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It had taken Eddie a disturbingly short time to notice that his body had very particular responses to being taken over. To being possessed, to being used. The power is thrilling. Venom is thrilling, desperately frightening, unpredictable in ways that reach right into Eddie’s psyche. The symbiote pushes buttons that he hadn’t known about, and others that he kind of had. He’s found himself with an erection when being yanked through traffic and up dangerous heights, wanted to moan out loud when he feels Venom manifesting itself around him, inside him, through him.

Once they’d accepted their cohabitation of Eddie’s body, it hadn’t taken much longer to start thinking about what they could do with it. He still isn’t sure what Venom’s species does for sex, if it has anything like it. If not, the symbiote is a quick learner. It enjoys playing with Eddie’s body, chasing and pushing his responses, seeing how far they can go.

Often it will just stroke over his skin, inside and out, caressing slippery tentacles everywhere. It teases his nipples and makes him beg for a touch on his cock, draws sucking wet circles around his asshole.

That’s what they’re doing now, when Eddie feels something like a fingertip pushing into him.

He likes being fucked. Anne had had a way with toys, and he still sometimes strokes himself off to the memory of a past boyfriend who liked to bend him over the kitchen table and pound him, hard and fast and demanding. The slithering matter between his legs, like a tongue sucking and licking him, is getting him as slick as if they were using lube. The fingertip presses again, with a crooning, questioning sound from the symbiote.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, the word vanishing on a gasp. “If you’re up my ass – oh – I should get to feel you up my ass…”

There’s a chuckle at that, then a grip under his knee, hauling his leg up and open. The fingertip tentacle is suddenly rigid and very much larger, nudging at his entrance. Eddie is breathing hard, but he’s careful not to tense, ready to let himself be opened up. He’s still nothing like prepared for what happens next. Venom slams in, huge and blunt and so rough Eddie thinks he’s going to be torn open. He screams out loud with the pain and the shock of it.

There’s a moment of absolute panic. Venom pulls right out, but Eddie’s still flailing and kicking and he doesn’t know who’s controlling his limbs, if anyone is. It hurts, it fucking hurts – or rather, it should. He realises, belatedly, that Venom has healed whatever the damage was, the way it will fix a broken bone in a fight. He has no physical pain, but his body is still wired and ready to fight, adrenalin pumping.

The symbiote has relinquished all control. Slipping out of his body, it lands with a splat beside him. It’s in its most basic form, with only a fine thread connecting them, the smallest of lifelines. He’s still Venom’s host, but it’s as far outside him as it can be, a forlorn puddle of goo.

Getting his breathing under control, he realises that he’s shivering. The room wasn’t this cold a moment ago.

“What the – what the fuck was that?”

The puddle beside him shifts, and he hears Venom’s voice in his head, sounding very quiet.

“I thought – I thought that’s what you wanted.” With the words comes a flash of memory, of Mike and the kitchen table. Except that it’s not memory, it’s the porned-up version he uses to jerk off, focused on the thickness of Mike’s cock, on being held down and fucked open until he’s shouting.

“That’s not – I mean, yes, but…” His voice trails away. Eddie knows that Venom can read his emotions. Living inside him, it understands a lot of what he’s thinking, even without words. But he can feel the creature’s confusion, that what he had so clearly wanted had been this unwelcome.

“It’s a fantasy,” he says. “Don’t you exaggerate things, thinking about what you want? More, bigger, focusing on the best parts?”

“No,” Venom says. “My wants are reasonable. I think of biting off heads, I bite off heads. I think of fucking you. I fuck you. I do what I want, and it is good.”

The words are as arrogant as ever, but Eddie can feel its uncertainty, recognise that it’s as much panicked as he is. Beside him, the black, sticky puddle is twitching on the sheet, as if ruffled by a breeze. It looks desperately unhappy. Awkwardly, he reaches out a hand, scooping the symbiote up and pulling it onto his bare chest.

It lands with a flood of relief, spreading out over his skin and sinking into his body. He can still feel a shivery quality, an unmistakable tang of need as it reaches itself through his limbs, beds itself right into his body. It leaves a little piece of itself outside, the size of a kitten, pressed against his heartbeat. Eddie reaches up to pet it, stroking the warm, slippery lump and feeling it snuggle in.

