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Lucifer had been fielding calls for several weeks from the owners of luxury businesses all over the Devildom. Apparently one of his brothers and a certain exchange student had visited and been subsequently temporarily banned from one car dealership, two banks and an uncountable number of jewellers stores. There had been an enormous repair bill for one of the changing rooms in Majolish after the door had "mysteriously" fallen off. And now it seemed as though they'd managed to score a ban from the casino.
"Just try to stay out of trouble," he begged MC and Mammon. "Just try. Please."
What followed was a full week of exemplary behaviour. In fact both MC and Mammon were behaving so well that it was enough to make anyone suspicious. Still, there was nothing Lucifer could actually prove. Perhaps they really had learned their lesson this time?
The truth was Mammon was entirely unrepentant, as always. He'd had the best time taking MC to his favourite places over the last few weeks and while he was vaguely apologetic about the extra wrinkles that had appeared on Lucifer's forehead he had no regrets about anything else.
MC on the hand was feeling a bit guilty. They'd made a point of pursuing Mammon while in the places that strongly triggered his greed, driving him to his most feral, demonic behaviour. That in itself wasn't what made them feel guilty.
MC simply felt bad because now Mammon had a temporary ban from all his favourite places and it was, at least in part, MC's fault.
After an entire week of good behaviour MC finally hit on an idea of how to make it up to Mammon. The casino wasn't the only place for gambling in the Devildom. Sure everywhere else might be low stakes, but it was still gambling. That had to count for something right?
It was Tuesday afternoon. MC hadn't told Mammon where they were going, wanting to keep it all a secret. MC even made Mammon keep his eyes closed the whole way as MC drove him to the venue.
When they arrived at the small community hall they told Mammon he could open his eyes and were amused to see him blinking in surprise. "Here?" he asked. "Are you sure?"
Nodding, MC giggled. "I know it's a bit different, but I think it will be fun."
Uncertainly Mammon grinned, "Well, if you're sure then let's do it!"
As they entered the little foyer to the hall they were warmly welcomed by a bustling bevy of grannies. Floral prints, curled and set hair, sensible orthopaedic shoes and big smiles were the order of the day. "You're just in time for weekly bingo," beamed Doris broadly, dragging them into the main part of the hall, introducing them to little old ladies everywhere and handing them their tally sheets.
"Now don't forget your dobbers," said Gladys, waving hers merrily. "We've got neon colours now, we do. Very flash."
MC laughed, then turned to Mammon and was surprised to see his face looked a little tense, his eyes glowing a brighter gold than they'd ever seen before.
As they sat at the table, uncapping their dobbers, listening to the hynoptic rattle of the bingo balls in the tumbler, MC realised Mammon really was tightly wound, his leg jiggling as he focussed hard on the page.
"11, THAT'S ONE ONE, LEGS ELEVEN, 11."
"Mamms?" they started uncertainly.
"42, FOUR TWO, THE MEANING OF LIFE, 42."
"Shh!!" came the collective whisper. "Game on."
"23, TWO THREE, YOU AND ME, 23."
As they worked their way through the first game, Mammon's hand crept under the table, working his way along MC's thigh. Stroking, teasing, tantalising his long fingers working their way along MC's thigh, dipping between their legs, tormenting them through the fabric.
"46, FOUR SIX, UP TO TRICKS, 46."
MC caught their breath, batting at his hand, thoroughly aroused and struggling to focus, dropping the dobber, smudging neon pink ink all over the page.
"Mamms, stop it, what's got into you?" MC hissed as quietly as possible hoping not to disturb the surrounding grannies.
"69, SIX NINE, NICE LADIES, VERY NICE, 69."
There was snickering titter that drifted through the room, as MC realised the tips of Mammon's horns were peeking at his hairline. What on earth was wrong with him?
"13, ONE THREE, A BAKER'S DOZEN, 13."
At the car dealership, the bank, even the casino he had been feral yes, but MC had never seen Mammon this close to losing control, his hands were shaking slightly, yellow neon ink going everywhere.
"83, EIGHT THREE, TIME FOR TEA, 83."
"BINGO!!!" came the loud cry across the room, followed by groans.
Mammon threw down the dobber and grabbed MC's wrist charging through the hall, dragging them into the small foyer. He looked around desperately as MC winced, attempting to pull their hand back.
His grip was tight, his knuckles white and MC was almost starting to feel alarmed as Mammon threw open the broom closet, tossed MC inside and then slammed the door behind them both.
Grabbing for MC he kissed them madly, devouring their mouth with a hunger that left MC lightheaded. His hands were on their ass, pulling them into him as he ground his hardness against them, frustrated by their clothing, extending his claws to shred the fabric.
The very air around him had changed and MC could feel his fully elongated fangs now grazing against their lips even as Mammon thrust his tongue into their mouth, never stopping. The movement of his wings stirred the still air in the closet. MC reached up, a hand tangled in his hair to feel his prominent horns, completely extended now.
He was entirely in demon form.
"Stop, stop," panted MC. "What is this?"
Mammon was breathless, gasping for air, his hands under their shirt now, shreds of clawed fabric barely covering MC's chest as Mammon's hands roamed across bare skin, desperately needing to feel MC against him.
"You didn't know?" he asked. Mammon visibly shuddered as he desperately tried to reel back some self-control, swallowing hard.
"It's alright," said MC, seeing the effort it was costing him, gently caressing his face, trying hard to reassure him.
Mammon closed his eyes, unable to let MC go. "All the places we've been, it's not the damn money. That's not what gets me. It's the attitude. All the desperation and need and want and the desire to risk it again an' again an' again just to get that win."
His eyelids snapped open, his golden eyes shone with the intensity of condensed suns in the gloomy broom closet. "There's only one group more hardcore than high rollers at the casino. I thought ya knew that when yer picked this place."
The penny dropped for MC and they blinked. "Bingo grannies. Bingo grannies ALWAYS have to win."
Mammon pulled at the waist of MC's trousers, the button popping open even as he dropped his forehead to rest against theirs. "Please MC please," he begged, his wanton need plainly displayed.
MC grinned, hands on his firm chest, rubbing themselves against him they leaned up to whisper in his ear, "Game on baby, game on."
From outside the broom closet there were audible thumps, bumps and moans heard through the door. Gladys raised an eyebrow at Doris and Beryl. "Well I can't say I blame them, that white haired fella is a very nice piece indeed."
Doris chuckled, "If I was 70 years younger I'd be giving him a run for his money. Heck, if I was 20 years younger even!"
Tutting disapprovingly Beryl chided "Doris, really."
Frowning Doris said "Yes, really. I'm only old, Beryl. I'm not dead yet."
As Gladys, Beryl and Doris bickered their way back into the main hall, the door to the broom closet opened.
MC blushed brightly, their knees still trembling even as they tried to straighten up the shreds of what was left of their shirt. Mammon chuckled, zipping up MC's jacket to cover the ruined shirt.
"Maybe it's time to go home," suggested MC with a grin, "You can drive. I don't think I'm up to it right now."
As they headed for the car MC a little ahead, Mammon looked down and stopped dead.
"What is it?" MC asked, turning around.
"Nuthin'," grinned Mammon, "Nuthin' at all. Let's get home."
And then he happily watched MC's neon yellow daubed ass, his handprints large and visible, one on each cheek, as they walked across the carpark to the car.