TITLE: A Man Of Taste
AUTHOR: Rhetta
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: Vignette
DISTRIBUTION: Sure, just let me know.
FEEDBACK: pindaran@hotmail.com
SPOILERS: '3'
DISCLAIMER: The 'X-Files' belong to Chris Carter, 1013,
and FOX. Think of this as a friendly loan.
SUMMARY: Some thirsts are easier to quench than others.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A big thanks to Sylvia for the great beta
help.

**********

The clientele lately has been, if you'll pardon the pun, dead.
No taste at all.

No good taste anyway.

I'm just about to take whatever's left when someone at the door
catches my eye.

Someone new.

He's tall. Lean. Dark. And haunted. A living, breathing,
tortured soul.

I lick my lips and swallow slowly. I haven't been this
intrigued since...well, a long time

He scans the room with an intensity that is fascinating to
behold, even from this distance.

I run a finger along the top of my glass and smile. To think
I was going to settle for leftovers tonight.

After a few moments of searching he looks in my direction.
I follow his line of sight to a woman with dark hair and red lips.
I suppress a groan. The new girl. Kristen something. I should
have known.

She's at a table near the bar staring into a compact with a
carefully blank expression. I shake my head slightly. Another
tortured soul. Must be some kind of convention.

How come I never get the invite to those things?

I look back at him. He's moving slowly towards her with an easy,
cat-like grace. All of the sudden I have a strong urge to purr.
Or sharpen my claws on something.

Hell, maybe both.

As he gets closer I'm able to get a better look. He is, in a
word, mesmerizing.

Dark hair. Angular cheeks. Prominent nose. Full mouth. And
eyes a deep hazel that look like they've seen too much in too
short a time. I can practically taste his pain from here.

Practically is not good enough though. I'm absolutely famished.

I knew I should have had something small on the way here.

He circles her table. She clicks her compact shut and looks up
at him. I can't make out what she says, but whatever it was it
gets him to sit down across from her.

Probably something inspired like 'come here often' or 'hey,
handsome.'

I take a few calming breaths. Mustn't lunge. Mustn't lunge.

Before I get the chance to sidle over there and let him know his
plans for the evening have changed the new girl smiles and leans
into him. They start talking with a charged intimacy, each one
leaning into the other's space. At one point I even think his lips
brush her ear.

Personally I can think of other body parts I'd like his lips to
brush. Wouldn't mind reciprocating either.

Unfortunately he's staring at her as if she's the most interesting
and enticing thing in existence.

I love a man who can focus, but there is no way she could be
that...focusable.

Must be some kind of 'tortured' homing beacon.

I sigh. So few men of taste left and they're all taken. By
'new' girls.

The man sitting next to me at the bar touches my arm. I look
over at him. He smiles and holds up his glass in what I'm assuming
is a salute.

Not the exact taste I was hoping for, but it'll do for now.

Holding my glass up, I smile back.