The thing about having a symbiote in your head is that the fucker never gives you a moment of peace. Even when it’s ostensibly sleeping or recharging or hiding in your neurons or whatever, it’s still on, like a goddamn nightlight your kid won’t let you turn out in the hall.
Not that Eddie has kids. Not like he ever can, now.
Sorry, Daddy’s not mad at you, sweetie; it’s the mean old monster who lives inside him that wants to shake you apart and bite off your head.
Pfffft, kids, fuck--these days, Eddie can’t get a damn date. Or, more like, he’s afraid to, because if there’s one thing he’s learned about Venom these past few months, it’s that the thing is a jealous bitch.
Not a bitch. Don’t like that word, Eddie. Anne doesn’t like it, either.
And how the hell do you know that?
A dismissive slither. Tsk, Venom says. You forget? She carried me.
And that’s what you guys talked about? What kind of vernacular she fancies?
Venom chuckles so loud it shakes the case of Eddie’s brain. No, we talked about you.
You’re gonna be giving me shit about that for the rest of my life, aren’t you?
For the rest of our lives. Yes.
Great. Eddie shifts around on his shitkicker couch. He's in his boxers and an old thready t-shirt and he can feel every damn lump in the thing, every uncomfortable scratch. God, he misses having nice furniture. The overstuffed armchair in Anne’s living room, for example; soft blue and perfectly worn. It knew the shape of his body, practically, reached up when he sat down to cradle him just so between its puffy arms.
Fuck, he thinks, scrubbing at his scruffy face. I’m old.
You are not.
I am. Old and seriously fucking uncool. Only old uncool people think about furniture.
No, Venom says. You’re lonely.
Eddie’s cheeks shoot bright red. “Jesus Christ,” he spits into the silence, “I am not."
He can feel Venom ripple under his skin, smug. Are too.
“I’m not arguing with you about this.”
You know people. You should talk to one on your box. Ask them to come here and make you less alone.
I’m sorry, did you forgot what happened last night? I can’t even say two words to somebody cute at a bar without you getting your hackles up.
Cute, Venom says, dismissive. No. He wasn’t right for you.
“Oh really? You my love guru now, too?”
He wanted to steal your wallet. And possibly your watch.
“Yeah, genius. No shit. What kind of a bar did you think we were in? But he wouldn’t have tried to boost me until after he sucked my cock. And we would’ve stopped him, wouldn’t we?”
A curl of amusement. From sucking your cock? Yes.
Eddie throws up his hands. “My point exactly! You’re a possessive son of a bitch.”
Not a bitch.
Ok, fine. “You’re a possessive bastard, how about that?”
Mmmm. A twitch through Eddie’s thoughts, a warm coil in the well of his gut. Acceptable.
“So, no, I will not be, quote unquote, talking to anyone on my box tonight to see if I can get laid.”
What about one like Anne?
You mean a woman?
Yes. Perhaps you could have one of those.
Eddie snatches at his beer, seriously wishes it was whiskey. “You’d be fine with me screwing a woman, is that what you’re telling me?”
Maybe. Don’t know. A swirl of heat around his shoulders, considering. You don’t think about it much.
“I think about it enough.”
No. Even in your dreaming, your thoughts go to men.
We’ve talked about what dreams are like, Venom. They’re crazytown--like the brain's recycling plant. Not the same as conscious thoughts .
Exactly. They are more honest that what you think in the day.
“No, they’re not,” Eddie says around the last swallow. “They’re just mental noise.”
What does that mean, hmmm?
Anne had thoughts about it. What it was like joining with you.
We’re not talking about Anne.
A tendril slips out of his back and pokes him hard in the side. Fine, Venom says, petulant. I will talk and you will listen.
She liked it. Remembered it even before I asked.
“You ASKED? What the fuck, asshole?”
Venom preens, stretches the tendril up to scratch at Eddie’s head. She was not offended. She said she understood my curiosity.
“Did she?” Eddie tips over and buries his face in the stiff arm of the sofa. Does his best not to groan.
She said--what were the words? Hmm. She said that you were very tender and attentive and that you came harder when she licked you--rimmed you? Yes--than when your cock was inside her.
Eddie wants to laugh, to damn well howl, because how else is he supposed to react to his alien ride-along reciting details about his former sex life? Bash his head through the coffee table? Tempting.
Venom hums. She said that sometimes you asked her to be inside of you, Eddie. That you liked it when she fucked you. And that she liked fucking you, too.
His whole body is burning now, his skin one gigantic red stretch of shame. “Great,” he mutters into the musty fabric. “That’s really great, Venom. I’m so freaking glad she told you that.”
And Anne asked me something.
Of course she did.
She said, Do you like being inside of him, too?
