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The thing about it is, Doctor Ripley hired him to be a thief. Maybe not in so many words, but she'd needed someone crafty, someone quiet, someone who could slip in and out of shadows and find the weak point of a building, or a security team, or a body. She wanted a thief.
And thieves weren't good people. Kynan had learned that lesson the hard way.
It was why he squashed down any sneaking tendrils of guilt through his stomach as he slipped into her room at night and slipped back out with the glowing white crystal that let her peek in on Vox Machina, without her even stirring from her rest. He was good at what he did. She'd made sure of that, given him the training and motivation he needed.
Unlike some other people.
It was the motivation that had spurred him on tonight, under protective cover of a new moon, to renew his dedication, to fuel him in the days to come, to... to....
Just to listen. The first time she'd activated the gem, and he'd heard the voices - his voice...
He'd needed to know more. He discovered the nature of Vax'ildan's character when the bastard had left him unconscious in the dirt outside their keep, treated like filth for the crime of wanting to be him.
Be— Be like him.
He just needed to hear more.
Kynan pressed up against the wall of the tiny back water inn their troupe had taken up in for the night and repeated the motion he'd seen the good doctor do, circled his thumb over the gem's carved surface. "Valantir..."
And just like that, he heard them.
"—rubbish, the nonsense you pulled."
That was the lord. The one Doctor Ripley was obsessed with. Percival De Rolo - a figure he only vaguely remembered standing next to Vax'ildan on the first and last day he'd spoken to him, tall and broad shouldered with wealth positively stamped across his forehead, a privileged, pampered—
"Why am I the only one getting in trouble here, Pike went down too!"
That was him. Kynan's breath caught in his throat and he stopped it to make sure he wouldn't miss another word. The half elf sounded just as he remembered, and he could practically see his mouth curving with the words, could picture the sharpness of his eyes as he spoke. The two of them were arguing. Gods knew about what, maybe Doctor Ripley should be informed about this, maybe this was too serious for him to—
SLAM
He jumped at the audible bang of something hitting metal and then De Rolo's voice coming through again in a growled command, "You will not do that again, swear to me now."
The silence stretched for a long long moment, the tension intense enough that Kynan felt himself frozen too.
"You going to make me, De Rolo?" The sound that followed was a loud animal keen, strained and desperate like—
"You know I will. I'll get it out of you tonight one way or the other. Your only choice, Vax, is if it's the easy way, or the hard one."
Like someone had the rogue by the throat.
Kynan felt himself throb in the confines of his leathers and slid a shaky inch down the wall.
He knew a little about De Rolo. Enough, at least. Doctor Ripley had told him everything the man attempted to keep hidden behind the facade that all of Vox Machina wore as 'protectors of the realm'. He is brilliant and high born, blessed with more money and power than a common man could ever scrape together in a dozen lifetimes, utterly unwilling to share his creations with the world when he could instead hoard them for himself.
And cruel.
Vax'ildan may have begun adventuring with good intentions, but he allied himself with horrible people - the Terrible Tinkerer of Tal'Dorei himself.
And now... apparently, he's trapped with him.
It's enough to make Kynan bite his tongue to force down a groan of satisfaction as he listens to a series of increasingly desperate sounds. If De Rolo has him by the throat, he's squeezing now - can picture it perfectly in his mind's eye, broad strong hands around the bastard's neck.
Vax'ildan deserves it. Deserves worse.
"You will swear before the night is over," the voice says again, a low, calm order.
" 'Fuck'." Vax'ildan says, voice nearly emotionless in the base joke of it before there's a ragged noise and then a clatter of metal. Perhaps the half elf managed to drop those trusted daggers of his. Maybe he was defenseless now. Vulnerable. So weak without all those sharp edges.
Kynan's eyes slide shut as he sees it. Vax'ildan pressed to an unrelenting stone wall by someone taller and stronger than him, his knives scattered uselessly at his feet while he's held there by the throat. Wide hazel eyes are looking up at the person who has bested him so soundly, who managed to remind him that he's not so fucking untouchable.
He shouldn't. He's not a cruel man.
But his hand slides down to the front of his trousers at the thought, palms the front where he's steadily hardening in the confines of the leathers.
"Think you're funny. You think it's funny," De Rolo says, his voice so level and calm. It makes Kynan wish he could see it. Is he holding Vax'ildan against a wall right now? Does he have him pinned to the ground? Spread out over his table? Doctor Ripley has a work table, one covered with all manner of tools that could break or bind. The sounds go on. Those little desperate hitches to his breathing, the occasional creak of— leather? Wood?
And then there's a scuffle, the noise of something being dragged across stone, paper moving, maybe cloth, and then another helpless sound.
He doesn't fool himself that he has any sort of knowledge, but Kynan can't help but picture that De Rolo has shoved him down, maybe he's pulled out his own weapon to teach Vax'ildan a lesson. Not the Pepperbox that Doctor Ripley is so enchanted with, he must have a sword, some kind of weapon for close combat. The image of a blade drawing across the half elf's tanned skin... that would teach him.
Maybe that sound was him cutting his armor away.
"You drive me mad," De Rolo mutters, his voice sharp and stern, and Kynan can empathize with that, at least. Vax'ildan could drive anybody mad.
"You're not always a bed of roses yourself, you kn... no."
'No'. Vax'ildan could say no all he wanted. He could cry out as the sword cut his armor away, and then his clothes. He could shiver and snark as Kynan carved away all the protection he had, but he'd still be left raw and vulnerable to his blade.
