Beneath the Underbite

The First Impression

[Lena]

The days following my exhilarating phone call with Thork Oakenfall were, for the most part, a blur of routine. After my deep dive into Orcish dental anatomy, I managed to curb my initial, feverish excitement. It settled into a more manageable hum of professional anticipation, a low thrum beneath the surface of my daily work.

There were other patients to see, other unique oral structures to examine, and the ever-present demands of running a busy practice. I almost, almost, forgot about the Orc with the tusks, until the day itself.

It was a Friday, a typically busy day, and my lunch break was a hurried affair. I sat at my desk, a lukewarm cup of tea beside my half-eaten salad, systematically reviewing my charts for the afternoon appointments. Each file was a familiar name, a familiar set of teeth, a familiar dental history.

Then I saw it.

Thork Oakenfall.

The name, handwritten neatly by Clara on the physical chart, seemed to jump out at me.

A fresh wave of excitement and anticipation washed over me, a physical jolt that banished any lingering fatigue. It wasn't just professional curiosity now; it was a restless, almost giddy energy.

The image of the "Non-Human Basic Anatomy" diagrams, with their robust tusks and pronounced underbites, flashed in my mind.

This was real.

This was happening today.

The rest of my afternoon appointments, while executed with my usual meticulous care, felt like a blur of restless energy, my mind constantly drifting back to the last patient of the evening.

His appointment was indeed the final one, scheduled for five o'clock. As the clock hands crept towards the hour, a nervous flutter started in my stomach – a sensation far more common before a complex, uncharted surgical procedure than a routine deep cleaning.

I checked my instruments for the tenth time, ensured my chair was perfectly positioned, and smoothed down my scrubs. Deep breaths, Lena.

Professionalism. Always professionalism.

The chime of the front door announcing his arrival sent a jolt straight through me. I heard Clara’s cheerful greeting, followed by a voice that resonated even through the closed door of my examination room, a deep rumble that sent those familiar, inexplicable tingles through my core.

I felt an immediate, intense attraction, a visceral pull I hadn't anticipated to this degree. I took another deep, fortifying breath and opened the door.

He stood there, filling the doorway.

And when I say filling the doorway, I mean it.

He was a truly towering figure, easily seven feet tall, just as my textbook had described. His skin was a deep, rich sage green, a verdant hue that seemed almost impossibly vibrant, stretching taut over a powerful, sculpted physique. It wasn't the dull, uniform green of some comic book stereotype; it was complex, almost luminous, hinting at depths of forest and moss.

And then there were the tusks. Four magnificent, gleaming white tusks curved upwards from his lower jaw—two larger, prominent ones, and two smaller ones positioned just medially to them. They were sharp and powerful, yet perfectly integrated into his striking face.

His eyes, a startling shade of amber, met mine, and for a split second, the world seemed to narrow to just us.

I fought desperately to ignore the rush of desire that surged through me, a hot, insistent wave that threatened to capsize my carefully constructed professional demeanor. This was Thork Oakenfall, patient. Not... not that.

"Mr. Oakenfall," I managed, my voice, thankfully, sounding far calmer than I felt. "Dr. Hanson. Welcome to Hanson Dental."

I extended my hand, and his enveloped it, his grip firm but gentle, his skin feeling smooth against mine, not leathery at all. So, on the softer side of the spectrum, then. My scientific brain registered the detail even as the rest of me struggled to maintain composure.

"Doctor," he rumbled, his voice even deeper and more resonant in person, sending another wave of tingles right through my core.

It wasn't just a sound; it was an experience, vibrating through my very bones. I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

"If you'll follow me, we can get started," I said, gesturing towards the examination room. As he walked past, the sheer breadth of his shoulders was evident, and I noticed the subtle sway of his powerful frame. He seemed to fill the entire space, radiating a quiet, formidable strength.

Once inside, I directed him to the chair. "Before we begin the cleaning, I just need to get a bit of your medical history. Any allergies I should be aware of? Any current medications?"

I asked, my voice falling into the familiar, rhythmic cadence of a medical professional. I moved around him on autopilot, pulling up his digital chart, my hand surprisingly steady as I made notes.

His answers were concise, his gaze unwavering. He had no allergies, no medications. He mentioned a few minor skirmishes in his past, resulting in some impressive scars on his forearms, but nothing that impacted his oral health. I tried not to stare too long at the intricate patterns of scar tissue.

"Alright, Mr. Oakenfall," I said, finally gesturing to the dental chair. "If you'd like to get comfortable."

He moved with a surprising grace for such a large man, settling into the chair. As I reached for the control panel to recline it to a lying position, my eyes couldn't help but trace the lines of his body.

His shirt, a dark, perfectly tailored fabric, strained noticeably across his immense chest, struggling to contain the bulging muscles beneath. The fabric stretched, highlighting every powerful curve.

My gaze, almost involuntarily, followed the powerful lines of his chest and abs, down to his perfectly tailored pants, which, even while he was seated, seemed to emphasize the formidable breadth of his thighs.

And then, like a jolt of electricity, Maya's teasing words about Orc anatomy flashed through my mind: "Did you get to the part in the book about the size of their c***s, Lena? A human could get split wide open if they weren't careful."