And that--that is the fucking moment when Eddie knows that he’s screwed, that he’s not getting off the couch or out of this night without something ridiculous and semi-humiliating happen and why does that knowledge makes his idiot dick hard instead of sending him running? Well. He’s always been a little bit sick.
And what did you say?
You know. A low, satisfied purr. You know that I do. There’s a warm slither suddenly as Venom reaches out from inside him; he pushes a tentacle up and out of Eddie’s back and curves it around Eddie’s waist, squeezes. I want us to be happy. For you to be, Eddie.
You got a fucking weird way of showing it, man.
Venom laughs, strokes the tip of his tentacle up the plain of Eddie’s chest, laughs again when Eddie’s breath staggers. You can go back to that place. The one with the man. You can find him again if you want to.
And why would I want to do that?
So he can suck your cock. Or so he can put his inside you.
“I don’t want some random dude to fuck me.”
Yes, you do. There’s slip of slick beneath his shorts, a tickle at the base of his dick. Look how aroused you are, just at the thought.
Eddie lifts his hips, gives Venom a little more room to touch. God, this is too much. What the hell are they doing? Why the fuck haven’t they done this before?
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to get fucked,” Eddie pants, pitching his forehead against the arm of the couch. “But I don’t want it from somebody I don’t know.”
Oh. The word like a whisper. Curious, like a curl of cigarette smoke. You would have Anne?
His balls give a real unhelpful jerk. “Do you see her here?”
Venom’s grip tightens, all three tentacles catching. I do not.
“So?” He says it out loud, for some reason. Maybe so he can hear himself say it, so he can show himself that this is real. “What are you going to do about it?”
Which is how Eddie winds up on his knees, clutching at the cheap, scratchy cushions for dear life as Venom teases him, snakes warm black strands around his asshole, petting and licking and not moving any fucking faster, no matter how loud Eddie shouts.
Be still, Venom says. You like this, I can tell.
Oh you can can you?
Yes. Another long, hungry stroke. Anne said you enjoyed being teased.
Eddie groans and grinds into the couch, tries to, but Venom hooks him hard around the waist and holds him up, holds him back.
Bastard. I’m never letting you talk to her again.
Venom sighs, pleased and put upon, and rubs his face, the edge of his teeth, against the small of Eddie’s back. You can try.
He’s big when he pushes in and Eddie can tell it’s deliberate; not trying to hurt but trying to push, trying to be too much too much all at once and it works and he wails and gets another satisfied shove in return.
Take this, Venom says, hot and dark in his ear. All of it, Eddie. It’s yours and I want you to take.
He eases out and makes Eddie chase him, makes him work his hips up and back, up and back, until they find a rhythm somewhere in the middle, in the space each one becomes we.
Touch me, Eddie says, a plea in the air, in his head. “My cock, I need you to--”
And then Venom’s there, thick and sticky, each stroke of this new tentacle a tight, gorgeous slide.
That man last night. Would he have given you this?
No no told you I didn’t want him to
What about Anne, when she--
No no no stop this isn’t like
No. A swipe of Venom’s tongue on his cheek. It isn’t. This is better with me, Eddie. Yes?
A noise comes of Eddie’s throat, high and awful and good.
It’s ok, Venom says, soothing. You don’t have to say it. I can feel you. I know.
Eddie reaches back and wraps his hand over Venom’s grip on his dick, his fingers skidding over the smooth and the slick, and shit, that feels good, feels like Venom’s enjoying it, too; ripples of pleasure that creep beneath his skin in dirty, glorious waves, and then the thing in his ass is swelling, pulsing, like Venom’s actually fucking him with a cock and that cock is about to lose it and pump him full of come--
Is that what you want?
Yes please yes I need it need you to
Venom bellows, a ragged version of their We're gonna fuck you up roar, and then there’s heat everywhere: in his ass, shooting out of his dick, ripping over every inch of his body, every last strand of his thoughts, all of them beginning and ending with
Mine mine mine Eddie mine
And for an instant, he’s inside of himself and beyond his own skin and he feels smothered, as if at last he can finally breathe, and what he knows is
We, you fucker. We.
Venom laughs and nuzzles Eddie’s ass, his tongue easing the way as he pulls himself out.
God, you’re big.
That gets him a kiss, an eager suck at his opening, at the mess Venom's left behind. I can be smaller next time.
Next time, Eddie thinks. Jesus. There will be a next time, won’t there. There isn’t any question; they are so doing this again. But preferably not on this goddamn couch.
I like big, he tells Venom, reaching back to pet the tentacle still strung around his waist. I like you.
Venom oozes up, pours himself around Eddie’s back, down and over Eddie’s shaking arms. Good, he purrs. Because I am yours and you are mine. That is the way it will be.
Eddie laughs, kisses the tip of a tentacle that slips up his chin. “What did I tell you?” he says. “Jealous bitch.”