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One of these days Akimichi Chouji would be the name on everyone’s lips.
Shikamaru felt it keenly as he sat across from Chouji at the Akimichi breakfast table watching his friend heartily eat. When he’d shown up that morning he hadn’t really been hungry, but Chouji’s mother had invited him in and set a plate of fruit before him, tsking over the lack of meat on his bones and worrying for his stamina. She was such an openly sweet lady — a direct contrast to his own mother — that he couldn’t refuse. Chouji had inherited his mother’s big heart and Chouza’s sensitivity and understanding. He was powerful without cruelty, humble, and slow to anger. Though most would say his kindness was a weakness, Shikamaru thought it was Chouji’s best trait.
And one of these days some girl was going to notice Akimichi Chouji.
They were growing up. Soon his best friend would start talking marriage and carrying on the family name as he was the sixteenth generation Akimichi and next in line to be Head of the Clan. Shikamaru thought he could handle it. He knew he would be supportive if that’s what Chouji wanted. He didn’t mind as long as Chouji’s future wife wasn’t some pretty, privileged, airhead who had disparaged guys like Chouji her whole life. Chouji deserved better, and a girl like that didn’t deserve him.
Shikamaru popped the last orange slice into his mouth.
He thought all this like it was a foregone conclusion, when it shouldn’t be.
These days Nara Shikamaru was the one Akimichi Chouji followed around. And if Chouji’s attention strayed it would be Shikamaru’s fault for having recognized his potential but doing nothing about it.
Chouji’s mother removed his plate and gifted him with a fond smile. “I know your chuunin work keeps you busy, but you should come by more often.”
Shikamaru nodded and promised he would.
She crossed over to her son, kissed him on the forehead and told him she was on her way to the market. When her eyes met his across the distance, Shikamaru thought he saw approval swimming in their depths. Then she was gone.
He sat across from Chouji wondering why he felt like he had missed something.
If he counted the number of days since he and Chouji were . . . since the world had ended — then that number equated to years more than months.
They were friends.
They were friends who kissed on occasion. Chouji’s mouth was always hot and eager, usually tasting vaguely of barbecue; chasing Shikamaru’s lips when he tried to withdraw before Chouji was satisfied.
They were friends who engaged in heavy make out sessions, hands fumbling yet gentle as they explored each other’s bodies through and under their clothes. Shikamaru couldn’t get enough of touching Chouji. He loved the softness of Chouji’s skin; the indents his fingers made in the flesh, that indulgent grin that Chouji tried to hide as he watched Shikamaru’s completely enthralled face. Chouji was well aware of his fetish.
Shikamaru was a friend who had been known to sit atop Chouji’s lap and feverishly grind their crotches together in the fields where only the clouds could watch. And Chouji was the friend who moaned his name as he came in his pants and never mentioned the mess afterward.
Shikamaru scowled. When he thought about it, he realized Chouji always initiated those occasions in his subtle way — a hand to Shikamaru’s back to shift him closer, a question whispered directly into Shikamaru’s ear. It was too easy; he couldn’t help but take advantage.
But.
Nara Shikamaru wasn’t taking enough advantage though, and Chouji warranted more than that.
“Shikamaru, are you okay?”
The Nara came back to himself to find his best friend watching him with concern radiating from his eyes. He sighed and answered, “I’m working on it.” Because he didn’t lie to Chouji.
Chouji shrugged.
And Shikamaru thought that if he didn’t already love this Akimichi then that would have sealed it. Chouji didn’t nag. Didn’t fuss. Didn’t argue. Didn’t need to fill the silence with words. He knew that just his presence was enough and that if Shikamaru had wanted to say more, he would have.
Finished with his plate, Chouji stood and stretched. “I left my tool pouch in my room. Are you coming?”
He didn't wait for an answer, merely turned around and exited the room as Shikamaru watched with narrow eyes riveted to his best friend’s retreating back.
One of these days someone was going to realize that ‘fat ass’ wasn’t an insult when it came to Akimichi Chouji.
Shikamaru stood and followed.
Chouji was riffling through his pouch in a final weapons check when Shikamaru entered the room and slid the door closed behind him. Chouji was an inch taller than him and outweighed him by approximately seventy-five pounds. Though he knew how the Akimichi Clan’s jutsu worked, Shikamaru believed that Chouji would have looked the same even if he had been of another clan. He had to have a body equitable to his loyalty and kindness.
Most people would say that Chouji was Shikamaru’s shadow, he was nothing without the Nara backing him, but to Shikamaru Chouji wasn’t an afterthought.
He was the only thought.
The only person Shikamaru wanted beside him.
He sighed as he realized he was about to do something troublesome and against his nature. But Chouji was worth it. Shikamaru’s flak jacket fell to the floor. He pulled his shirt over his head and let it join the jacket in a pile.
He determinedly crossed the room and placed his hand on Chouji’s arm to stop his count. Chouji’s eyes were instantly on him, questioning though he didn’t say a word. Shikamaru offered a smile as one hand took the pouch and let it fall to the floor while the other slipped up Chouji’s arm and around his neck. Shikamaru leaned forward, brought their heads together and pressed his lips to Chouji’s in the way he always did. A way that let Chouji know he was interested even if he didn’t always show it, even though he complained, despite his laziness. He never wanted Chouji to think that he wasn’t appreciated or that he wasn’t desired.
“Take off your clothes,” Shikamaru whispered. He stepped back and shimmied out of his trousers before spreading himself out on Chouji’s full-sized bed to watch his friend strip.
