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Lyon and Menenius had been fucking for years. It wasn't even a secret, much as Menenius had tried to keep it a secret from the rest of the IVth legion at first. Unfortunately, Lyon had a terrible habit of grabbing his arse in public or kissing his cheek or pulling Menenius into his lap whenever they chanced to eat in the mess with the rest of the IVth.
When Lyon had gone so far as to kiss Menenius in front of the entire IVth, that hadn't been a surprise, either. Of course, Menenius had brushed it off, shoving him away and calling him a horny brute.
And then demanded said 'horny brute' fuck him near senseless later once they were in their quarters. Naturally.
But never had the word love entered the equation. Not when Menenius had first allowed Lyon to stay the night, not when Lyon had bested him in a spar, and certainly not on the eve of what was shaping up to be the final battle.
Okay, so maybe the Diablo Armament had been a bad idea, in hindsight. But it was supposed to put down their damned enemy once and for all, not be so soundly bested and then come back to life and shoot a beam of horrid, crackling green energy at the pair who had tried their hardest to win.
And now Menenius lay in Lyon's arms, blood bubbling from his lips with each breath, the chest of his armour pierced through with a smoking hole.
"Thought ye didn't care," said Lyon, his voice a rasp from smoke and emotion both. Because Menenius didn't care, certainly not about him, he'd said as much so many times. So then why-
Menenius coughed, a wet, awful sound, sagging back further into Lyon's grip even as the place fell apart around them thanks to the Diablo Armament's death spasms.
"Oh, you stupid old man," said Menenius, his breath wheezing, voice weak. "Of course I cared, I wouldn't have let you fuck me otherwise. You're hardly... that good a lay."
"Beg t'differ," said Lyon, and felt a tremble as Menenius tried to laugh. But he was fading, and fast. They had to get out of here, had to-
"I've loved you all along, you old fool," Menenius rasped, trying his best to raise a hand to touch Lyon's cheek.
"Picked a hell of a time ta admit it," said Lyon. Menenius grinned, his teeth an awful red.
"Better late than never," Menenius whispered. He coughed, his breath rattling in what was left of his lungs. Something fell, landing just a little too close for comfort.
"Hells. Dawon!" Lyon roared, knowing that his beast had only retreated to lick his wounds after the previous battle. With a piercing screech, a giant winged creature flew through the hole punched in the ceiling of the Dalriada, his great wings kicking up dust.
"Leave me," Menenius protested, but Lyon scoffed.
"I don't bloody think so," said Lyon. "Deathbed confessions are beneath you, boy." After Dawon bared his teeth at the suggestion of carrying Menenius in his paws, Lyon shrugged and leaped upon the beast's back with his fallen comrade in his arms.
As the Dalriada continued to fall into ruin, a winged form burst from the ruins, winging away into the sky. To where? Well, nobody was to ever find out. Secret IVth business and all that.