He is not merciful. Jhin never expected him to ever be, but he still notes it all the same, an eager mark that tucks itself under his tongue when Swain's hand drags up around his slender throat.

The grip Jericho Swain delivers thrums with warm energy greater than either man could ever become. The red glow keeps the skin over Jhin's pulse warm, and Swain's knuckle presses into the underside of Jhin's jaw, tightly wound and cutting the hisses into fragments of air. Jhin breaks a smile all the same, teeth grit and body leaning back into the Grand General.

In the pattern Swain's shown, when he takes breath from Jhin like he never deserved it, only to give it back before the slip of black rests permanently over his eyes - he recedes his hand. Jhin breathes in, quietly.

"Such terrific power," Jhin all but admits, the dust of a laugh teasing over his serpent tongue. He turns his head to graze the curve of Swain's hand, like a taunting nuzzle. "Am I simply being treated to a display of Noxian power, or do you take everyone to bed like this?"

"It depends on how they behave," Swain replies, marking his words by drawing Jhin closer with the arm over his hips, rear pressed to the front of his body. Jhin indulges in a sharper smile, but Swain doesn't betray the steady gaze of deep intent. "Do they try to amuse me? Talk back, delude themselves that I am an easy man to taunt? Or, am I blessed with their complicit silence?"

"You wouldn't want that from me, General," Jhin remarks, turning his head forward again so he may be held back some more, Swain leaning forward into the crook of his neck to breathe, kiss something faux-affectionate to keep the warmth between them building. "You have told me yourself, you find what I have to say interesting."

Swain twists him so that his body curves back into his own - flexible, yet strains with such a bright, illuminated force of power over his throat - until his Demon exhales something unsteady, like power receding, taken away - like the tide. The hand down the front of Khada Jhin's is far more human, yet still treads the length of his skin with the same great touch as the warm, stone-like fist of emperors does on his throat. Swain touches what he likes best about him, and Jhin's smile strains by the jaw.

"Only when you are to speak at all," he croons into his ear, then drags his eyes down to how he rests between their bodies.

Swain has placed himself between the two cheeks of Jhin's rear, dragging himself up against his body with every grip and twist. With great ease, he leans Jhin forward, bare and stripped just for him - and he goes as the General wills, with all the precaution of a man who thinks just how to rip himself out from the will of another as he plays along. Giving, taking - Jhin continues to reach for the idea that he can twist the words of Jericho Swain so that he may find and edge to bite at, just so he can say that he has done so. Swain yet doubts that Jhin thinks he could rip control from him - but the threat?

Just enough for it to linger.

The idea of it makes Swain move the hand from neck to hair, holding it while he pushes the Demon apart.

He moves his legs, leaning his body over the edge of the bed's spread, for when Swain pushed already slick heat into him - soundlessly, until one hitch of Jhin's breathing catches, and Swain responds by pulling back on the hold he has in his hair to arch his back and wring the groan out more. The touch of attention excites him, peeling away the demure, coy mask he tries to wear just to reveal a hungry centre. The intrusion of thick Noxian stock presses further into him, and Swain takes those hips and pushes, pushes a little harder, the tip inside and breaking Jhin's voice again -

Harsh, but not unnecessarily brutal. He allows Jhin to adjust, but does not relent in his pressure, drawing him back to hook on to him, finding the way Swain can settle inside and feel wrapped in warmth. He's pleased that Jhin cannot see the smirk that plays over him - but if Jhin had eyes staring back at him through the mane of hair unveiled, Swain does not think he would be surprised. Affirm his belief in demons and what they do to men - but that is something to muse for another time, with no place inside his Demon.

Does he curse? Perhaps he does - some expletive as Swain hilts himself, pushed inside and leaning over Jhin's more lithe body, pushing him down on to his arms for support. Jhin's cries sharpen when Swain moves himself, forward and back, pressing deep inside with slow and precise movements - Swain himself responds with a sharp, rough grunt, a gasp of air when pushes into him with anticipating desire. He leans forward and then presses Jhin down, hand over hip and the other supporting the General's body, crashing into him with all the urgency that kept silent inside, waiting below the surface.

Jhin says something, but he cannot parse what - something close to the cry of a word, yet loses shape and meaning when Swain fucks into him once more, pushing himself deep inside with each deliberate thrust that builds to a harder rhythm. Maybe it's a demand. If it is, then that is why Swain's hand gripped his throat tight before - only now, the crimson hand rests at the side to support his upper body leaning over.

Jhin pushes himself on to his arms properly, giving himself more space to breathe, gasp, fall apart no matter how he pulls himself back together - in the intertwining of their breaths, bodies and urgency, Khada Jhin does speak - "Come now, General, more, more-"

- To which Swain lurches forward a little harder, the hand that supported himself by Jhin's head now placed firmly on the back of his hair and pressed down into the bed, roughly holding him down and muffling the sharp cry of Ionia's own monster. Swain delivers a harder thrust, knees pressing into the hanging blanket to keep himself close and inside, harder and harder and harder into Khada Jhin until he manages to turn his head into the sheets and breathe once more. Gasping nothing but urgency and desire - not a word, voice taken, and that is what makes Swain finally grin.

"There," he says, almost to nothing at all, a rough grunt following his idle word. He sways forward and grabs at the hips once more, the crimson grip snapping down and holding Jhin with both hands, furiously pushing into him to search for the cord to snap. The flutter in his chest erupts, and Swain snarls something in a gravel shout when pulling Jhin into him and pumping him full of Noxian seed, delivering his finish with harsh and sharp thrusts deep into Khada Jhin. Jhin's body is wracked with vicious hands and a thick length pressed far inside of his core, and the sound he makes is something Swain thinks is erotic.

With a pull against his hips to spill his finish forward, Swain heaves a deep exhale and releases his hold on Jhin, firm grip on his narrow bones finally relieved when Swain slowly begins to pull out. Jhin mumbles something like an unsteady groan when Swain removes himself, now void of such divine length buried in him. Swain holds himself as he withdraws, and then takes a step back from the spent and worn Khada Jhin - who, in turn, draws his arms in to support his head, turning it around after catching his breath.

A smile.

"You've impressed me once more, General." There's enough honesty and humility in his worked voice to tell Swain he isn't taunting him.

Swain has already turned to seek the clothing he discarded in their affair. "As you were, assassin."