I make no claim to any of the Gundam Wing characters. This story is written for my, and hopefully others' enjoyment and not for monetary profit. A huge thanks to Diane for the beta

Say Ahh
by Michalyn
For 30-kisses theme #18 and #23, Candy

"Mr. Khushrenada?"

"Yes?" Treize looked up from the battered house-keeping magazine he was reading--skimming really--to stem his nervousness.

"The doctor will see you right now."

"Ah, thanks." Treize checked his hair and tried to still his shaking hands.

He hated dentists. Hated them and their orthodontic cousins he had become familiar with during his pre-teen years. Treize hated their white, antiseptic offices, and their latex-gloved hands. Hated their chilled, protruding instruments, the clacking of metal against enamel and the pinch of rubber wedged against a tender palette. He shrank from their eyes hidden behind goggles, from their masked and muffled mouths, from their sensible shoes tapping to the whir of drills. Treize hated the entire dental profession with such venom that getting him to go to his yearly visits was (he grimaced at the unfortunate expression) like pulling teeth.

There was only one problem. A quandry so insurmountable that it brought tears to Treize's eyes.

He loved sweet things: candies, lollipops, dark melting chocolate, puff pastries, pies, cheesecakes, ice-encrusted frappés, Pfefferkuchen, compotes de pommes, cherry biscotti, crème caramel.

It seemed too cruel a fate to bear. He had consulted diviners, psychics, mystics and blind old men, but they all confirmed it. Something about the time of his birth, the milky way (ah, sweet, sweet chocolate!) and the constellations of his nativity being in perfect alignment.

He had a sweet tooth.

That fine instrument of taste, that boon to patissieres and confectioners everywhere. He knew over 116 sweet flavors, could detect at a nibble the richness of honey, the hint of vanilla extract, whether sugar had been crystallized from cane plucked in Florida, Thailand or the heat of Trinidad--or if it had been boiled from beets in Russia. Treize did not just love sugar, he lived it. He loved reading about it, loved the baroque music of its names: Demerara, Muscovado, Panocha, Piloncillo, Turbinado and the lady-like Panela. Sugar powdered Treize's dreams and its lack haunted his nightmares. Valentine's Day and Christmas were his favorite times of year. A stray note of Tchaikovsky's sugar-plum fairies brought him to tears.

However, the proof of any discipline, the mettle of any devotee is tested in the pain that is necessary to achieving mastery. The purpled shins of the rock climber, the guitarist's calluses, the writer's cramped hands and for Treize, that worm in the apple of paradise--a cavity.

He sighed, approaching the door the nurse had directed him to with mingled pride and fear. Knocking softly, he peeked inside.

"Hello there, please come in." The man nodded. "I'm Dr. Chang. I hope Belinda told you. Dr. Stewart has found another position and I'll be taking her place."

Dark hair, quick capable hands, cinnamon skin and eyes of melting chocolate. Treize's knees weakened and he melted into the reclining chair.

"No ... no I wasn't told, but I don't mind." He licked his lips. "I don't mind at all."

Dr Chang smiled down at him. "I'm told you have a cavity, Mr. Khushrenada?"

"Yess." Treize stared into those molten eyes, his fingers curling on the piping of the chair. Dr. Chang leaned over him and he was enveloped in the other man's scent: a freshness, a sweetness ... an aura like a kiss of sugary essence.

"All right." Dr. Chang snapped on his gloves. "Say ahh."

"Of course..." Treize shivered and sighed. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide. A yearning as slow and sharp as molasses seeped through him and nimble sugar-plum faires danced in his head .

End