"Ah!"
His breath caught in his throat at the cry, crystal nearly slipping from his grasp as he wrapped a hand around himself and squeezed before starting into a slow, tight rhythm. He wasn't a fool, and he wasn't naive. This wasn't just a fight, that was the sound of the half elf getting fucked.
How often did De Rolo do it? Did he even like to, was it the rogue's punishment? How did...
Heat rushed through him uncontrollably as he circled a thumb around the leaking head of his shaft, breath coming faster and faster as he slumped a little further down the wall.
How did Vax'ildan's face look right now? Was he pale and terrified? Flushed and resigned? Would he struggle, arch and squirm, or did he give in to what he knew was inescapable?
It would be inescapable, when their time finally cornered Vox Machina... Doctor Ripley was ruthless, and cunning, single-minded in her drive to overcome De Rolo, but she didn't care as much about the others, she— she wouldn't care if Kynan...
"F—fuck, oh gods—!"
He gave in, worked himself quick and dirty as the images rushed through his head, because she wouldn't care if Kynan cut away Vax'ildan's armor, she wouldn't care if he tossed him onto a stone floor, she wouldn't—
"Please— pleaseplease, Percy, I can't..."
"Will you— swear yet—?"
—care if he pressed his face down and hooked a knife around his throat, forced him to bare his long, graceful neck, Kynan could finally show him his quality—
"You're... fuck you, I'm not apologizing for... for..." The words cut off with a wordless sound of desperation and then—
"Fuck, you're so tight—"
He could grip Vax'ildan's hips and fuck him so hard he would never forget how deep he'd pressed inside. He could push his legs back up beside his head and keep him there on his cock until the half elf pleaded for his freedom. He'd see that shining fear in the man's eyes and then watch it twist into unwilling ecstasy, make him beg for it, beg for it, until he understood what he'd turned away.
Kynan was so close. He was so close.
"Oh— gods, gods—"
He could press a knife to the half elf's throat and watch him try to helplessly swallow down his fear, could feel that tight heat around himself as he watched Vax'ildan try to stifle his shouts and cries, could make him come so hard that he'd never be able to wash the taste of Kynan's name from his tongue.
"You look so gorgeous, my love, just come for me—"
And there at last, he'd found an order that the half elf seemed unable to resist because Kynan listened as his moans of pleasure pitched up into unrestrained shouts of ecstasy, on, and on, as he worked his own hand over himself desperately.
Vax'ildan sounded so fucking beautiful when he came, wild and wanton, his lips would be parted, rich hazel eyes the picture of pleasure, that handsome face colored with a garnet flush, and he would look up at Kynan and— and—
"AH...!"
His head dropped back on the wall, legs nearly buckling as he came harder than he ever remembered on nothing but his own fingers and the promises in his mind. He floated in that state of bliss in the minutes to come, pearly slick dripping from his fingertips as he gasped for breath and fumbled the stone in his clean hand. He could hear Vax'ildan breathing with him, like they were sharing the same precious heated air.
"... bastard," a low voice murmured, and Kynan almost brushed De Rolo's words out of his head, tried to ignore them as they continued. "Bloody prick..."
Vax'ildan laughed, open and easy even as the sound seemed curved or contorted in a way. Were his legs still pressed up besides his head? Was he bent over a table with the edge digging into his stomach? Was he underneath his lover, their weight making it a beloved chore to take a full breath?
He was torn from his wondering by the man's words, a gentle hum like he was murmuring in someone's ear. "I'm sorry for taking the risk... you know I do these things to protect you."
Kynan turned off the stone. He stood, alone and shaking, in the darkened space of his cramped room as those words settled like iron chains coiled in his stomach.
‘I did it to protect you.’
‘I did it to protect you.’
‘I did it to protect you.’
He didn't need protecting. He didn't need the half elf trying to protect him from the dangerous things of the world. He was one of the dangerous things of the world. And when he and Doctor Ripley caught up to Vox Machina, he'd prove it, reveal to all the world how they lied and killed and robbed to hoard power for themselves.
~
Months later, Kynan sits slumped on the edge of a battlefield, small dunes of glittering glass all around him as he stared at the ground.
Wrong. Wrong. He had been wrong.
Doctor Ripley was dead. She'd been using him all the time, and he'd...
He'd made himself easy to use. So clouded by what he'd imagined had been taken from him, but he'd...
He'd never wanted this.
‘I did it to protect you.’
The words echo in his head as a shadow falls across Kynan's face and he looks up to see the half elf standing over him, his face and his clothes spattered in blood. Some his own. Some the doctor's. Most his friends.
He looks exhausted - leaner and more worn than the last time they’d been face to face, and there drips of sweat or tears running down his cheeks, dragging the dripping scarlet into lines of pink that trail down his neck until they disappear into the black of his armor. None of it is enough to hide the sheer emptiness in the man's eyes as he stares down at him with all the cold fury of Erathis.
Kynan remembers the pain of waking up outside Vox Machina's keep, a swollen bump on the back of his head and humiliation soaked into his bones. So much ambition. So much resentment. So much rage.
Someone was crying nearby, maybe two. People hunched over the hurt and broken body of their friend as they tried to scrape themselves together. So they could go on and do what they had been charged to do, what they had to do and had no recourse to pull away from.
Vax'ildan had done it to protect him.
"I'm sorry," he manages, folding in on himself as he bows his head and bares his neck.