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Dan fixes his eyes on his shoes as he waits, lain down on the cushioned exam chair. His red cowboy boots stand out almost artistically against the clinical whiteness of the room. The painted walls, the tile floor, the counter tops, the artificial light—all a near-blinding shade of white. Impersonal and cold, much like everything else about the dentist. The boots were an anchor, of sorts. He’d never wear them in everyday life. They were, he guesses, something to entertain him from his bastard of a dentist and the humiliatingly enjoyable scrape of metal tools against his gums.
Dan taps his toes together as he relaxes fully into the chair, enjoying the small clinking sound of the soles touching. Something about there being no place like home comes to mind.
Footsteps approach Dan’s small exam room, and he hears something—maybe papers, maybe a clipboard, maybe torture tools—being set down on the counter behind him. His feet still.
It wasn’t necessarily that Dan hated going to the dentist. In fact, as someone with a mild enjoyment—not kink—for tooth pain, he almost looked forward to the feeling of his teeth being scraped clean. He liked being told he’d taken good care of his teeth, and he liked the peace of mind that came with the dentist confirming he didn’t have any cavities. His dentist, himself, however, Dan could certainly do without. The man seemed to believe that a piece of paper not only deemed him able to perform dental procedures, but also allowed him to opine on every aspect of his patients’ lives. Dan would be lying if he were to say that the boots weren’t at least a tiny bit meant to piss off his dentist. If there were another dentist closer to home, though, the boots might not have been so necessary.
His hygienist was alright. She was a quiet woman, for which Dan was thankful. She never asked him questions about his life while she had tools stuck down his throat, resulting in Dan garbling back some response like, “Ah ‘us gaduate oonifersi’y”.
Just as Dan is prepping himself mentally for a half hour of awkward silence between himself and his hygienist, a man steps around to the front of Dan’s chair from his right. He’s dressed in light blue scrubs that are almost too short for his tall frame, and his black hair is pushed off his forehead into a long quiff. He’s got those nerdy glasses that Dan always envied, and Dan’s immediately attracted to him. Probably a bit too much, given that the man is about to have his face hovering above Dan’s for the better part of the next hour.
“Howdy,” the man says, sticking out his hand. Dan wonders if the greeting is a response to his boots, or if the man’s just like this. There’s a kind smile on his face that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle, and Dan can’t remember the last time he was this into someone this quickly. “My name’s Phil, and I’ll be your hygienist today.”
Phil. It’s not a name Dan’s ever liked much before, but it’s weirdly fitting for the man who stands before him. It’s like every new detail Dan takes in makes him more appealing than before.
“Hello,” Dan replies, shaking Phil’s hand. He resolutely fixes his eyes on Phil’s face rather than where they’d much rather be, on the scrub sleeves clinging tightly to his arms. Dan wants to ask why Phil’s here, what happened to the hygienist he’s had for years, but he figures it would be a bit rude. After all, it’s best not to look a gift horse in the face.
“I just started here last week, which is why Megan isn’t here,” Phil says, seemingly having read Dan’s mind. “Dr. Jameson said you’re a long-time patient, so I thought I’d let you know,” he continues. Dan makes a sound of acknowledgment, and Phil looks like he’s bursting with things to say. “I actually just graduated dental school the other month.”
At this, Dan loses his stoic facade and breaks into laughter. “I really don’t think you’re meant to tell your patients that.”
Phil blushes. It makes him look younger than ever, and Dan notices Phil can’t be more than five years his elder. He can’t recall ever seeing anyone at this practice who wasn’t a metre from their own grave.
“You’re probably right,” Phil admits, smiling and nodding his head. “Either way, I promise to take the best of care of you.”
Dan doesn’t know why it gives him butterflies.
Phil walks out of Dan’s line of sight, and Dan hears him fiddling with equipment. Dan just stares down at his boots and tries to pull himself together. A moment later, Phil returns, pulling up a rolling tray and a stool. His hands are now gloved, and there’s a mask over his mouth and a second pair of glasses over his own. It’s kind of sexy, seeing Phil fully decked out in his dentist gear. Phil hands Dan a bib, which Dan clips around his own neck.
Phil presses a button and the chair below Dan begins to move, lowering him so that he’s lain almost completely flat. Phil instructs Dan to open up, and Dan thinks that this dentist trip is probably doing it for him way more than it should be.
Sharp tools tinker around in Dan’s mouth, scraping at his teeth and gums. He can hear the sound of metal against his molars, and whereas for most people the sound would be enough to raise gooseflesh, Dan revels in it. He’s always enjoyed this.
