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yozakura

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The cherry blossoms bloom earlier in Hokkaido, ringing in spring as early as February. Surrounded by Hershey’s kisses and strawberry shortcake, the island wakes up from winter’s brief respite.

Nothing is as romantic as a spring wedding. It’s a common opinion to have, and Kojiro and Kaoru are no strangers to it. They married in April, when the Hokkaido blooms are but a pink memory Kojiro can only recall in his husband’s elaborate updo he wore that day.

Kaoru likes viewing the cherry blossoms.

Kojiro likes viewing Cherry Blossom.

And so, each year the couple enjoy their own viewing party in the late-winter months with a pink themed picnic thanks to Kojiro. They perch upon an abandoned skatepark they used to haunt during their angstier teen years with cold sandwiches and vending machine oolong, legs kicking against the battered ramp. The blossoms can only be seen vaguely, reaching out over graffitied drywall and chain link fences. Visions of two young boys with pierced lips and grubby school uniforms pass them by and they watch spring approach for another year.

Each year, they agree to view the cherry blossoms again for their anniversary. Kaoru commands Carla to book a fancy hotel in Kyoto, and Kojiro places his trust in a sous-chef Kaoru doesn’t bother to learn the name of. Yozakura, they call it. Night viewing of cherry blossom blooms illuminated by paper lanterns in the streets of the sprawling city. Kojiro claims they don’t have to travel so far to look at some trees, but he also keeps a polaroid picture under his pillow of Kaoru smiling under a torii gate in Gion surrounded by white-pink petals, so what does he know.

This year, they arrive to their hotel in Kyoto grumpy and tired. It’s late afternoon, and the journey was arduous. Loud tourists, one particularly distressed baby and Kaoru’s aching feet did little to make the day pleasant for anyone involved.

They agree to take a nap and go out later in the evening to see the sights. Kaoru’s hair is slightly dishevelled, and his chubby cheeks puff up into a pout as he begins to protest for a moment. Kojiro can tell by his demeanour and dark circles that it’s insincere, shrugging off his outer clothes and crawling into bed.

Kaoru sneaks under the covers behind him and presses his soft stomach into the small of Kojiro’s back. They both smile beneath the sheets and drift off into a well-deserved slumber.

 

Small streaks of light pool into the room between gaps in the room’s lacy curtains. It’s late – later than Kojiro would have liked – and the only backlight comes from Kyoto’s bustling nightlife. This room was chosen for its location, once you leave the hotel’s front door, you’re spilling right into the heart of the old city surrounded by tourists and locals alike. Kaoru looks especially beautiful in his modest clothing, delicate and refined like he’s stepped out of an ukiyo-e painting.

Kojiro rolls over to see his husband looking back at him with bleary eyes and a pink crease across his round cheek where he’d smooshed it into the pillow.

“Hey.”

He replies in a soft voice, leaning over to crowd Kaoru into his arms. He’s pliant enough, nestling between the strong arms enveloping him. Kaoru feels soft – more pillowy than the cushions he just slept on – and hums quietly against Kojiro’s meaty chest.

“We’re missing the blossoms.”

“I don’t care,” Kojiro shrugs. His husband’s petulance must have rubbed off on him. He chuckles lowly when he feels a plush pout press into his sternum. “We can go look tomorrow.”

Kaoru’s stomach growls. It’s been a while since they last ate something. This far into their marriage, his belly has grown as impatient as it has grown plump. Round and present in his lap, the luxurious aftereffects of a chef husband fill out his thighs and hips. Lying down does little to hide his shape and his belly lies between them.

Kojiro brushes his knuckles against his chubby husband’s indulgence. “I think it’s time we feed you.”

Kaoru scoffs. “I’m not going to die if I miss a meal, y’know.”

“You might not, but I’ll definitely die from guilt.”

He receives a smack upside the head for that one, ruffling his mossy green bedhead further. Pink blooms across Kaoru’s face, flower across his collarbones and flourish along the tips of his ears. It’s hidden behind nightfall’s grace, though the warmth radiates from him. Kaoru knows he’s gained weight since getting married, wedlock having triggered his own florescence. Even the thought flusters him, and there are definitely moments of self-doubt. Those moments quickly thaw from the sensuality that comes with being spoon fed panna cotta late at night after a hard day’s work.

Occasionally, Kaoru regrets letting go of the tight, lithe body of his youth. Frequently, Kojiro leaves his mind and body so numb he forgets he was ever concerned.

Until the next set of clothes grow snug.

Kaoru’s pale shoulder slips free from his yukata and falls underneath the bedsheet.

“You untied it?” Kojiro’s voice perks up like a puppy hearing a treat packet rustle.

Cherry mutters something he doesn’t catch.

“Mm?”

“’s ‘ight.”

“Louder, baby. I can’t hear you with your face in the pillow.”

“It’s too tight.”

