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Sorley is hanging around outside the bunkhouse door when the Outsider gets back.
“Hello,” he says, when it looks like they’re going to walk past him. “You’re Eveny, right? The Outsider?” They don’t look it: to Sorley’s eye, relatively inexperienced yet with the infinite forms animal people can come in, they look much the same as most of the native residents wandering the camp. A bit taller, perhaps. Bigger, overall. But some people are just big.
Eveny lets out an exasperated sigh, planting their hands on their ample hips. “Yes, I suppose,” they say. “And what have I done to have locals bothering me every hour of the day and night? What do you want?”
Sorley gives them his brightest smile. “Oh, nothing like that, don’t worry,” he says. “I was just wondering—I spoke to Armengol recently. You know him, right?”
Sorley isn’t great at reading the nuances of animal expressions; he’s certainly unpracticed in faces like Eveny’s, who is, after all, an Outsider. Still, he’s fairly sure the look in their eye now might be called suggestive. But all they say is, “Yes, I know him. He’s the one who brought me here.”
“He seems to like you rather,” Sorley says, and smiles again. “He really seems to like you. He was very complimentary. I told him I might have to meet you myself.”
Eveny gives him a long look, and then laughs, belly-deep and powerful—there really is something so fascinatingly unignorable about their physicality. “Is that all, then?” they say. “Alright, come in if you’re coming.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sorley says, and follows them to the door. “I intend to.”
“Oh, that’s big,” Sorley says, breathless with delight. The top-heavy, curved shape of Eveny’s cock is unlike any he’s ever seen before. “He said you were a shapeshifter. Is it always like that, or did you make it bigger?”
Eveny rumbles a laugh, manhandling him up onto the bed and pulling his knees apart. “It’s not always like anything,” they say. “I’m a shapeshifter. This is how I tend to keep it most of the time.” They pause then, considering him. “I could make it bigger if you like.”
“Oh, would you?” Sorley says. He stretches himself out on his back, spreading his legs and tilting his hips up towards them. “I think that would be lovely.”
“Oh—go on, fuck, I can take more than that, make it a little—fuck. Yes. Just like that.”
Eveny grunts with exertion, part annoyance and part laughter. “Do you ever shut the fuck up,” they say, biting down on Sorley’s collarbone. Their tongue is long and slick and lightly split at the tip. It feels fantastic.
“Not if I can help it, darling,” Sorley says. “Come on, fuck me harder.”
They do, so abruptly that he yelps, and then he finds he doesn’t have anything particularly coherent to say after all.
“Your back,” Eveny says, in tones of polite disbelief, “is hollow.”
“Mmm, yes,” Sorley says. He’s laid out on his stomach, his face pillowed in his arms, feeling satisfyingly fucked out. “You can look, and touch the edges, but please don’t put your hand inside. It’s often sensitive, and not in a pleasant way.”
Eveny’s fingertips are careful as they probe the borders of the split in his bark. “Why is it like that?” they say. Their voice echoes faintly: they’re peering into the hollow of his ribcage.
“All my people are like that,” he says.
Eveny makes a skeptical sound. “Where do you keep your organs?”
Sorley laughs outright. “I suppose you won’t have encountered many of us yet,” he says. “We’re walking trees, darling, we don’t need organs. I came out of an oak, about five years ago. I’m nearly as much a stranger to this land as you are.”
“I see,” Eveny says, and taps a couple times along the edge of the hole. “And this oak you came from—it’s still out there somewhere?”
“You’re an Outsider,” Sorley says equanimously, “so I will forgive you the unbelievable rudeness of that question.”
“My apologies, then.”
“As I said, I forgive you.” Sorley turns his head, peeking up at them over his shoulder, and smiles. “But if you’d really like to make it up to me, you could fuck me again.”
“Armengol. He’s a friend of yours?” Eveny says, directly into his ear.
They’re on their sides, Eveny’s enormous, undeniable body pressed up against his back, their fat cock fucking into his pistil and one big hand wrapped around his stamen. Sorley arches back against them, enjoying the helplessness of how hard he’s being made to take it. “I thought you wanted me to shut the fuck up,” he says.
Eveny laughs breathlessly against his throat. “I never said that.”
“No, I suppose you didn’t,” Sorley agrees. “Ah, fuck—he’s—I don’t know if I’d say friends, per se. We know each other. He came to see me while I was recovering.”
Eveny twists their grip on his stamen, making him shudder. “You fucked him yet?” they say.
“Not yet,” Sorley says. “I’m going to.” Armengol had said he could, after all. He was tipsy at the time, but that doesn’t invalidate his agreement. If he needs a little help, Sorley still has a few vials of pollen stored away.
“You’ll like him,” Eveny whispers hotly. “He’s needy. He thinks he’s not, but he wants it so bad.”
A delicious little thrill shivers through Sorley. “Yeah?”
“He keeps telling me he won’t be back,” Eveny says with a soft laugh. “And then every other night he’s in my bed, begging for my cock.”
Maybe Armengol won’t need the pollen. Maybe Sorley will dose him with it anyway. “I love ‘em repressed,” he says, and then moans in surprise as Eveny’s cock pulses inside him. “They’re always such fucking freaks once you scratch the surface. Ah, fuck, fuck, yeah, like that—”
Eveny spills themself inside him—more than seems probable from one cock, however magnificent—and Sorley comes panting and shuddering all over their hand.
“Hm,” Sorley says, and lifts his index finger to his lips, sucking a smear of Eveny’s come into his mouth. “Have you noticed anything odd about anyone you’ve fucked since you came here?” He casts an admiring glance over their body and raises an eyebrow. “I have to assume it hasn’t only been Armengol, no matter how insatiable he is.”
Eveny waves that off without a response. “What do you mean by odd?”
Sorley shrugs. “Just… odd. Changes you wouldn’t expect, maybe.”
“I haven’t, no,” Eveny says. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” Sorley says, and slides his fingers down between his legs, where Eveny’s come is still leaking out of his pistil. He drags his fingers through it, enjoying the slick debauchedness of the feeling. “You know, the land has changed sometimes, in the places where we’ve spilled Outsider blood.”
Eveny doesn’t answer for a very long moment. “Huh,” they say finally.
“Mhmm,” Sorley agrees, and lifts his fingers to his lips to lick them delicately clean.