“You’re very calm,” Phil notes. “Most patients squirm at this part.” He’s still got some pointy metal thing on Dan’s molars, scraping away.
“Ah go’a goo ga e’ecks,” Dan says without thinking, sounding like an absolute idiot. Suddenly he wishes Megan and her reliable social awkwardness would return.
Phil pulls out of Dan’s mouth. “Eh?”
Suddenly Dan’s cheeks are burning. God, he’s gonna have to repeat it now. “I’ve got a good gag reflex.”
Phil’s eyes widen, and Dan can see a bit of pink rising on his cheeks from under his mask. “Oh!” Phil says, looking a bit embarrassed himself and returning to tinkering inside Dan’s mouth.
Dan can’t believe he just told his hot dental hygienist that he doesn’t have a gag reflex. In his defence, Phil had asked. Well, not asked, but still. It wasn’t an unprompted statement. Not completely.
Phil moves to focus on Dan’s gums, and this is his favourite part. The pleasure isn’t necessarily sexual, but it’s not completely removed from the mild pain kink he may or may not have.
The tooth pain thing was a lifelong affair, really. Growing up, he’d always loved losing teeth. The feeling of a loose tooth digging into his gums, the soreness that came after losing a tooth. The same love of tooth pain carried into his adult life, albeit in a rather different way.
“Your teeth look pretty healthy,” Phil notes.
Dan grunts.
“Are you brushing and flossing regularly?”
Dan grunts.
“Amazing. You know, I’d advise you to invest in a water pick if you don’t have one already.” Phil seems satisfied to converse with a caveman, so Dan just grunts again.
There was never any risk of Dan getting into an… embarrassing situation with Megan as his hygienist. There still wasn’t now with Phil, but having such pretty blue eyes staring down at him as he had his gums scraped wasn’t necessarily a turn-off. Perhaps it would just make its way into Dan’s rainy day fund.
Phil removes the tool from Dan’s mouth, and Dan runs his tongue over his teeth. It feels ridiculously smooth and clean, and it’s almost better than the scraping.
“You good with mint?” Phil asks, fiddling with something on his tray.
“Yep.”
Phil returns with a small brush and begins to apply fluoride to Dan’s teeth. The mint is overpowering and Dan loves it. There’s nothing in the world better than feeling this completely clean.
Once Phil finishes, he presses a button and Dan’s chair makes its ascent back into its sitting position. There’s a full cup of water on the side of the small sink attached to his chair, and Dan’s been here often enough to know to swirl the water around his mouth without being asked. He turns his head towards the window while he washes out his mouth, not wanting Phil to see him looking like some ridiculous kind of chipmunk.
“You can spit,” Phil says from Dan’s right, and Dan knows he means it innocently, but his ridiculous slutty brain perverts it automatically. He spits into the sink and turns back to Phil.
“Fantastic job,” Phil says, pulling down his mask to reveal his smile. Is he ever not smiling? “Didn’t gag once.” He winks.
Dan’s face goes red as he buries it in his hands. “God, I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbles. He looks up and pouts at Phil. He’s got no clue what it is about Phil that’s made Dan feel so comfortable so quickly, but here he is.
“So you do have a gag reflex?” Phil asks.
Dan’s not sure if it’s, like, legal for him to hit on his dental hygienist, but he decides right then that he’s gonna do it anyway. “Oh, I certainly don’t,” he replies, staring into Phil’s eyes and raising an eyebrow just the slightest bit. “Very good at… dental appointments.”
Phil’s eyes widen, and he coughs into his elbow. Dan still catches the smile and blush he’s trying to hide. “Right, then,” Phil replies, rolling his eyes. Nothing about him reads uncomfortable, but Dan knows he isn’t going to flirt back. “Good to know. Dr. Jameson will be in here shortly.” He stands up from his stool. “I quite like your boots, by the way.”
Phil turns to leave too soon, and Dan wishes too late that he had faked some sort of toothache so Phil would stay.
—
Six months to the day, Dan returns to Dr. Jameson’s dental practice. He’s just a stickler for oral hygiene, and he’d never admit otherwise.
Dan hears someone enter his exam room, and his whole body tenses with anticipation—anticipation for the thrilling feeling of tools scraping his teeth, and definitely not at all for the blue eyes that have frequented his dreams regularly since his last appointment.
Said eyes round Dan’s chair to greet him, and Dan’s heart doesn’t speed up at all.
“Hey, Dan!” Phil says. Dan tries to remind himself that Phil only knows his name because it’s on his chart and not because Phil’s thought about him once since their appointment in June. Phil points at Dan’s shoes. “You’re the red cowboy boots guy, eh? Thought so when I saw you on the schedule, but wasn’t sure.” Phil smiles at him, a warm thing that makes Dan melt into the seat a bit. “Glad to see they’ve made a return.”
