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Title: Hilt Tribute
Rating: G Author's Note: Reading Hilt is not neccessary to understand this story; M&S feel-good schmoop is feel good schmoop. However, the entire subtext of this vignette is based around Nonie's Hilt series--why Mulder suddenly does what he does, why Mulder's acting the way he does, why I MUAHAHA. As the summary says, this is a tiny, rinky-dink sort of present that I'm laying at the feet of Nonie's M/K Hilt series. This vignette is the result of reading Hilt III and being absolutely mesmerized by her Mulder--cruel, edgy, emotional, sadistic. . .Characteristics not usually associated with him, but characteristics that Nonie made very, very nice. :) And yes, this is an unrestrained plug for Hilt. Go read it at http://www.avalon.net/~nonie/slash.html . 1/99/ . And yes, there's something feral about him these days, how can you explain it? What do you call it? Prowling? How do you say, with any degree of succinctity and believability, I think something's up because of the way he walks, this long, loose, swing of his legs, a sublimely confident stride and his shoulders leaning back. The way he swings his head up to meet your smile, half-a smirk curving his eyes before the words are even uttered. Languid little movements of his hands, liquid positioning of hands across the table, thumb folded underneath hand just so, completely relaxed as he leans back into his seat. He brought me lunch today. Asked me what I wanted, laughed when I said I wasn't sure I wanted any of the government rejects were passing as ravioli, and he told me he was going to get *real* ravioli. Then came back back with takeout tray from Pirandello's, and my eyebrow arched. Sudden fantasy of sharing a plate of ravioli with Mulder. "You're not going to ask me to share, are you?" A little smirk as he lounged against the file cabinets, watching me with half- hooded eyes. "No." A smile. "Consider it your prize for flattening your 3,000th Mulder-theory." I sniff at him and end up inhaling a lungful of artery-clotting pasta. Three cheese, parmesan, ricotta? Smooth, smooth sauce, chives, basil, very light on the tongue but strong enough for a faint tang, touch of garlic, very warm, and-- "Aren't you going to have anything?" I held a forkfull out to him. "I'm not hungry." My eyebrow notched up. The human stomach turning down food? "I'm serious. I had something at the restaurant." This little purr of a smile as he watched me eat, a little smile all to himself--noontime quickie? I stabbed the ravioli with unneccessary force, then concentrated on eating the with flagrant groans and gesticulations indicating how good it was. He slid behind his desk and watched me eat, and now, now, he's taken a knife out of his desk. It's got a serrated edge, light running like water across it's smooth surfaces, and Mulder rests a cool index finger upon the very tip, a curious smile twisting his face, and I wonder what Mulder is doing with a knife like that, but then he slides it back into his desk with a little smile, and he turns his head up to me, the satiation coming off him so strong that I can taste it at the back of my mouth as a rich copper flavor, and he says, "Yes?" .end Feedback to anasile@aol.com
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