Galatea

Galatea Chapter Fourteen (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta... I've got a surprise for you for Imbolc, neener neener neener... InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena make me squeal like a girl because they archive/host! *G * ProPhile is still a smutmuse-cicle. Readers/Reviewers: Let's try this again. *sigh * I had this half done and Frankenputer crash. Yeah, I saved as I went, but Frankenputer doesn't care. Heartless, it is! *sigh * Okay, one more time...


When Beast dropped his fork for the sixth time, Cecilia sighed. "Do you want to leave?"
"No," he lied, wiping the utensil on his napkin. "I'm fine."
She toyed with her appetizer, something on bread that look suspiciously like a gussied up microwave pizza, and said carefully, "We can do something else..."
He frowned. "This is fine." Beast glanced at his holo-disguised hands and stifled a sigh. He wore the hologram like an itchy suit, twitching and touching, checking it's status nearly constantly. It was getting quite annoying for all parties involved.
Cecilia sighed again and drained her wineglass. "We could..."
"This," he said firmly, "is fine." If this was romance, he thought, give me less. He was inwardly relieved he did not have a chance to talk to Kurt again, embarrassed as he was about actually approaching the teenager for romantic advice. He blessed Emma for breaking Banshee's nose, creating enough of a distraction that he ran out of time for the meeting with Kurt before having to hurry to meet Cecilia. "You look lovely."
She winced. Her dress was too small, her shoes too tight and her feet were swollen from spending all day standing besides. "Thank you."
They fell silent as the waiter appeared with their entrees, warning them of the hot plates and promising more wine in a moment. Finally alone again, Beast said, "I think I got yours."
"No...I think I got yours and you got someone else's entirely..." She poked it dubiously with her knife. "Did you order red meat?"
"Fish."
"This is bleeding." She jabbed it again. "I think we could autopsy this relatively easily..."
Beast hid a smile and peered at his own plate. "This isn't fish or red meat. I think it was a bird in some recent incarnation."
Cecilia frowned and stabbed the suspect meat again. "Henry, I don't think they even cooked this. That's unhealthy!"
He leaned over to examine her bloody carcass. "I think it was a cow."
"That's...unsettling." She pushed the plate away and glanced up at him. "When the waiter comes by again, do you want to ask for the check so we can leave?"
He tentatively reached for her hand and laced their fingers together. "Cecilia..."
"You're on fire."
"Excuse me?"
"You're on fire," she said a bit more loudly, leaning back. "Your tie is on fire!"
Beast blinked at her, then glanced down at his tie. "Oh..." He batted at it ineffectually as the synthetic fabric burned and melted to his shirt and chest. "This is embarrassing..."
Cecilia picked up her glass of ice water and threw it at him, missing his burning tie and catching him full in the face. "Damn it!"
The waiter lurched towards their table, upsetting a desert cart in the process. "Sir!" he cried, tumbling forward. "Ow..."
Beast patted out the smoldering remains of his shirt and tie and glanced down to make sure his chest appeared relatively normal. "Are you okay?"
"I think I broke my toe," the waiter moaned.
Cecilia stood. "We're doctors. Take off your shoe...oh!" Her high heel broke, sending her sprawling, her skirt tearing and hiking up somewhere around her hips. "Shit!"
Beast looked between the two, Hippocratic oath going into short circuit in his brain. He sighed in relief as another waiter came forward. Bending towards Cecilia, Beast asked, "Is anything broken?"
"My dignity," she muttered. "I just flashed the entire restaurant."
"I'm sure you..."
"I'm not," she muttered tightly, struggling to her knees, " wearing underwear!"
"Oh!" He jerked back, flustered. "I think we'd better go."
"That would be great," she responded, vowing to kill him later for this bad idea of a date.


"Oh, stop your bitching," Emma groaned.
"It hurts!"
"Bitch, bitch, bitch!"1
Banshee was sorely tempted to throw a shoe at Emma but resisted. Instead, he took the remote control from her and began trans-channeling. "Boring, boring, stupid, boring..."
"If you keep that up, I'll have a seizure."
He clicked faster.
"Give me that," she growled, lunging for the control and falling off the sofa as he squirmed away.
"You broke my nose, I get the clicky thingy."
"The damned door broke your nose!" she growled, rolling to her feet. "You shouldn't have been standing so close!"
"I was coming into the room!"
"Is that what they call eavesdropping here?" she asked innocently, wresting the control away from him with her telekinesis.
"Give that back."
She shoved it down the low cut neckline of her top. "Get it."
Banshee flexed his fingers, sorely tempted. "Don't be childish."
"What?" she asked innocently, her eyes wide and her finger coming up to touch her lips in mock-wonder. "Are you afraid of breasts?"
"Emma, you're being stupid," he complained.
She frowned. "I'm being stupid? Who's the one who APOLOGIZED for having sex with someone WHILE THE SHEETS WERE STILL WARM?"
He winced. "Emma..."
"Who's the one who was so guilt ridden he left without even putting his shoes back on and wrote me a freaking LETTER about why what we did was WRONG?"
"Emma," he said loudly, a dangerous sign in a psionic. "Stop it."
"No."
"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings but..."
"You," she snapped, "did not hurt my feelings."
"Then why are you yelling at me?"
"I'm not yelling," she snarled, "I'm expressing myself forcefully."
"It was a mistake."
Emma's eyes narrowed and she hissed a breath between clenched teeth. She paced forward slowly, pinning Banshee with her anger. "I can tell if you're lying," she said so softly it was almost a whisper. She stopped so close to him they were nearly touching. She brushed her fingers across his forehead and smiled wickedly. "I know if you're lying to me. I know what you want from me... " Emma's smile fell. "I know what everyone wants from me. I don't listen in out of common courtesy but I can tell... I know how you see me. I don't have to be a telepath to know you desire me. Men do. So do some women. I'm used to it so don't flatter yourself with guilt." She drew her nails down his cheek, just hard enough to leave a mark. "And don't insult me with it, either."
"Emma," he said quietly, not scared but definitely wary, "I just don't think things would work between us..."
Her eyes flashed anger and hurt for one brief moment before her hand fell to her side. She took the remote control out of her top and shoved it against his chest. "What makes you think it meant anything, Sean? Sex is sex. Don't pretty it up."
He stared at the remote as the door slammed in her wake. "Well, hell..."
1 Thank you, Grandpa Simpson.