Oh, God. Kojiro’s breath quickens, and he feels his blood prickle beneath his skin. It all must rush down south with how fast he begins to feel lightheaded. He reaches out to grab at his husband’s exposed shoulder, eager to rip his ripe body from the bedclothes concealing him. Kaoru doesn’t put up much of a fight, the thrill of being wanted so ardently deepening his skin’s lustre.

Once the sheet is removed from his body, Kaoru’s hands shoot down to cover his middle. His chest and paunch jiggle from the impact.

“Don’t look at me,” he begs weakly.

“But you’re so pretty.”

Kojiro’s fingers dance over the impossibly soft pockets of flesh that hang from his hips. Kaoru’s breathing stutters, sending a wave through the soft middle he desperately tries to hide.

“You like when I touch you.”

Eyes hungrily wash over his naked form, as pale and round as the full moon. Kaoru is flustered, but his signature scowl is dampened by a gently doubled chin that’s still debating taking up full residence upon his princely face.

Joe loves the changes that marriage has blessed Kaoru with. If he tries hard enough, he swears he could map out where each home-cooked meal has settled onto his husband’s body. He knows which crease began to form after their honeymoon in Rome. He feels the rolls protruding from his back like angel wings and (like their namesake) remembers Los Angeles. He remembers every time Kaoru begged him to let them get burgers for every meal he could when they were out there.

“Let me see,” Joe tries again.

Kaoru doesn’t relent, shielding his stomach from his husband’s lecherous gaze.

“My eyes are up here, you gorilla.”

“Yeah, yeah. They’re stunning. But let me see.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Kaoru’s fingers slowly trail up his body, skimming over the valleys of his plump form. They slip over his nipples on their way up, hovering over the peaks while Kojiro’s eyes follow the way his forefinger circles over the nub. Kaoru inhales deeply, deep heaving breaths washing through his body like waves. Enraptured, Kojiro drinks in Kaoru’s petal-soft figure.

Layers of thick fat cling to Kaoru’s belly and pad out his formerly thin hips, rounding out his Rubenesque shape. His arms are soft and pliant, and Kojiro relishes in the fact it looks like Kaoru has never worked a day in his life. So different to his own tightly muscled body. Every bulge of his own is well-earned from years in the gym, while Kaoru’s love handles and gently sloped breasts are a result of Joe’s incessant overfeeding. A plump thigh swings over Kojiro’s back, pulling him closer. They’re thick and jiggle with every movement like a berry fit to bursting.

Kojiro’s mouth begins to salivate.

And then, he sees them. Loud and tantalising. Mesmerising Joe with how delicately they wind around Kaoru’s bellybutton and down the rolls that adorn his sides like morning glory vines. Fat, pink stretchmarks – visible even in the washed-out darkness – stare back at him, the evidence of their continued debauchery and gentle perversion.

He paws at the rosy marks like a man starved, as if he could become one with them if he tried hard enough. Kojiro licks and bites and spends what feels like an eternity mapping out the texture of Kaoru’s stretchmarks with his fingers and tongue. The familiar taste of sweat and Kaoru lingers on his lips, cajoling him into sucking harder until small, pink peonies bruise his wobbly tummy.

Kaoru gasps. “J-Joe, please!”

“Kaoru. Let me fuck you.”

“But the cherry blossom display—"

Kojiro’s tongue digs into a fresh, sensitive stretchmark, relishing in the feeling of the deep ridge in his mouth. Kaoru squirms beneath him, the hard line of his cock bobbing against Joe’s muscled thigh.

“I have a cherry blossom right here for my eyes only. And he’s in full bloom, too.”

An ugly snort escapes Cherry, breaking him out of his reverie. “That line fucking sucked, you ingrate.”

“Mm, yeah. You’re still hard though. No underwear either, naughty,” Joe runs the pad of his thumb against a thrumming vein along Kaoru’s cock. In mere seconds, the man is writhing beneath him like a cat in heat. “Yeah, just like that. You want me, husband?”

With a pout on his chubby cheeks, Kaoru pulls uselessly at Joe’s clothes. “Off.”

“Lazy. Even on our anniversary, my dear husband won’t undress me?”

Kaoru shoots him a haughty look, as if such a thing is beneath him. He sits up, allowing gravity to let the yukata completely slip from his body. “Wear easier clothes then.”

Kojiro unbuttons his pants and kicks them to the floor. His cock begs to spring free from their cloth confines. Not yet. “Aw, you want me to wear a matching yukata with you? Maybe tomorrow, if you’re good.”

Kaoru folds his arms indignantly, but doesn’t deny the accusation. His breasts bunch up a little in his arms, and Kojiro notices a few silvery stretchmarks shine like gossamer from the streetlights outside.

And he pounces.

“God, you’re so sexy, Kaoru. I love you like this, all plump and juicy. You’re like a big, fat cherry, just for me to bite into.”

“I’ll kill you.”

Kaoru grinds his hardness against Joe’s, the shockwaves visible with how much his body shakes. His tits bounce from the movement, dusky nipples complementing pale, faded stretchmarks. They’ve healed well compared to the reds and pink wildflowers smattered across his stomach, ever-growing under Kojiro’s diligent green thumb.

