Excuses: four jobs, conventions, medical problems. I'm trying to get back into my stories. Thanks. -TPP

Thistle & Weeds

Chapter 3. "So tame my flesh and fix my eyes."

It's so strange to feel happy.

It's always seemed a blithe emotion, un-measurable, which in turn makes it the equivalent of discussing or pursuing the idea of pixie dust magic.

I'm pretty sure it's an emotion I've never felt before. It's warmth, contentment. My brain doesn't buzz as much when I think about Kenpachi.

I buzz, but its…different. I'm more focused, more, um…the word.

I just AM around him. And, so far, he doesn't mind.

Because he doesn't KNOW. He will, eventually. It's only a matter of time.

He understands that I'm not normal. I think he even respects me for it.

He's not normal either: he's refreshingly different, brilliant in his own way. I don't think he realizes he's a good man.

But when he picked on that waitress, when I heard his voice for the first time, it was like…there has to be a scientific explanation for it. Chemicals that had never been active in my brain before were starting to churn, my body giving me signals that yes, I was attracted to this man.

It had taken me by complete surprise. I'd never had a sexual thought towards another human being as far back as I could remember, and I can remember…

But Kenpachi. KENPACHI. Even his name is attractive.

The hairs on my arms had stood straight up, goose bumps piling along my spine. I checked my own pulse while he was distracted by my rambling: blood pressure too high. It usually was, considering the amount of sugar I consumed on a daily basis.

The brain needs lots of sugars, fats, lipids to – but I need to focus.

He's much quieter than I thought he'd be. His voice is deep: I'll admit I've thought about running experiments on that voice, the inflections, the subtle nuances that tell me when he's annoyed or flattered or tired.

He's interesting. He's a mystery all wrapped up in yummy-scarred skin.

Back to attraction.

I had been honest with Kenpachi when I told him labeling sexual preferences was a ludicrous notion, but I suppose it is hypocritical considering I had always thought myself to fall into the asexual category.

Puberty had been a very boring, yet very atypical, experience.

I grew hair, I experienced the need to masturbate, but it was never completed by thinking of a person. Not even an object, or an idea. A biological need as ancient as the earth itself. Stress relief.

Being a senior in high school at the age of twelve, going through puberty at a time when teenagers are at their meanest, was made easier by the fact that I was too young to be thought to be pursued by my 'peers', although when I became a professor, attraction from males and females alike became a bit of its own tedium.

I always felt a little bit guilty that I could never reciprocate, whether biologically or emotionally.

I understand beauty, I appreciate it, but attraction: that's an entirely different animal.

So honestly, honestly, I was lost as to what to do when I realized that my body was very much attracted to a six foot four yakuza covered in tattoos and scars.

I've been a natural observer my entire life: the yakuza's body language, dilated pupils, and visual fixation on my oral orifice were all the triggers I needed to understand that this was mutual.

So, not only was I attracted to him, he was also attracted to me.

The scientist in me was more than eager to participate in a variety of experiments.

However, the inexperienced, virginal part of my brain was panicking.

My brain may have eidetic memory, but it can also make me blind to social norms.

It's not that I don't see them or know them for what they are, but that I am almost incapable of performing them for myself. My brain, from a scientific standpoint, is something that neurologists would give their right arm to study, but from an emotional standpoint, my brain is on the maturity level of a hyperactive eleven year old.

Again, one reason I believe I have never been attracted to another person before.

I can count the amount of hugs I've had on one hand, including the ones given to me by my parents.

But…no, I don't want to think about them right now.

I'm not an affectionate person. Verbally, perhaps, but usually only with my waitresses or the occasional peer or student. I never thought I HAD to be: I've always been a loner, a one-man island.

So when I started getting erections and wet dreams, I knew this (fixation?) was something beyond even my body's control.

My mind wants him too, I think.

It's hard to explain my brain: it's one reason I don't want Kenpachi asking me about it. I know he's curious, I could see it on his face, but he doesn't push me about it.