The thought, vivid and entirely unwelcome, sent a fresh, undeniable wave of heat through me. My cheeks flushed, and a sudden, intense warmth pooled low in my belly.

I swallowed hard, feeling myself getting undeniably wet.

My legs automatically clenched together, a desperate, unconscious attempt to suppress the primal stirrings that threatened to overwhelm my carefully constructed composure.

Stop it, Lena! I silently chastised myself, my internal voice a sharp crack. He is a patient. Focus.

With a fierce mental effort, I forced myself to refocus on the intricate task of dental work. I picked up my tools, my hands now slightly trembling, and began the examination. His mouth was surprisingly clean, given his request for a deep cleaning, but there were indeed some noticeable stains on his tusks, a yellowish-brown discoloration that marred their otherwise pristine white. His gums were healthy, his other teeth strong and well-aligned, save for the slight characteristic underbite that positioned his lower jaw prominently.

"Alright, Mr. Oakenfall," I said, my voice perhaps a little too clipped. "We can certainly address these stains for you."

I worked meticulously, the familiar movements of scaling and polishing a welcome distraction, a familiar anchor in the storm of my own unexpected reactions. The sheer size of his mouth, the solid presence of his tusks, demanded a different approach, a careful manipulation of angles and tools.

It was intellectually stimulating, exactly the kind of challenge I craved professionally, and it helped to keep those other thoughts at bay.

After what felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment, the deep cleaning was finished. I sat him up slowly, offering him a rinse. As he gargled, I prepared to discuss his tusks.

"Mr. Oakenfall," I began, my voice settling back into a more natural, professional tone.

"About your tusks. They're quite remarkable. From what I can tell, and based on my research, they're anatomically closer to a bone than a typical tooth. They lack the smooth, protective layer of enamel that most teeth possess." I explained, pointing to a faint ridge on one of his lower tusks.

"This makes them more porous, and thus more susceptible to staining."

He listened intently, his amber eyes fixed on mine. There was an intensity in his gaze, a focused curiosity, as if he wasn't just listening to my words but trying to unravel a complex riddle written on my face.

It was unnerving.

The directness of his stare, combined with the earlier physical sensations, all but made me lose my composure entirely. My pulse quickened, a rapid thrumming in my ears, and my core grew hot, a deep, persistent warmth that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

"So," he rumbled, his voice cutting through my internal scramble, "what are my options, Doctor?"

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look away for a split second, focusing on the equipment tray beside me before meeting his gaze again.

"Well, we have a couple of approaches. We could send you home with a specialized whitening compound, though due to the porosity of your tusks, would likely need to be a long term routine. Or, we could perform a surface treatment right now. I have sealants and polishing compounds that could smooth and buff the surface of the tusks, making them less porous and less prone to future staining, while also enhancing their natural luster."

He considered this, his gaze still unwavering. "The smoothing treatment. Can it be completed now?"

My breath hitched.

"Yes," I managed, "it can."

I questioned to myself if I would be able to hold my composure much longer, if I could handle being this close to him, under that intense gaze, for another extended period.

Lena, get a grip! I silently scolded myself, dragging my mind back to being professional.

"I'll just need to gather a few additional supplies. I'll be right back."

I practically fled the room, my heart hammering against my ribs. I found Clara at the front desk, already packing up.

"Clara," I said, trying to sound casual, "I'll be staying late to finish up with Mr. Oakenfall. You can go ahead and close up shop and head home at your usual time."

"You sure, Dr. Hanson?" she asked, a knowing look in her eye. "It's already almost six."

"Positive," I replied, grabbing the sealants and polishing compounds I needed. "See you Monday."

I walked back into the room, a tray of sealants and polishing compounds in hand, trying to project an air of calm efficiency. Thork was still seated in the chair, his gaze following my every move.

As I carefully applied the sealant and began the intricate process of polishing his tusks, my mind, despite my best efforts, began to wander. I found myself imagining the impossibly soft curve of an Orc's lips, wondering how they would kiss, how those formidable tusks would navigate such an intimate act.

It was a completely unprofessional, utterly captivating thought.

I tried to dismiss it, to focus on the hum of the polishing tool, on the subtle texture beneath my gloved fingers. But then I'd notice it again – his eyes. They seemed to be on me the whole time, a silent, unwavering observation that made the air between us crackle with an unspoken tension.

By the time I handed him a mirror, his tusks gleamed, smooth and brilliant, the stains completely gone. He turned his head, admiring my work, a faint, approving rumble emanating from his chest. "Remarkable, Doctor. They look... polished."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Oakenfall," I said, trying to match his composure. I led him to the front, where I efficiently processed his payment.

"Your next cleaning should be in a year," I said, handing him his receipt, walking him to the front door. "And please, call and schedule an appointment if anything new comes up, or if you have any concerns about your tusks."

"I will," he said, his amber eyes holding mine for a beat longer than strictly necessary. Then, with a slight nod, he stepped out into the twilight-dusted street.

As the door closed behind him, the chime echoing in the now-silent office, I let out a huge, shuddering sigh. My shoulders slumped, and I leaned against the door for a moment, thankful, so profoundly thankful, that the appointment was finally over. The air in the room seemed to vibrate with the lingering imprint of his presence.

I quickly gathered my things, eager to escape the charged atmosphere and head home.