#the lyons share...again

So, let’s lay out the past couple weeks of utter hell:

Once Simba and Ber had come back from LA, everything was sunshine and roses. Quite literally. Ber had smelt of sunshine for days afterwards, like the two of them had bottled it up and carried it back with them. Ber’s skin had been tinged slightly pink by all that sun, on the tip of his nose and his cheeks and the tops of his shoulders from when they’d walked hand and hand down the pier. Simba had liked kissing those shoulders and that nose and those cheeks, like he could absorb that sunlight for himself.

Their sex life had been awesome. 

And then, Kiara happened.

Her snide remarks any time Simba so much as kissed Ber, made it impossible for Simba to feel like he could do it at all--in their own home. It was like Kiara had some kinda sixth sense, whenever his lips got anywhere near Ber’s she’d pop around the corner shouting about getting a room and making disgusted noises. 

Morning sex had become a source of constant interruption, Kiara coming to their bedroom door with bullshit this or that reasons or just straight up telling them she could hear them and to shut up.

Simba had--just--tried his best to ignore it. Wasn’t very hard for him, his desire for Ber was greater than his fucking annoyance at Kiara. Wasn’t quite true for his boyfriend, though.

The straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back came yesterday morning, when Simba was trying to sex Ber up before he had to get to his classes and he’d told Simba: no. Which, y’know, was fine, really. Simba didn’t wanna have sex with someone who didn’t wanna have sex with him, but the reason for that no? Because Ber was worried Kiara was going to come fuck with them.

It had left Simba unnecessarily grumpy and short-tempered the rest of the day, snapping at Kiara and Ber both, and Nala on the phone too, which, when she’d asked what the fuck was wrong with him, Kiara had helpfully chimed in that he wasn’t getting any--which had made Ber leave the room in a huff. 

The whole thing was a fucking disaster and he was done. 

So, the next day when Simba hauled Kiara’s ass to therapy, he spoke up first. Simba never spoke up first. It took Dr. Philips, like, half their session to even pry either of the Lyons’ mouths open. You could only imagine the shock on his face when Simba said:

“I got somethin’ I wanna say.” Complain about, was probably more accurate, but whatever.

“O-oh, okay, Simba, brilliant, please, go ahead.” 

Kiara was looking at him with a mixture of annoyance and confusion. Simba felt the urge to stick his tongue out at her. He felt very much like a kid tattling, but he didn’t give a fuck.