," Reborn purrs, his eyes on them as Mammon slides anklets past his feet. His toes curl when their fingers drift upwards to brush against his thigh. With how he is, sex between them is always an all or nothing affair. Mammon's never honestly complained about it, since feeling boneless and euphoric is far from a bad thing, but this is different. It's on the far opposite of the spectrum for what Reborn prefers. They both know it won't be a regular thing, it probably won't even last this whole night, but just for now.... For the difference from their usual... Well. It's nice for now.

The last major piece, unfortunately, is a bit too risky to use for real. Mist flames will have to form it so that it's just right: a cock ring that matches all the other jewelry they've decorated their lover with, only flexible enough so that there's no danger of accidentally doing something foolish like cutting off blood circulation. They let their flames caress his body, teasing at his balls and cock before solidifying. Reborn might have the control not to squirm, but they still see the way his stomach tenses firmly before relaxing.

Making up the final touches are smaller things: earrings which slide into flesh easily, and bands which loop around his fingers. Gaudy? Probably. At the same time, it's like a representation of everything they couldn't even dream of having decades ago. Would that child from all the way back then have ever dreamed of being able to drape someone in jewelry and still have enough to not worry about poverty in a million years? Mammon's eyes drag slowly up the chains that lay against pale skin, and meet Reborn's own dark stare. Would they...

Well. It doesn't matter right now. What matters is that there's one more thing to top this whole beautiful image off. Something immaterial but more valuable than anything else.

Mist gathers up in their throat, potent and concentrated, and entwines in the sound Mammon makes. It's high and pleasant, the kind of thing that any normal person wouldn't object to if they'd heard it on the street. That's why it's the perfect kind of sound to reach in and grip a brain tight. Reborn knows what it is, of course. They told him, a good few years ago, and he's familiar with their techniques. Even after all these years, they can still see the way his muscles tense up instinctively at the presence of Mist. He never cares for illusions and their ilk. That hasn't changed even with their relationship. It shows how much Mammon has changed themself that they do their best not to take it personally.

The same could be said of Reborn. He doesn't try to purge it from his body with his own flames. He accepts it, and that kind of reaction is enough to soothe any of Mammon's edges. "What did you make the rule?" he asks, once he's eased up again. Heels clicking against the floor, they position themself with a food on either side of him and bend down to hum thoughtfully.

"Wouldn't it be more interesting to see how long it takes for you to figure out what it is?"

"That's-" The words are barely out his mouth before Reborn squeezes his eyes shut. It's a pure delight to watch his body arch and twist for a moment before he drops back to the floor. His near perfectly controlled breathing is now undone, even if only a little. Mammon takes their victories where they can. His eyes open once more, narrow slits, to stare up at their self satisfied smirk. "The attraction clause again? I'm used to that, you know."

"Are you so certain about that?" Mammon slides their hands down their body, fingers following down from their collarbone over their chest and down to dip inbetween their thighs. 'The attraction clause', as he's so charmingly put it, is a simple thing. Pain and pleasure are easily connected. Adjusting Mirage R so that it's a more arousing experience than punishing is child's play to a skilled illusionist like them. What better rule to bind it to than to activate every time he's attracted to them?

Maybe that's a little disingenuous to say... As always, Mirage R affects them too. With their focus on Reborn and the sinful amount of gold he's decorated with, however, Mammon can't imagine them getting distracted.

It wouldn't be fun if Reborn didn't make things a little difficult, obviously. There's no more aroused squirming. He keeps his eyes right on their face, smirking right back. "I think I am." It couldn't be any more a challenge.

Mammon doesn't say anything. They just turn away, making sure gets a nice view of the way their ass moves as they walk back between his legs. When they kneel, fingers sliding up his already half hard cock thanks to Mirage R, the attention switches to their lips as they wet them teasingly. "You're going to eat those words," they promise, pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of his cock. Mammon knows themself. Their body might not be particularly impressive, small as they are, but their mouth? They know that's their best quality. They know how it looks when they wrap them barely around the tip, so plush and full. Is the shudder that wracks his body from the heat of their mouth or the modified Mirage R? It doesn't matter. Either will lead to the other and start the cycle. A beautiful perfect loop of arousal.

He's the one who started this challenge, so Mammon has no qualms in pulling out every trick in the book. Illusionists always play dirty to start with. This is no different, even if it's a cock in their mouth where their tongue teases every vein and ridge. Their palms pressing down against his hips provide the perfect feedback when their eyes are closed. He can't hide his reactions that way. Oh, noise, yes, he can strangle that in his throat before it can reach Mammon's ears. The twitching of his cock and muscles that tense under their hands, that's a different story entirely. Victory for them is utterly silent, save for the hitches and gasps in Reborn's breath. That alone sends shivers down Mammon's spine.

When his arousal is stiff and throbbing against their tongue, that's when they know they've done enough for now. They tease him as they pull upwards, dragging it all out, until they remove their mouth with a lewd pop. Opening their eyes earns them the image of his stomach tensed, muscles defined and lovely beneath the glitter of gold. It's not just from pleasure, but from how he's pushed himself up so he could watch them with a faint flush spread across his skin and his own lips wet.

Perfect.

Crawling off his body, they enjoy the way they brush against the gold- warmed up now from Reborn's skin. Mammon doesn't stop until they're practically sitting on his chest. He's certainly watching this time when they slide their hands between their spread legs. Now it's choices, choices...

Do they want to fill up his mouth with a cock of their own, or put his tongue to more skilled use? In the end, Mammon doesn't change anything about themself as they pull their underwear to the side and offer up the soft folds of their sex to him.

"For all my hard work, I think it's time you returned the favor."

I explain nothing