"i am home, my dearest." the tyrant had been out of noxus prime in a particular frontline, teaching the enemies of the empire lessons about fear --- teaching them bending the knee was / always / the wisest idea. it's interesting that one of his first stops after is by the hemomancer's manor, not an ounce of care about possible questionings. most know by now not to ask about his personal affairs. flesh hand coming to vlad's chin, he tilts it upwards, half smiling. "now, how have you behaved?"
Vladimir is an unpredictable man, wild and capricious and utterly fickle, but when the tyrant comes to call, he makes certain to be present, and to devote his full attention to Noxus’s esteemed leader. Swain is the single most influential man in Runeterra these days, thanks to his expansionist campaign and the growing influence of the demon within him, and his time is a precious commodity, so it’s no surprise that the frequency with which he extends it to Vladimir has the blood mage preening. It hurts none that the man knows full well precisely how to poke and prod at the hemomancer to yield the reactions he needs, when to offer the carrot and when to apply the stick - and that he has come to understand that with Vladimir, the carrot is almost always more effective.
And what a treat Swain offers, sweeping into Vladimir’s parlor as he does with words of endearment falling from his lips like the sweetest venom. They both know that home means Noxus itself, but Vladimir does not miss the insinuation that his own manor is just as familiar and as comfortable for the grand general. Jericho extends a hand of flesh and blood to grip at the blood mage’s jaw, and the gesture puts one in mind of a man admiring a prized lapdog - fond and even affectionate, but undeniably possessive, and with a clear understanding of his own superiority.
Even so, Vladimir stretches under Swain’s attentions, very nearly catlike as his eyes narrow and he leans into that touch without a hint of shame. “That all depends, my love,” he murmurs in return, a grin that’s both playful and reverent stretching across his face. “On whose standards we’re applying.” He pauses, then presses in close, a hand of his own winding boldly around the grand general’s waist. His voice is soft with laughter as he continues in a whisper against the side of Swain’s neck.
“If we’re being honest, we both know that the answer is always that I’ve behaved poorly. Really, though - would you have me any other way?”