And then we had such a good dinner, and I blabbed on and on and ON, and I was so nervous I could feel my palms sweating, and my pulse was up again, and all my body could think is HE'S HERE HE'S HERE HE'S IN MY PERSONAL LIVING SPACE.

Although I'm inexperienced, I recognize foreplay, another social norm that people feel compelled to participate in; a ritual to sexual rights. The instinct to procreate is one of the strongest drives in the human psyche, but Kenpachi is no woman.

Didn't stop me from thinking about it, though. Him, me, us, together…everywhere and anything.

The problem is that my brain obsesses over things, but I also lose interest very quickly. Or I forget. A professor tried to explain it to me as a computer system: that my mind becomes so overwhelmed with 'incoming data' that bits and pieces get deleted automatically, or certain short-term sensory information that my subconscious doesn't need is thrown in the Recycling Bin. Since I was a toddler, my brain was like a hard drive, something I had access to at any given time.

As I got older, not only did I have a hard drive, I was capable of expanding that hard drive, like a professional gamer may rely on an external hard drive to carry with them everywhere.

Two power banks, accessible at any given moment in time.

It makes me a manic multi-tasker.

Because it never stops. It never SHUTS UP.

If I focus enough, or not at all. If that makes sense.

I'm so sensitive to incoming sensory data that I can, in a sense, short-circuit my brain.

I can damage my own hard drive.

One reason I'm incapable of close relationships.

I can recite the entire Bible from memory but I can't remember a coworker's birthday.

I write journals on astrophysics while watching Family Guy.

My mother forced me to take violin lessons when I was seven. I surpassed the tutor in six days.

THINGS are easy for me. PEOPLE are hard.

SEEING people is easy: observing them, studying them, but KNOWING them? I'm a blind man.

Kenpachi is DATA DATA DATA, all the time. Sensory, like smelling and hearing, I'm almost completely overwhelmed.

So to even THINK of adding PHYSICAL contact, to TOUCH…

But then Kenpachi kissed me, and honestly, it DID feel like he re-routed my brain. My whole body was buzzing, the blood pumping a half a dozen different chemicals through me, my taste buds exploding with all the new (and incredible) sensory data.

And it was AMAZING because – because my brain had finally SHUT UP. Even if it was for a few seconds, it was an incredible feeling. Like skydiving, the moment you feel the parachute pull your weight, that bob, that knowledge that yes, you are anchored.

I was startled at the intensity of the one single, blinding thought, of words like MINE and MATE, words that I never thought of or used.

To be possessive, to harbor sentiment for another human being…

How do people with normal brains handle this much intensity?

So I continued to kiss him, enjoying the feel of the metal stud in his mouth. It became clear in the next twenty two seconds that I was, in fact, extremely hard.

I'd never had the sensation of a trapped erection before. Weird that I didn't think it was that unpleasant.

"Shit," Kenpachi murmurs, pulling away from my mouth, one of his hands on the side of my neck, "You moan like that again and I'll end up breaking you on the table."

I'd moaned? Well, it made sense, considering how absolutely, spastically turned on I was at the moment.

But to be that unaware of my own body…unheard of.

"Mm," I manage, trying to gather my thoughts back into one, coherent basket, "Well, um, Kenpachi –"

He's still, his eyes moving across my face, then his eyebrows taper together.

"You're a virgin."

"A declarative statement, not a question," my brain vomits.

"Seriously?"

Blushing now, also unlike me, "I told you, didn't I?"

He takes a minute to think about it: he must finally recall what I said about never having been attracted to somebody before, because his shoulders relax slightly.

"Didn't think you were that serious."

"Why would I lie?"

He shrugs, "Why not?"

"I wouldn't," I declare, realizing I've got a hand splayed on the front of his chest. It's like touching a brick wall. My eyes suddenly itch to see the skin beneath his shirt. I want to lick the smell of sandalwood and Irish Spring soap off of him.

