[Oh, now wasn't that a good question, one that cut to the core of the matter. It would be laughably easy to trap Chikusa Kakimoto into a world of Mukuro's own making, to drag him out of his physical body and down into hell, to lock him up in some ivory tower where no one else could look upon him or see him. The greedy and territorial portion of Mukuro would love nothing more, and clothing forgotten, he stalked over to where the priest was studiously avoiding his gaze. Gently, even though he wanted nothing more to slam his hands on either side of the priest's head and trap him so he had no choice but to look at him, he tipped the other man's chin so that their gazes met. Though in this form, he was shorter, his aura was still as large and encompassing as always, second only to his ego and avarice.]

A part of me would delight in that, to have you so wholly dependent on me. To put you somewhere where no one else could see you, touch you, or even breathe the same air as you. Because you are mine Chikusa Kakimoto, and no one else's.

[That last sentence might as well have been tinged with hell fire, his tone a hammered out steel. The priest was getting smart mouthed, becoming complacent. Mukuro had to wonder if he had forgotten who he belonged to.

He let his hand drop to his side, and he took a step, letting out a sigh. Oh, how easy it would be to bewitch and bespell his cute little priest. To make him lose all reason and sense of self. And yet, that was not why Mukuro was here. If he wanted an obedient puppet, he had legions. He wanted Chikusa Kakimoto to choose him of his own free will, for reasons he couldn't define. Boredom, perhaps. To see if he could, for another. But mostly because it seemed so obvious that the priest was his, and he wanted to hear that from the priest's own, stubborn mouth.]

But to do so would defeat why I'm here in the first place.