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I wasn’t interested in finding something that would allow Greid to penetrate me, but I was interested in other things. So in the week, I was planning on crossing three things off my list: getting the subway alone, visiting a new part of the city and buying a strap-on.
I was equal parts nervous and excited.
Carefully folding up my map, I tucked it into my backpack and looked over at Greid to give him a smile. Sweet, oblivious Greid who had no idea that by the end of the week, I was planning on fucking the hell out of him. He gave me a tired smile back, long fingers fiddling with the phone in his lap as he slumped in his seat. Luckily, the subway seemed to have been designed with demiurgus in mind, because the seats were pretty wide, which meant his long legs didn’t get in the way of people standing between them.
When the train finally slowed to a stop in Dropclay Station, I grabbed Greid’s hand and eagerly tugged him up. “Come on.”
“Can we get coffee first?” He clung to my hand as I led him off the train and along the platform.
“Yeah. And breakfast.” I threaded our fingers together and squeezed. “I’m so excited. I want to see the whole market.”
He chuckled. “We will.”
It was somewhat early on a Sunday morning, so the station wasn’t too busy as we made our way through the turnstiles and out onto the street. I shivered in the cold morning air, tugging on the gloves I’d bought on our way to the station earlier. It was getting really cold now, and some stores were starting to advertise for Christmas.
“Do demiurgus celebrate Christmas?” I asked Greid as we walked down the street, which had a mix of human- and demiurgus-made buildings crammed in beside one another.
“Some do, yeah. Not for any religious reason. Just as a holiday.”
“Does your family?”
“Yeah. Mom fucking loves it. Still goes all out every year.” He glanced down at me with a rueful expression. “She will definitely invite you to the obligatory family dinner, but you don’t have to go, obviously. I can—”
“I’d love to, if you want me to,” I interrupted eagerly. “We didn’t celebrate Christmas at The Order because it’s not a ‘true demiurgus holiday’. Can we get a tree for the house?”
“Yeah, I have a potted one that I bring in every year.” He ducked his head, ears fluttering. “And, um, yeah, I want you to come. If you want to. If you’re sure you want to spend an afternoon with all my siblings. And my aunt and uncle.”
“I really do.” I grinned up at him, excited at the thought of being surrounded by a big family. “Where does your mom live? In the city?”
“No, suburbs. Still in the same house we all grew up in. Kiti still lives at home because she prefers spending her money on vacations, not rent, and Mom is too soft to tell her to grow up. And my brother Sorin recently moved back in ’cause he broke up with his boyfriend and had to move out of the place they had together.”
“Oh, that sucks. Do you see them often? Your siblings, I mean.”
“Eh.” He shrugged. “Not too often. We all just kind of do our own thing, but we text fairly regularly and all meet up when Mom forces us to.”
“I really liked your mom when she came to visit. And Kiti. But especially your mom.”
Greid’s mouth quirked. “Yeah, she’s awesome. In a mom way.”
I chuckled. “What’s a mom way?”
“You know, like… overbearing and nosy, but out of love. Wants the best for her kids so takes it upon herself to make what she thinks is best happen for them. That kind of stuff. And she’s a great cook.”
“Oh, that reminds me.” I squeezed his hand. “Mani and Ron have invited us for dinner sometime.”
His fingers twitched against mine. “Oh. Okay. Um, yeah, we can do that, if you want to—”
“We don’t have to.” I didn’t want him to feel pressured. “I only brought it up because Ron mentioned making some demiurgus dish. I can’t remember what he called it, but he said all demiurgus moms have their own versions and people get weird about eating other versions.”
Greid chuckled. “He probably means porin. And yes, he is absolutely correct. My mom’s version of porin is the only good version.”
“Of course it is,” I deadpanned. “What is it?”
“It’s just, like… a casserole thing.”
I waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Descriptive.”
“I don’t know, it’s just really good. Meat and whatever. Some kind of root vegetable. It just tastes amazing and any version other than my mom’s is shit. When I first went to college I used to order it a lot from this little family-owned restaurant down the street because I—” He coughed self-consciously. “You know, missed my mom or whatever, but it just didn’t taste the same. The seasoning was wrong. The meat was too tough.”