"Jesus," he says, pulling me into his lap, "You say shit like that, no way I can keep my hands to myself."

"I said that out loud."

"Yeah."

"Are we going to have intercourse now?"

Kenpachi laughed, a low rumble in his chest, "Nah, not yet, 'specially if you say it like that. It ain't a science project, Kisuke."

"Sex, then?"

He laughs again, nipping me on the chin. I suck in a breath: who would've thought it would be an erogenous zone?

I need to collect more data on the phenomena.

"You make me feel too goddamned responsible," he mumbled, dragging me to the couch. He let me lay against him, which was more than nice. Chaplin mewed his approval from his hiding place beneath the coffee table.

"You gonna put on that movie or what?"

"Huh?"

He smirked at me, "Did I break your brain? Is my kissing that good?"

"It's very good. Phenomenal."

He smiled back at me, "Flattery ain't gettin' me in your pants tonight."

"Why not?"

For a moment, the look he was giving me was confusing: like he was trying to figure out how to reprimand a child without making them cry.

"Cuz you deserve better than a one-night fuck, 'kay? And how do you even know you're down for it if you've never done it before?"

"Biologically, I know I'm ready," I said, putting a hand over the bulge in the front of my sweatpants before running my hands through my hair, "Um, and, well, if oral intimacy is that distracting, then –"

"Fuckin'A."

He smirked at me before kissing me stupid again. I wouldn't mind him kissing me forever, especially with how he strokes over my tongue, and then he nips, nips, nips at my bottom lip and it just…

"What did I say 'bout moaning?" he rumbles, his tone and pupils telling me he is in a serious state of arousal.

I'm on my back, he's hovering over me, and for once, instinct is starting to kick in over mental recall.

I grind my hips up experimentally, watching Kenpachi as his whole body stiffens. He leans his face into my shoulder.

"Bastard."

"I wasn't born out of wedlock."

"You're such a…" he must have given up on his train of thought because he started biting at the side of my neck, which, of course, made me cry out.

"Kenpachi…"

"Fuckin' delicious," he growls, continuing to work at the skin between my neck and shoulder. It feels strange, but nice, so I let him continue, my hands wandering across his chest, then around his neck, across his back, feeling the muscles straining there.

I'm whining now because the pulsing in my pants just won't stop, and I don't know how much more of this I can take. Pre-ejaculate is starting to soak through my boxers and I know Kenpachi can feel my erection since his is right over mine!

It's too hot, and my whole body is buzzing, and he finally stops his assault on my neck to look at me and –

I lose it. I buck up against him, coming in my pants. I let out some kind of yell/moan but other then that I can't process anything else because of the euphoric bliss running from my brain stem down to the tips of my toes.

I huff for breath, tugging at my pants, suddenly feeling really uncomfortable as I start coming down from the orgasmic high.

I realize Kenpachi's weight is off of me. I sit up shakily, my muscles in a state of shock as chemicals start to re-acclimate and stabilize; my heart beat nearly double what it is supposed to be.

I lick my lips and look over at him, suddenly shy, "Um, Kenpachi?"

"Gimme a minute," he says, leaning forward on his knees, his fingers rubbing soothing circles into his temples.

"What're you doing?"

"Hn," he huffs, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, "Tryin' 'ta get rid of a hard-on."

"Why on earth would you want to do that?"

And he laughs. He shakes his head side to side, not looking at me, "You're stupid cute."

Maybe it's the orgasm, but those words make me feel extra mushy.

My pants start to feel too sticky. Itchy.

"I need a shower."

My face must betray how uncomfortable I am because he laughs again.

"And I need a cold one," he says.

It took everything in me not to fuck the kid across his homemade coffee table, the cat be damned.

Chaplin mewed again. Shit. Maybe it was psychic.

He was rubbing against Kisuke's foot, begging for affection. Or food.

"Mm, Chaplin, I forgot," Kisuke breathed, closing his eyes again.

