A Beautiful Smile
By Unanon
Rating: PG-13.
Archive: Anyone who wants it, just ask.
Summary: Movieverse, post movie.
Acknowledgements: Mamf-ita, flame-haired avenger and fellow Vic-lover, for the Beta.
Disclaimer: All X-Characters belong to Marvel; I just play with them occasionally as part of my general idolatry.
Summary: Heat transfers through latex-enshrouded fingertips to my cheeks and the sides of my mouth, to my lips.
Explaining myself: Strange things happen inside your mind when you're in the chair..
I haven't really read much Comicverse Rogue fic. My apologies to anyone who has used this concept before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He is always so professional, so cool and impersonal.
"Make yourself comfortable."
So I do, sliding easily into place as he snaps on latex gloves. as he prepares to touch me.
"How've you been? Any changes?" he asks as he tilts me backwards, head lower than feet, easily accessible and open to manipulation.
"Not really, just some sensitivity."
His eyes meet mine. He is near enough to where I can feel his breath on my cheek when he speaks. "We'll have to check that out." My nipples harden.
I open my mouth.
Everyone at the mansion thinks I'm a little crazy when it comes to my teeth; they think I'm vain about my smile.
It's true, I have a rather nice smile: white, small, even teeth, all straight, cute little gap in the front I refuse to get braces for. People always notice a beautiful smile. St. John compliments me on it, Remy tries to see how many times he can produce it in an hour, Bobby, Jubes, and Kitty just want to know what brand of toothpaste I use.
But they still think I'm a little obsessive. Shortly after Logan took off for parts unknown, I approached Storm.
"Whadd'ya'll do for a dentist round these parts?"
"We go to Dr. Fischer in Salem Center. Is there a problem?"
"Ahm overdue for a cleanin'."
"Very well, I'll make an appointment for you."
"Thanks."
And as innocently as that, it started.
With just a few minutes of pleading after my first visit, I managed to convince my hygienist to schedule me three months later instead of the usual six. Later, I wheedled him down to monthly cleanings. I keep track on a calendar, crossing off the days until my next visit with a red marker.
My roommates try to talk some sense into me, even going so far as getting Dr. Jean into the act. Nothing works, so eventually they give up, chalking my frequent dental appointments up to plain and simple vanity. The more 'intellectual' types probably believe that my focus on my teeth is my way of compensating for things in life beyond my control, i.e. my skin. Silly sods.
It isn't anything that obvious or understandably noble. That pop- psychology explanation needs to be flipped on its head and seen from another angle entirely.
At the dentist's I'm being touched.
During the course of a cleaning or, ecstasies of all ecstasies, an actual checkup, I'm touched intimately and deeply by someone that has not clue I'm a mutant. I don't have to worry about my skin because no one there has ever, or will ever, attempted to touch me without a latex barrier. Each visit is a feast for my emaciated sense of touch, a gorging of intimate contact. I revel in all the sensations. Heat transfers through latex- enshrouded fingertips to my cheeks and the sides of my mouth, to my lips. Warm eyes stare intently at me. me! Even the simple act of opening my mouth is intimate, allowing its soft, virgin, hidden crevasses to be poked, scraped, polished. sometimes even drilled and filled! I have to restrain myself from squirming in my seat.
To tell you the truth, I kinda like it rough.
It's always a disappointment for me when we're finished. Cleanings never seem to last long enough anymore. I'm toying with the idea of throwing away my toothbrush, just so my hygienist has something to do when I visit.
He knows I don't like to talk much afterwards; we have a routine.
"All done?"
"All finished."
"O.K. then."
"See you next month, Marie"
"Ah wouldn't miss it."
By Unanon
Rating: PG-13.
Archive: Anyone who wants it, just ask.
Summary: Movieverse, post movie.
Acknowledgements: Mamf-ita, flame-haired avenger and fellow Vic-lover, for the Beta.
Disclaimer: All X-Characters belong to Marvel; I just play with them occasionally as part of my general idolatry.
Summary: Heat transfers through latex-enshrouded fingertips to my cheeks and the sides of my mouth, to my lips.
Explaining myself: Strange things happen inside your mind when you're in the chair..
I haven't really read much Comicverse Rogue fic. My apologies to anyone who has used this concept before.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He is always so professional, so cool and impersonal.
"Make yourself comfortable."
So I do, sliding easily into place as he snaps on latex gloves. as he prepares to touch me.
"How've you been? Any changes?" he asks as he tilts me backwards, head lower than feet, easily accessible and open to manipulation.
"Not really, just some sensitivity."
His eyes meet mine. He is near enough to where I can feel his breath on my cheek when he speaks. "We'll have to check that out." My nipples harden.
I open my mouth.
Everyone at the mansion thinks I'm a little crazy when it comes to my teeth; they think I'm vain about my smile.
It's true, I have a rather nice smile: white, small, even teeth, all straight, cute little gap in the front I refuse to get braces for. People always notice a beautiful smile. St. John compliments me on it, Remy tries to see how many times he can produce it in an hour, Bobby, Jubes, and Kitty just want to know what brand of toothpaste I use.
But they still think I'm a little obsessive. Shortly after Logan took off for parts unknown, I approached Storm.
"Whadd'ya'll do for a dentist round these parts?"
"We go to Dr. Fischer in Salem Center. Is there a problem?"
"Ahm overdue for a cleanin'."
"Very well, I'll make an appointment for you."
"Thanks."
And as innocently as that, it started.
With just a few minutes of pleading after my first visit, I managed to convince my hygienist to schedule me three months later instead of the usual six. Later, I wheedled him down to monthly cleanings. I keep track on a calendar, crossing off the days until my next visit with a red marker.
My roommates try to talk some sense into me, even going so far as getting Dr. Jean into the act. Nothing works, so eventually they give up, chalking my frequent dental appointments up to plain and simple vanity. The more 'intellectual' types probably believe that my focus on my teeth is my way of compensating for things in life beyond my control, i.e. my skin. Silly sods.
It isn't anything that obvious or understandably noble. That pop- psychology explanation needs to be flipped on its head and seen from another angle entirely.
At the dentist's I'm being touched.
During the course of a cleaning or, ecstasies of all ecstasies, an actual checkup, I'm touched intimately and deeply by someone that has not clue I'm a mutant. I don't have to worry about my skin because no one there has ever, or will ever, attempted to touch me without a latex barrier. Each visit is a feast for my emaciated sense of touch, a gorging of intimate contact. I revel in all the sensations. Heat transfers through latex- enshrouded fingertips to my cheeks and the sides of my mouth, to my lips. Warm eyes stare intently at me. me! Even the simple act of opening my mouth is intimate, allowing its soft, virgin, hidden crevasses to be poked, scraped, polished. sometimes even drilled and filled! I have to restrain myself from squirming in my seat.
To tell you the truth, I kinda like it rough.
It's always a disappointment for me when we're finished. Cleanings never seem to last long enough anymore. I'm toying with the idea of throwing away my toothbrush, just so my hygienist has something to do when I visit.
He knows I don't like to talk much afterwards; we have a routine.
"All done?"
"All finished."
"O.K. then."
"See you next month, Marie"
"Ah wouldn't miss it."