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You don't know what compels you to do it, actually.
Maybe it's the way Mammon's face glows every time you ruffle his hair after battle.
Maybe it's that insatiable need to stir up trouble everywhere you go, especially now that you're stuck in the Devildom.
Or maybe you just –
-- want to.
The battle ends and Mammon bounds up to you, and you stick your hand on his head like usual. For some reason, however, “like usual” is apparently not good enough for you today, and the resulting head rub involves you placing one hand on top of Mammon's head, and little else.
Whatever the reason, you stay like that for far longer than necessary. Until Mammon has stopped smiling at a job well done, and is now starting to regard you as though you've grown a second head, in fact. His eyebrows cinch together; a subtle warning is contained in the movement.
Partway through Mammon telling you to “stop being weird”, you card your fingers through his hair. That half-formed complaint gets squashed at the same time, changing to cries of “oi, human!” and “aren't ya going a lil too far?”, but you barely register the words beyond acknowledging that they exist. Knuckles scrape across the top of Mammon's head, for just a moment, as you turn your hand. Then your fingers press closer to his scalp, sifting the strands of Mammon's snowy, white into four separate bunches.
His hair is soft, you note.
And you probably would've have realized this before, except – this is the first time you've really, really taken the time to think about Mammon's hair. With the way the strands are wedged between your fingers now, it's hard not to. Mammon's hair is thick, but soft.
Your hand slides back, angled slightly downwards, toward the nape of his neck. You reintroduce your knuckles there, allowing Mammon's skin to be greeted by your fingernails along the way, and strands of the short hairs on the back of his neck are effortlessly caught between your fingers in the process. They might be rougher than the longer hairs on the rest of his head. It's hard to tell, because they slip out of your grasp by the time you finish your caress.
He whimpers.
Experimenting with another short tug results in a similar reaction, with Mammon closing his eyes, tilting his chin down subconsciously, as if to give you a better angle.
You return to scratching the back of his neck, using only one fingernail this time, bumping into tufts of short hairs with every wiggle. You are moving slowly, carefully enough that each individual hair almost feels like an obstacle, regardless of how small it is.
Mammon huffs, following a moment of this, daring to open his eyes halfway. “Whaddya think – are all humans this crazy? I've met demons that're more predictable.”
Just for a moment, you pull back, realizing what you're doing might have started getting out of hand. Mammon doesn't seem any happier about the loss of contact, but it doesn't hurt to ask. You wait until he finishes sighing, so deeply that you can clearly see the rise and fall of his chest, before asking.
"Sorry," you mumble. That part is reflexive, almost to the point of being a bad habit. The “almost” is a lot less debatable now that you live in the Devildom, where you are possibly the only creature that's habitually apologetic. "Want me to stop?"
"'s all right."
Mammon is normally among those telling you to not to say “sorry” over everything. Demons will take advantage of that weakness; “don't feel sorry for no one”. Even when Mammon himself says he's sorry for doing something, he immediately looks at you and tells you never to say those words in the Devildom.
He's not exactly reprimanding you for that now.
Right now, he is clearly speaking through his teeth, jaw clenched so tight that the words can barely squeeze past. You almost can't hear him. His eyes have stopped fluttering open and closed in the last minute or so, remaining shut, like he's suddenly very determined not to see you.
"He's also a masochist," you remember someone, almost certainly Asmo, telling you the first time you'd met him.
"Pardon me?" You want to hear him say it again.
He doesn't immediately respond in the impatient second and a half you initially give him, so you prompt again, "A little louder?"
"It's fine!" He grunts. "I kinda like it…"
You reward him by pulling on his hair again. He, in turn, rewards you with another whimper. This one is louder. His entire face, from the eyes he is now squeezing shut to the mouth pressed into a thin line, is constricted like he's Asmo staring at a nunnery.
"He's also a masochist," the sound of Asmo's voice plays in your head one more time.
Indeed.
"That part is important."
For now, you're just going to tuck that information into your pocket. Maybe you'll use it tonight. Perhaps not. You still don't have the slightest clue what you're doing right now, after all. Turning Mammon on wasn't something you'd really intended to do, but it's not too late to begin dialing back.
"Good boy," you say, swearing it will be the last instance of you teasing Mammon for the night.
Mammon opens his eyes at that, finally, and they're a blue like the human world sky, gold like the sun. A comparison you'd never made before, but take note of now that his pupils have shrunken to near non-existence. You could watch a sunrise in those eyes.
For a second, you believe he's going to argue with you.
"Do it some more," he whines instead.
You have no idea which “more” he's referring to, but your hands return to his hair to grant his request. The four strands, located on the side of his head, from when you started this game are still sticking out; you think briefly about smoothing them down, before deciding to muss up the rest of his hair instead.
Your next assault begins when you shove both hands into his bangs, and lifting the strands with your fingers until they form little peaks on the top of his head. Mammon's sunglasses, in your excitement, are knocked slightly further down his nose than they used to be.
“You want me to call you a good boy?” you ask, temporarily forgetting your self-made promise not to bully him anymore. That seems to do the trick, because Mammon is turning the brightest shade of red that you've ever seen him. “Are you my good boy?”
Like the tsundere he is, his voice is full of feigned displeasure and indignation as he grumbles, “Not a chance...”
Biting back a laugh, but still permitting yourself to smile, you run your dominant hand through his hair, sweeping it toward the back of his head once more. Shortly after passing the curve of his ear, you retrace your path, creating a trail of your movements. Mammon's hair is thick, and he clearly has an opinion different from Asmo's on how much product should be used.
Leaving the palm of your first hand to cup his cheek, you pat the hair on his forehead smooth again with your second hand. This is the closest you've gotten to one of Mammon's normal post victory head pat rewards so far, so of course he ruins it by catching your hands with his.
“Okay, an' that's enough,” Mammon says, words falling out of his mouth faster than normal. He's still flushed, but the way he looks at you indicates that he's at least trying to be annoyed. “If we don't catch up with the other two soon, they're gonna start wondering what's takin' so long.”
Reluctantly, you find yourself inclined to agree, although Mammon isn't exactly forcing your hands away from the tufts of his hair. His fingers circle around yours, and you swear his grip only gets tighter the harder you try to separate yourself from him. “Mammon,” you call him, and it's only thanks to Mammon's reaction toward hearing you say his name that you're finally able to tug your hands away from him.
Your hands are already missing the warmth of his. Mammon himself looks disappointed to lose his points of contact, evidenced by the weightlessness of his shoulders and the way his hands sort of hover in front of him, still curved into half circles.
You've learned something about Mammon today, you realize.
As the two of you walk together, you match Mammon's steps. Every so often, your elbow bumps into his side not-so accidentally, and you relish the full body shudders he makes in response. You hold his hand, and you watch the sky light up in his eyes.