“I am sorry, Eddie,” Venom whispers. “I wanted to make you feel good.” Then, petulantly, “Humans are so fragile!” It might be its usual sniping, but Eddie can feel the fear behind it, emotions like a big, messy knot in their shared chest.

“I know,” he says, still stroking. “I know.” They fall asleep like that, not comfortable but comforted.

The next morning is awkward. When Eddie wakes, he can feel Venom watching him, anxious and on edge. It’s observing him silently, not bitching about how late he slept or how boring and dead a breakfast of leftover takeout is likely to be. Apparently it wants to follow his cues, while putting out a buzz of nervous energy that is already driving the conversation they aren’t having yet.

Eddie knows this one. With Anne, he’d be tempted to slide off to work as fast as he could, get away from the danger zone. That won’t work when his other half is in his head. He resents the way Venom gives him no choice but to grow as a person. The chance to create one of his usual fuckups has never looked more attractive, or more out of reach.

He makes a last effort anyway, pulling himself out of bed, going to the bathroom, pretending everything is normal. He feels no pain, but still has the urge to walk gingerly, his mind struggling to process the fact that Venom has healed the physical damage.

He’s clumsy about making breakfast, banging down crockery, spilling coffee. Putting his cup in the sink, he manages to crack it against the tap. Even then, Venom is silent: no mockery of his lack of coordination, his human messiness. It’s awful.

So they talk.

Eddie leaves the chipped cup in the sink, gets a fresh one to make more coffee. Then he sits down in his tiny lounge, and says it out loud.

“Last night.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you.” Venom says, in a rush. That’s a bit too much, even for a kiss and make up session.

“You hurt me all the time,” Eddie points out. He sends over a memory: Venom pinning him to a wall, high up off the ground, limbs bruised against the concrete surface. He tries to suppress the way his cock had stirred in response.

“Not since I realised you matter,” Venom says. Then, its deep voice sounding uncharacteristically small, “Not – not in ways I can’t fix.”

Eddie pauses, surprised. Then he thinks of the ways Venom cushions him in fights, closing up wounds and straightening twisted limbs. He thinks of the way the physical pain of being fucked had vanished, just as soon as he screamed.

“I was going to give you what you wanted,” it says, sounding baffled. “Show you how much better I could be than… Mike.” Its voice drips with disdain on the name: though it likes Anne, the symbiote tends to get possessive at the thought of Eddie’s other exes.

“Sometimes I don’t want what’s good for me,” Eddie replies, then realises that this really can’t be news to Venom. He tries again. “What I want isn’t always what I really want? It’s a version of it. How I want to feel.”

“Hmmm.” he can feel Venom thinking this over. “Your species is badly designed.”

“Yeah, we’re fucked up,” Eddie agrees, and they leave it there for the moment.

***

The next few days are cautious, until life takes over again. Eddie gets a couple of freelance assignments, with short notice and shorter deadlines. Venom eats a creepy middle-aged man they find hanging out round a girls’ school. Eddie thinks the symbiote jumped to conclusions, but withdraws his objections after they’ve checked out the guy’s record. Venom is smug.

“Like you said,” it purrs. “Recognising bad people is a feeling. An instinct.” Then they burp, which rather spoils the effect.

On the fourth day they have sex again. It’s slightly tentative but very sweet, lots of cuddling and stroking. Towards the end, Eddie thinks, Venom starts to really relax. It teases him a little, makes him wait, makes him beg. They both feel a lot better for it.

Ten days later, Venom raises it again. Or rather, announces its solution to the problem.

Eddie is having a peaceful evening at home, watching a movie and eating hot and sour pork with chocolate to follow. He potters about, checking emails, noting some leads to follow up tomorrow. Venom is quiet, beyond a few snarky comments about the movie. Then, as Eddie is dumping his bowl in the sink, Venom says one word.

“Bed.”

Oh, fuck, the voice is back. It’s Venom at full power, the deep rumble that reaches right down into Eddie’s belly, right down to his balls. Venom isn’t directing his limbs, but it makes no difference: he walks straight to the bedroom like a man under compulsion.

“Clothes…” Venom sounds considering now, still in that growl, rich and dark and dangerous. “Off, don’t you think?” Eddie’s already halfway out of his shirt, his heart beating faster, his cock twitching.