Regardless of his height to weight ratio, Chouji was completely proportionate, delightfully stocky, and wrapped in an extra layer of health. The size of Chouji’s ass alone was a thing of beauty; as Shikamaru’s eyes devoured every inch of flesh laid bare his hand moved on its own to stroke his aching cock and he thought that he wanted to be possessed by Chouji, hold all of him between his legs as Chouji fucked him. His eyes crawled up from Chouji’s toes, to his powerful thighs, dribbling erection, round belly, prominent nipples, the nervous swallow in his throat, to his rosy and plump cheeks. Chouji flushed even more and Shikamaru tried to meet his eyes but his friend wouldn’t look at him. He was embarrassed, Shikamaru realized.
“Sorry,” the Nara said and averted his gaze.
Chouji scratched at the back of his neck and ducked his head self deprecatingly. “Don’t be. I’m actually really flattered that someone as amazing as you would find somebody like me attractive.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Chouji,” Shikamaru stated.
His friend smiled and lay down beside him on the bed. His hand replaced Shikamaru’s on his cock, jerking slowly as he pulled Shikamaru close and kissed his cheek. “Only you think that.”
Shikamaru adamantly shook his head. “It’s not just because I have a . . . a thing for big-boned —”
Chouji was kissing him.
Shikamaru kissed back.
He molded his body alongside his friend’s. Hands unable to keep still as they mapped Chouji. They buried in Chouji’s hair. Squeezed his buttocks. Fondled his balls. He could hear Chouji moaning his pleasure. Could feel Chouji doing the same to him. Though, those hands were tender, almost reverent.
“Chouji,” Shikamaru began between kisses to various parts of the Akimichi that caught his attention. Chouji’s hands cupped butt-cheeks as he maneuvered Shikamaru on top of him and Shikamaru could scarcely catch his breath as their dicks touched. It was familiar. He was very set in his ways and Chouji knew that. Shikamaru didn’t want to keep his hips still, wanted to grind against his friend in the rhythm he knew they both enjoyed.
But.
“Chouji,” he panted.
“Mm?”
“I want to do more than that this time.”
There was a pause as Chouji processed, beady black eyes boring into Shikamaru’s before he nodded. “Ok.”
He sat forward and twisted so that he could reach his discarded tool pouch and dig inside. His hand emerged with a small covered pot. Shikamaru slid off Chouji’s lap and bent over onto elbows and knees, grabbing a pillow to cuddle almost as an afterthought. A moment later his friend was behind him, large hands ghosting over his rear before the left moved in and tentatively placed a finger marinated in gel to his hole. In an outward spiral from his pucker Chouji massaged the ring in tight circles, the gel melting into oil at the touch of body heat.
Shikamaru couldn’t quite catch his breath. The finger disappeared for a second and then returned with more salve, countering its earlier circles until Chouji’s oiled digit was carefully dipping into his quivering entrance.
One was nothing. Shikamaru sighed, enjoying the unique sensation of Chouji’s finger stroking inside him. There was another pause, more lube added, and then the fingering continued. Shikamaru squirmed as one finger gradually began to feel more like two. He moaned, widened his knees a little more, gasped at the feel of Chouji’s hair tickling his thighs as the Akimichi’s free hand pulled Shikamaru’s cheeks further apart. Chouji’s hot mouth latched on to one of his balls, suckling it, even as what could have been two fingers started feeling more like three.
The Nara was fairly certain Partial Multi-Size ninjutsu had not been created for this purpose, but was ridiculously gratified all the same. “Chouji . . .” he rasped, ass rocking back desperately.
“Mm?” Chouji answered, because his mouth was full. But that minor vibration may as well have been a scream that could shatter glass. That’s what it compared to. Like his cock was full of windows and they’d all been blown away as Shikamaru came unexpectedly and explosively, mind blanking, shouting into Chouji’s pillow.
When he came back, Shikamaru found himself trying not to think about Chouji’s mother lamenting his stamina just that morning.
It was another second before he realized the Akimichi had repositioned them, thrown Shikamaru’s legs over his shoulders and gripped a hip with one hand to hold him steady as he eased inside. To Shikamaru’s surprise Chouji’s cock was much larger than the multi-sized finger he’d prepared him with. Shikamaru could only bite back a whimper that was both praise and a curse as his body stretched to accommodate, almost uncomfortably full.
Leave it to Chouji to underestimate his worth, Shikamaru groused, but he was pleased. The drag of Chouji’s dick thrusting into him created a burn that was strange yet wonderful. The look on Chouji’s flushed face was one of absolute ecstasy. He really couldn’t ask for more.
Because one of these days someone was going to notice how awesome Akimichi Chouji was, and then Shikamaru would no longer have Chouji all to himself.
Shikamaru hunched over the shougi board for his ritual match with his mentor, more relaxed than he could ever recall being. The game was almost over, the sky was bright, the clouds plentiful, and Chouji had promised that the errands he had to run wouldn’t take too long. They would go gazing as soon as the Akimichi was done.
“So.” Asuma made his move. It was a bad one, placed him right in the Nara’s territory. With one or two — “You and Chouji finally did it, huh?”
Shikamaru’s gaze lifted from studying the board. He was certain that a startled deer expression had taken over his face, but he couldn’t school it.
Asuma smirked, took a drag on his cigarette and expelled the smoke into the air. “Don’t worry, it’s subtle, but you’re still doing the ‘I took it up the ass’ walk.”
There was cough and a crash on the other side of the shoji screen.
“Checkmate,” Shikamaru muttered and moved the piece that would end the game, taking some satisfaction in Asuma’s swearing even as he knew his cheeks burned with embarrassment.