“Ha, yeah,” Dan replies, casting his eyes down so he’s just talking to his boots. “They’re a… thing, I guess.”
“Like a kink?”
Dan’s eyes snap up. “Aren’t you my dentist?” he asks, laughing. Phil is absolutely ridiculous. “And, no, like a fun thing to keep me from gouging my eyes out at the dentist.”
“First of all, I’m your dental hygienist,” Phil replies, pointing a finger at Dan. His face goes softer. “Do you really hate it here?”
“Eh, not in the same way most people hate dentists,” Dan says, waving his left hand around a bit. “I’m not exactly a huge fan of Jameson.” For what it’s worth, Dan knows the dentist isn’t a big fan of his, either.
Phil clears his throat, looking like he’s trying to hold back a smile. “Ah,” he says. “Well, yes.” With that, he heads toward the back of the room. It makes Dan smile, the vindication that perhaps it’s not just him.
Phil returns with his tools and stool and plops himself down next to Dan. “So, what’s new with you?” Phil asks, pulling up his mask and putting on a pair of gloves.
Dan wasn’t aware they were doing the small talk thing. “Oh, not much,” he replies. “Tons of flossing, never eating any sweets, the usual.”
Phil laughs. “You’re an exemplary patient, Dan, really. I had a chocolate bar for dinner the other night.”
Dan smiles and closes his eyes as Phil lowers his chair into the laying position.
“You’re the one who likes this, right?” Phil asks casually as he arranges the tools on his tray.
Dan sputters. “Wh-what?”
“You know, you don’t mind the cleaning?” Phil clarifies. “Most patients get super squirmy, but I think you were fairly good about it.” Dan wonders if Phil is remembering his comments about not having a gag reflex. Dan just replies in the affirmative, trying to get on with the appointment and away from this conversation as soon as possible.
Once Dan is fully lowered, he hears Phil pick up a tool and move into Dan’s space. As Phil leans over him, Dan notices a shiny sticker of a children’s character that’s been stuck on the breast pocket of his scrubs. It melts something inside him.
The bright lamp shines down in Dan’s face, making him squint as he tries to avoid staring at Phil’s eyes. The welcome scrape of the tool against Dan’s front teeth surprises him, and Dan lets himself close his eyes and just enjoy the feeling.
“Yeah, you are the one who likes this,” Phil notes quietly, and suddenly feels too exposed. He knows he’s not hard, but with Phil here doing this to him, the probability is never none. Phil pulls back for a moment, turning back to his set of tools.
“Yeah, scrape me harder,” Dan replies, bursting into laughter halfway through the statement.
“Dan!” Phil exclaims, eyes wide and a blush rising on the parts of his cheeks Dan can still see. A strand of hair has fallen out of place and is draped over his forehead. He looks utterly devourable. “I didn’t mean like that, god! Don’t get me fired.”
Dan just laughs. Well I did mean it like that, he wants to say. He can’t believe he has a crush on his fucking dental hygienist, of all people.
Phil returns to working on Dan’s teeth, and Dan tries his hardest to not enjoy it too much. He clenches his fists in a way he hopes is subtle, trying to distract himself from the scrape that hurts so good.
“I went to a concert this weekend,” Phil offers, seemingly still trying for small talk. It makes Dan want to smile, Phil wanting to talk to him.
Dan offers an interested sound.
“Yeah! It was my mate’s band. They’re super good. All… guitar-y and stuff,” Phil giggles, and he has to pull back a moment so his hands don’t shake while they work on Dan’s teeth. “You into music?”
“Yeah,” Dan replies, just as Phil returns to his mouth. Apparently, this was going to be another Phil-heavy conversation.
Phil continues to chat about his life to Dan, occasionally slipping in a question or two that Dan can answer easily with a grunt. As Phil works on his gums, Dan pays careful attention to his responses, making sure that his grunts come out as grunts and not anything else.
Phil finishes up with his scraping, applies a fluoride treatment to Dan’s teeth, and then tells Dan he can wash his mouth out. Dan swirls the water in his mouth, this time making eye contact with Phil as he continues a story about a man he met on the tube this morning. At Phil’s description of the man’s outfit, Dan nearly spits all over himself and Phil. He whips his head around and spits the water into the sink.
“Jesus Christ, Phil,” Dan says fondly, wiping his mouth. “Do you usually attract such colourful characters?”
Phil nods. “It’s the Phil curse. I’m like a beacon for anyone with a screw loose within a twenty-kilometre radius.” He pulls down his mask to reveal a sweet smile. “Sometimes I’ve got cute boys in red boots who don’t mind getting their gums scraped to hell coming into my work, though.”