Once he’s naked, Venom just takes over, controlling Eddie’s body, tipping him onto his back, spread out on the bed. Then it manifests, dark tendrils wrapped around Eddie’s torso, the grinning face hanging over his. It’s as if it wants to show him all the many ways it can hold him down: a body pressed over his like a human lover’s, strong arms around him, tentacles curling over and through him. It’s stopped puppeteering his body, but otherwise it’s holding him firm. Venom flicks out its tongue, teases along the line of Eddie’s mouth, pulls away when his lips part.

“I have decided,” Venom announces. “We can agree that you make terrible choices.” It ducks its head, gleaming teeth against the fast pulse in Eddie’s throat. He makes an indistinct noise, half-swallowed. Venom purrs and nibbles, just a little, its teeth gentle and very sharp. “Humans don’t know what they want. They are bad at admitting it, at asking for it. But” – it licks up the side of his neck, growls when he gasps – “I know what you want. I know exactly what you want.”

The memory of the time Venom had tried to penetrate him hangs in the air between them, but bizarrely, it’s more of a turn-on than it has any right to be. It had been a disaster, but Eddie finds himself lingering on the thought of Venom’s tentacles, the way it shifted shape and sucked, the idea of the symbiote pushing itself inside him in so many ways at once.

“You see,” Venom says. “Your fantasies are misleading. But your body” – it slides a tentacle down, slick and wet as it glides past Eddie’s rapidly hardening cock – “your body is honest. It tells me what you want. What I should give you. What you need.” The last word comes out in a long, deep purr. Two new tentacles curl around Eddie’s thighs, pulling his legs a little wider. He’s breathing hard, his heart thumping.

“So, Eddie. Let me choose. Let me fuck you.” Eddie can’t stop himself whining at the thought of it. The voice is like velvet, like chocolate, like the blood pounding in his veins. “Say it. Tell me I can do what I like to you. Whatever I like.” The long tongue flicks out, nudges between his lips, then licks up the side of his face. “Say yes, Eddie.”

“Yes, Eddie,” he grits out, because he can’t resist being a little shit, not to Venom. The symbiote tightens its grip on his legs, a coiling tentacle stroking his cock with far too light a touch. When he squirms, it holds tighter, pressing down on his arms and torso, holding him spread open. Then it pauses, the bastard thing pauses, just when it’s got him trapped and vulnerable and desperate for it.

“Ssssay it,” it hisses.

Eddie is panting so hard that it’s a struggle to get the word out.

“Yes – I – oh…”

“Good boy,” the symbiote growls. “I will keep you safe.” Eddie would laugh at the idea that anything to do with Venom is safe, but the words come with a surge of protectiveness, greedy and fierce. “You are mine, Eddie,” it reminds him. “I’m going to make you feel good.” Its arms and tentacles tighten just a little, gripping him close.

If he could move, he would put his arms around his other, cling to it. Held down and spread out, all he can do is open himself, let his muscles and his mind welcome Venom in. He wants it to push right down to the level of his bones, to his marrow, to every cell in his body. He wants it to take, and take, and take.

Venom hisses again, a sizzle of satisfaction and lust. Its physical form is slithering around him, the slick tentacles sucking close so it can move without loosening its grip. It’s like being stroked and bound at once, silky and rough. It pulls his thighs wider, pooling between his legs.

One of the humanoid arms still around him begins to morph, pushing its way down the bed under Eddie’s back, slithering towards the crack of his ass. The other arm coils around his chest, starts to tug at his nipples. Tiny tendrils are teasing through his pubic hair, wriggling down to cup his balls.

No human lover could do this, could do all of this at once. Eddie is flat on his back on the bed, pressed into the mattress, yet there are teasing touches all over his spine. He’s held up and held down, squirming touches licking and pinching and gripping, mouths and hands and strong muscle all over him. Just as he thinks that, a tiny tentacle slides down to tickle the sole of one foot, before winding around his ankle and pulling his leg wider, nudging his knee up and open.

“Yes, Eddie. I can give you everything,” Venom tells him, in a self-satisfied rumble. He can feel the creature soaking up his wonder, enjoying his sensory overload. “I’m going to give you everything.” It’s almost crooning, now. “You are beautiful, Eddie.”

