Beneath the Underbite

Lunch and Learning Curves

[Lena]

Despite the seemingly constant thrum of arousal under my skin, I was more focused at work than ever before. My hands were steadier during delicate procedures, my mind sharper when diagnosing complex cases, my analytical skills honed by a strange, inner peace born of profound release.

I looked forward to my lunch breaks when Thork and I exchanged a constant stream of texts. His words were a direct line to the wild, passionate part of me he had awakened.

This morning, as I meticulously prepared for my last morning appointment—a routine cleaning and polish on a human patient, basically muscle memory at this point—my phone buzzed with a text from Thork.

Thork: What are you ordering for lunch today, little spark? Did you pack any leftovers.

I chuckled, tapping out a reply.

You know I rarely pack leftovers, Thork. Was just about to figure that out myself. Why? Do you have recommendations for me today?

His reply came instantly.

Thork: It must be your lucky day, little spark. Lunch is already on its way.

My brow furrowed in confusion.

What do you mean?

Thork: Your receptionist, Clara, was very helpful in detailing your exact lunch break schedule. And I may or may not be on my way with a treat for my little spark.

My heart did a little flutter-kick in my chest. He's coming here? To my office? The thought sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated excitement through me, instantly making it impossible to focus on anything else.

My last morning appointment felt like an eternity. The hum of the scaler against my patient's teeth was a dull drone, and my mind kept replaying Thork's text. I went through the motions, cleaning, polishing, rinsing, my movements efficient but my internal world a whirlwind of anticipation.

I could practically feel my arousal building, a slow, insistent burn.

Finally, the patient was done.

"All finished, Mrs. Gable," I chirped, far more cheerfully than necessary. "See you in six months!"

I watched her walk out the door, and just as the empty door frame cleared, it was filled once more. But this time, it was Thork.

He stood there, a truly magnificent figure, his sage green skin a vivid contrast to the sterile white walls of my clinic. He was dressed in dark, tailored clothes that only emphasized the powerful breadth of his shoulders and the thick muscles of his arms.

In one hand, he held a large, intricately wrapped bouquet, and in the other, a substantial bag of food containers.

The bouquet was stunning, unlike anything I’d ever received. Black paper wrapped elegantly around the base, creating a dramatic backdrop for small bundles of delicate black baby's breath. Nestled amongst these were layers of vibrant orange-yellow roses, each velvety petal tipped with a deep, rich red, as if kissed by fire. Dominating the center were tall, striking flowers that looked like a masterful hybrid of tulips and lilies, their pointed petals based in a deep red, gradually fading to brilliant yellow tips. Woven between these magnificent blooms were long, black spiraled branches, giving the entire bouquet the ethereal appearance of a powerful flame with tendrils of smoke curling upwards.

It was breathtaking, a dramatic, almost primal display.

He handed the bag of food to a wide-eyed Clara at the front desk, then turned to me, his amber eyes warm and intense. He held out the bouquet, and I reached for it, my fingers brushing against the cool, crisp paper and the soft petals. The scent was earthy, spicy, subtly sweet—like him.

Then, with a practiced grace that stole my breath, he took my free hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my knuckles. The familiar jolt went through me, sharp and delicious.

"A small offering, little spark," he rumbled, his voice a low caress. "I have an important council meeting I cannot miss. I will not be available to text during your lunch, but I will speak with you later tonight."

Almost as fast as he had appeared, filling my doorway with his presence and the vibrant life of his bouquet, he was gone, striding out of the clinic as quickly as he had arrived. The door closed, leaving me standing there, clutching the incredible flowers, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I turned to Clara, my face burning, but she was gone. She must have slipped away the moment Thork handed her the bag.

A faint giggle from the breakroom drew my attention. I walked towards it, pushing open the door to find Clara already laying out and opening containers from the bag Thork had brought. The sheer amount of food was astonishing – enough for a small army.

"Clara," I commented, my voice still a little breathless, "there's so much food. What is all this?"

She looked up, beaming, two plates already in hand, laden with fragrant, steaming portions. "It's for both of us, Dr. Hanson! Thork said you often skip lunch or just eat a salad, so he brought enough for a proper feast for both you and your most excellent receptionist!"

She giggled again, pointing to her headset, which she had strategically placed on her head. "Don't worry, I'll monitor the phones from here. Lets dig in!"

We sat down, surrounded by an incredible spread of Indian food: a few different fragrant curries—a rich, creamy butter chicken, a spicy lamb vindaloo, and a vibrant vegetable korma—alongside fluffy basmati rice, crispy samosas, and warm, pillowy naan bread.

It was a feast, far more elaborate than any lunch I'd had in months, perhaps years. The flavors were rich, aromatic, and perfectly spiced. It hit the spot, perfectly soothing the unexpected hunger that Thork's presence had ignited.

As we ate, conversation flowed easily, mostly about Clara's latest matchmaking attempts for herself and the humorous mishaps of other Summerset residents. It was light, a welcome reprieve from the intensity of my own thoughts. Then, as she scooped another spoonful of rice onto her plate, Clara glanced at me, a curious glint in her eye.

"You know, Dr. Hanson," she began, a hint of playful mischief in her tone, "I was doing some routine filing this morning, and I noticed that Mr. Oakenfall's medical records have already been transferred to a new dentist across town."

She paused, taking a bite of naan, then added, "Any idea why that could possibly be?" She raised an eyebrow, a clear invitation for me to spill the tea.

My fork clattered against my plate. My face burned, a furious blush creeping up my neck.

I shot her a warning glance. "Clara!" I hissed playfully, keeping my voice low. "We are at work."

She just giggled, completely unrepentant. "Right. Work. Just curious."

The rest of the afternoon was busy, but a different kind of busy. My thoughts, though tinged with professional tasks, kept drifting back to the feast, to Thork's unexpected gesture, to Clara's knowing comments.

I worked through my charts with an unusual speed, finding that the earlier excitement had given way to a focused efficiency. Before I knew it, my last patient of the day was leaving, and I realized I was going to be finishing earlier than normal.

A quick check on my phone's browser for the shop Maya had recommended—the one with the section on interspecies adult enjoyment—revealed its hours. Perfect. It would still be open. A thrill, both nervous and deeply exhilarating, rippled through me.

Tonight, it seemed, was for a little extracurricular research.