Dan bites his bottom lip and smiles. “Yeah? So I’ve got competition?”
“Tons, for sure.”
Dan rolls his eyes and laughs. He wants to ask for Phil’s number, but that’s probably against the Hippocratic oath or whatever it is that dentists take, and Phil probably wouldn’t even want his number anyway. Or maybe he should just ask, take the leap.
Phil opens his mouth, but a knock on the door draws his attention. The door opens.
“Dr. Jameson,” Phil says toward the door, nodding. Of course. Dan’s stomach sinks. Phil gets up and looks at Dan. “Your teeth look fantastic, Dan. I’ll leave you to Dr. Jameson now,” he says in a more formal tone than before. His eyes widen a bit, a private “oh boy” at their likely shared sentiment about the dentist, and he turns to leave.
—
Three weeks later, and Dan’s back in the chair.
“You alright?” Phil asks as he enters the room, forgoing a greeting. He pulls his stool up next to Dan’s chair. His brow is furrowed in what occurs to be genuine concern. Dan wants to reach up and massage it away.
“Toothache,” Dan replies, pointing to his mouth. As if Phil, a dental school graduate, needs clarification on where toothaches occur.
“Huh,” Phil says, crease between his brows furrowing. “Okay. I should probably just get Dr. Jameson now.” He makes no move to get the dentist. “Mind if I take a look, though?”
Dan nods.
Phil gets up and retrieves his equipment, returning with his cart and with his mask and glasses on. He sits back down on his stool and presses the button to make Dan’s chair lean back.
“How long has it been bothering you?” Phil asks.
“Uh, about a week.”
Phil narrows his eyes. “You should have come in sooner.” Dan has the urge to apologize, as if this was some personal offence to Phil. “I’m surprised. Your oral hygiene is usually really good.” He pulls the side of Dan’s mouth a bit, exposing his teeth. “Where does it hurt?”
Dan removes a hand from where he’s tucked them under his legs to point to his bottom front teeth. Phil focuses intently on the area, pulling the blinding lamp closer to Dan’s mouth. His brow remains furrowed.
Phil grabs a tool from his cart and begins scraping lightly at Dan’s gum, taking care to not irritate the area much. “You’re sure it’s by these teeth?” he asks. Dan grunts affirmatively.
Phil pulls back for a moment. “I can’t seem to find the issue.” Dan turns his head toward Phil, who looks increasingly concerned. “These things are usually pretty easily diagnosable, but your teeth look great as ever. I could order X-rays, if you’d—”
“Well,” Dan interrupts, deciding that he’s let Phil’s concern go on for a bit too long. He wipes his mouth, hoping he doesn’t look too frazzled. “I was thinking. Maybe I had something too sweet?”
“That wouldn’t—”
“Like, maybe there was a really cute dental hygienist, and he was so sweet that he made my teeth ache?”
Phil stares back at Dan, slack-jawed in the wake of the world’s worst pickup line. The crease between his brows smooths out, and Dan can’t tell if Phil is angry or just surprised. “You…”
Dan doesn’t know what to do besides crack a small smile. He hopes it’s charming enough that Phil doesn’t tell him off.
“You fake a toothache, worry me half to death, just so you can come hit on me?” Phil asks, eyebrows raised.
Dan smiles wider. “Half to death? It’s just a toothache.”
“Dan,” Phil scolds, the smile forming on his face dulling the impact. “You could have, like, just come here and asked for my number. You don’t need to fake a medical emergency.” He looks slightly incredulous. The rest, Dan hopes, is fondness.
“I thought I might have a cavity you could fill,” Dan deadpans before erupting into laughter.
“I don’t fill ca—Dan!” Phil calls out, scandalized, as he bats Dan’s arm. “You’re horrible. I’m telling Dr. Jameson you’ve got cavities in every tooth. No, you’d probably like that, you pervert.”
Dan cackles. “Are you allowed to call your patients perverts, now?”
Phil smiles through his exacerbation. “No, and I’m not supposed to ask them to dinner, either, yet here I am.”
“Oh, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not, but I won’t tell if you don’t.” Phil whispers, grin now taking over his face. “You wanna go out with me, cowboy boots?”
Dan smiles back. “Oh, so you just like me for the boots?”
“Definitely. You also take my tool in your mouth pretty well.”
Dan pulls a fake-scandalized face. “My god, you’re worse than me. Disgusting!”
“Mm, yeah,” Phil agrees. “So, dinner?”
“Duh, I’ve still got a cavity for you to fill.”