Venom is inside his head, inside his body, doing everything it can to turn him on, but the compliment still makes Eddie flush.

“Not – not just a puny human, then,” he says, trying to pretend that he doesn’t crave this, that Venom’s praise doesn’t warm him right through.

“You are fragile,” it tells him fondly. “You bend and break so easily, look.” It flashes its own view of him into Eddie’s mind, letting him see himself. “But so pretty.” It tugs harder, pulling him into an arched, taut position, spread out and wanting. Eddie whimpers, leaning into Venom’s bonds, feeling his cock twitch.

The hand under his ass starts to move, fingers spreading him wider. Another tentacle slips into the space, lapping at his asshole. Venom is still neglecting his cock, beyond giving him the odd touch or squeeze in passing. It’s stroking and gripping his balls, both teasing and holding him firm.

“You don’t come until I say so, Eddie,” the symbiote tells him. It can do that, too: it knows how to bring him to the edge and keep him there, until he’s a sweaty, begging mess. That won’t take much longer, tonight.

At that thought, Venom rears up, getting its face right into Eddie’s.

“We are not in any hurry,” it tells him, all grin. The long tongue flicks out, pushes between Eddie’s lips. Down between his legs, what feels like another tongue starts to work, pressing against his asshole, smearing wetness and pushing inside.

It’s very gentle, this time, the pointed tongue-tip squirming its way in. It’s all gradual, almost overshadowed by all the other ways Venom is stroking and touching and playing with him. But the – tongue? tentacle? hand? – keeps nudging in, starting a kind of slow rock. And it’s expanding, pressing against inner walls, finding the angles that make him twitch.

At the same time, Venom ramps up everything else. The tentacles grip tighter, pulling and squeezing. Ducking its head, it licks and bites at his nipples, lets the sharp teeth scratch enough to sting.

Inside him, it’s still expanding, slick and hot and urgent. Little by little, the movement is building up speed. Almost casually, a tendril licks over the head of his cock; Eddie can feel Venom’s grin when he bucks and sobs.

It can do so many things, caressing his prostate as it rocks into him, pumping harder and faster. He thinks of his old fantasy, realises that Venom is finding different ways of enacting it, of pushing him just as far as he’d imagined.

“You can take so much more than this,” it tells him, almost conversationally. Eddie whimpers, losing himself in the sense of being stretched and filled, bitten and nipped, bent into place and fucked hard. It’s all so much, the tentacle still expanding as it moves faster.

And then the symbiote unfurls another tentacle, sliding it around his cock. Eddie howls, hips trying to lift, to thrust into Venom’s touch. He’s held so tight he can barely move. Still fucking him hard, Venom starts to stroke him, black matter writhing over his cock. Eddie should be coming by now, completely worked up, but his symbiote won’t let him; it controls this as easily as it directs his limbs.

Time stretches, or stops. He’s held open, possessed inside and out, pounded and tantalised. At some point he realises that he’s begging, making breathy little sounds.

“Venom – oh – please – let me – oh baby – ”

“I think you would like to come now, Eddie,” the symbiote says, and it’s trying to tease but the voice in his head sounds as wrecked as he feels. Eddie can only moan, thinking yes as hard as he can.

“MINE,” Venom says, a full-throated roar, and lets him come.

There’s a moment when Eddie can’t tell what’s Venom and what’s himself, their bond so bright that it wipes out everything but we, we, us, mine. His whole body is lit up, overstimulated and shuddering, his mind blazing.

When he comes back to himself, Venom has pulled out of him, mostly. The symbiote is curled against him, its head looking down at him and one strong tentacle coiled around his chest. It licks and pets him as he lies there panting. Once Eddie can move, he reaches up to grip the tentacle, holding on. It makes a pleased noise, and presses closer.

This time, Venom hasn’t healed him. Or maybe it has, some, but Eddie knows he’s going to feel it the next day. He’ll be walking carefully, with scratches and bite marks on his skin. There are signs of Venom’s possession all over him, all through him, inside and out. He’s bruised and marked and completely fucked out.

“You love it,” the symbiote says, beyond smug.

“Yeah,” Eddie manages. “Yeah, I do.”