"How 'bout you go get cleaned up before you pass out? I'll feed the beast," I offered, feeling sickly domesticated already.

Fuck that.

Kisuke dragged himself to the bathroom, humming to himself a melody that sounded super complicated, probably one of those classical songs he blasted from his headphones so damn much.

Chaplin followed me into the kitchen, hopping up on the countertop, flicking his tail back and forth, an interrogation face on.

"Yeah yeah," I mumble, rummaging through a thousand cupboards looking for cat food, "Da hell?"

Why the FUCK did Kisuke have Buffy The Vampire Slayer DVDs in a cupboard next to the peanut butter?

As I kept hunting, I found even weirder shit: a container of neon golf balls, scientific beakers, a turkey baster that looked like it was full of purple glitter, a stuffed panda, it's back stuffing ripped out and replaced with hundreds of rubber bands…

I finally gave up and went in the fridge, not sure if that was any better.

Jars of all shapes and sizes, some of them labeled JAM, others labeled SPORE COLONY 12.

In the bottom drawer I struck pay dirt with some sealed sliced turkey breast.

I cut up a piece on a plate and dropped it in front of the cat.

The cat sniffed, then looked up at me with that interrogator face again.

I felt like I was being judged by a father who'd just caught me fucking his daughter.

"I haven't fucked him yet," I mumbled, wondering when the hell I'd lost my fucking brain and started talking to cats.

I could almost fucking swear the cat shrugged one of it's lithe shoulders before starting to eat, tail twitching contentedly as I headed back to the living room to wait Kisuke out.

And waited. And waited.

After a good fifteen minutes, I lost my patience and knocked on the bathroom door. I could hear the shower running.

"You alive in there?"

No answer.

Panic immediately stuck in my stomach, almost choking me. I banged again, "Yo, Kisuke!"

The door was locked. My body didn't seem to care as I threw my shoulder into it and busted it back, still attached by a single hinge as I stared in at Kisuke, sprawled halfway out of the shower, his eyes closed.

"Fuck!"

I dropped to him quick, checking his pulse. Thank fucking god.

I dragged him the rest of the way out, careful of his legs over the metal bordering the bottom of the shower stall. A towel was within grabbing distance: if I wasn't so fucking panicked I'd probably be hard. He was gorgeous naked.

I wrapped him up and tucked him into my side, slapping his face gently, repeatedly.

"Come on. Kisuke, come on, wake up…"

He moaned and snuggled into my neck.

Fuck. What was going on?

I picked him up, half-carrying him to his bedroom, a dark nest. I sat next to him, watching his chest rise and fall, knowing he was alive, just…asleep? What was he? A narcoleptic?

He could've been seriously hurt when he'd fallen. I felt around his head, around the base of his neck: I didn't see any bruises blossoming across the white flesh of his forehead, temples, or shoulders.

"Kisuke, wake up."

His eyes fluttered. He blinked.

"What happened?" he asked. His voice was clinical, doctor-like. He was in science mode.

"I dunno. You passed out in the shower. Scared the shit out of me."

"I fell?"

"Yah."

"Hm," he felt his chest, blushing as he realized he was in nothing but a towel. I covered him with a fluffy zebra blanket. He sighed as he wrapped himself with the comforter too, thoroughly cocooned.

"I'm sorry. That hasn't happened in – I'm okay. Will you stay with me?"

I really shouldn't. I should go. I have a long day tomorrow, not to mention some heavy family shit to deal with thanks to a drug run gone wrong. There was going to be a lot of blood in the days ahead.

But the kid wasn't asking for much.

And I could leave in the morning.

"Yah," I mumble, lying down next to him. He curls into my side.

"Goodnight."

"Yah."

And fuck.

That's when it hits me that I'm really, really into this kid in a way I've never been into anybody before.

I've never felt this fiercely protective of someone, not even Gin.

Not since Momo.

And a dark part of me whispers that he's gonna suffer for it.