Kojiro lifts Kaoru’s legs from under his knees and encourages him to wrap them around his lithe waist. He knows missionary isn’t Kaoru’s favourite position, but God does he need to see him right now.

“Death between these thighs is the only way I’d like to go out.”

He reaches over to the nightstand to grab the lube he knows the hotel keeps stocked. They have their own, of course, but time is of the essence. If he keeps Kaoru waiting much longer, it just might end up death via ample thighs.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” barks the mind reader, annoyance plastered across his flushed face.

Kojiro placates him easily with a slow, tender rub to his lower belly, right where his loose flab threatens to spill over his hips and droop towards his dick. “Shh, I need to prepare you well. No, don’t start. I know you can take it, but just let me have this.”

He squeezes a generous dollop of lubricant on two thick fingers and brings them to Kaoru’s centre. The familiar sensation makes Kaoru’s breathing hitch, and his body immediately allows him entry, eager to swallow up his fingers. The first slides in with relative ease and Kojiro shushes his husband with touches and kisses whenever he catches his rim with every knuckle.

Small pearlescent beads drip down Kaoru’s shaft, as warm and ruddy as the rest of his body. His body is easily manipulated by Kojiro. He’s posed and coaxed into throes of arousal, and his hands grasp at any part of Joe he can get his hands on. He squeezes the solid muscle of his bicep and feels it flex with each crook of his finger. Kojiro adds another and Kaoru’s fingernails dig.

“Please, please, please.” Kaoru squeezes his eyes shut, hyperaware of each jiggle that ripples through his body with every pump of Kojiro’s hand. His palm slaps loudly against Kaoru’s balls, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent room, interrupted only by the occasional moan and whine slipping from his tightly clamped lips.

His masked pleas and cut off moans rocket in pitch, and Kojiro knows he’s ready. He’d add a third finger, but he loves Kaoru too much to deny him of the burn he craves. Kaoru is pushed back again by the knees, his little belly pressing fondly against his cock, trailing precum in its wake. The excess flesh trembles harder against it, urging more pleasure to drip from him.

“You ready?”

“Koji—”

The complaint ready to spill from his lips is cut short by Kojiro’s hips snapping forward into him. The force is immense, and the sharp angles of Kojiro’s hipbones crash into the plush meat of Kaoru’s ass. Each pump threatens to bruise his dimpled cheeks. It’s an unspoken truth that as Kaoru has began slowly swelling in their marriage, Joe has responded by fucking him harder and harder.

He’s never been subtle about his appreciation for Kaoru’s pudgier body, openly admiring each roll and bulge straining against his clothes. At night, though, his honesty seeps from every pore. Unfiltered, animalistic need drips from Kojiro, and he folds Kaoru into a fat pretzel before pounding harder into him.

“Fuck—Kaoru!”

Sweat drips from Kojiro’s forehead onto Kaoru’s round cheeks and he smashes their lips into a frantic, salty kiss. His palms desperately claw at Joe’s dense deltoid muscles for purchase, his firm flesh novelty in soft abundance. Kaoru is always passive when it comes to sex, the role of a pampered pillow princess coming too easy to him. Even before growing more voluptuous and complacent, Kojiro has always put in the work.

Large hands clamp down on his soft, blubbery love handles as he clamps down on the impossibly thick cock spearing him open. Kaoru begs prettily on his cock, pleas and Joe’s name dripping from his lips in tandem with his rapidly dampening cock.

Kaoru barely has enough time to call out his husband’s name as he spills onto the underside of his bloated tummy, pooling into the stretched-out line that is his belly button. His voice is ragged, tears brimming in his eyes from overstimulation as Kojiro just keeps going, lost in his own rapture bubbling under the surface.

Kaoru’s legs dangle limply, Kojiro’s canting hips between them determined.

With a growl, he immediately pulls out his cock with just enough time to aim it at Kaoru’s tummy, cum splashing all over the pink stripes beneath his belly button. It pools between his stretchmarks, the texture of his poor, overtaxed skin a new (temporary!) home for his husband’s seed.

“I can’t believe you did that.”

“You begged me.”

Kaoru aims a pillow at Kojiro’s head perfectly and launches it, cringing when he feels cum drip down between the crease where his thigh and stomach meet. His belly smears the liquid all over his crotch and underside of his doughy gut.

“You’re dead, asshole.”

“You’re welcome for the great fuck, my wonderful, magnanimous, caring husband. Truly an appreciated anniversary gift.”

“If you’d paid attention, you’d know our anniversary is actually tomorrow. I’ll suck your dick when we get back from the viewing. But tonight? Death.”

Kojiro’s cheeks glow, the same shade as the petals he’ll no doubt be fishing out of their hair tomorrow night. It’s also the same hue as the freshly pink stretchmarks adorning the backs of Kaoru’s thighs he hasn’t noticed, and well, Kojiro will keep those to himself for now.