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"I know--I know I fucked up again. I'm sorry."

Venom doesn't feel sorry. Venom doesn't see any reason to. They kept the truth from Anne because it was safer, because she might have tried to convince Eddie to take more hated tests, and because they needed time to plot to win her back. But now, because Eddie clings to his stubborn sense of right and wrong (what the use of it is, Venom doesn't know) and because Anne was beginning to be suspicious, Eddie has told her over cafe food that Venom is still with him.

He's hungry. Anne doesn't seem surprised. Eddie is fidgeting their leg under the table, thinking of reasons and excuses in the face of Anne's spare, direct questions, then discarding them to answer with the truth. Venom has chocolate ice cream, but Eddie has only eaten two bowls and is dithering over the third, too busy with apologizing, or by now simply telling Anne everything they've been doing since they killed Riot, except the parts where people get eaten.

We can make her ours now, Venom interrupts, which is the only upside to all of this truth-telling that he can see.

Eddie starts a little and says under his breath, "No, we're not doing that now, can you just--"

He is not here, Venom points out, meaning the other one that hangs around Anne, the one that hurt them with the MRI, one of the many legion that Eddie won't let him eat. This is the time.

"It's still not--Anne, I'm sorry, I--"

"He's talking to you," Anne interrupts, looking fascinated. Venom preens. He likes Anne paying attention to him, now that Eddie has already spilled their secret. Anne would have been a good host, if he had not already taken Eddie as his own. He wants Eddie to win her back. If she is Eddie's, then she will be Venom's too.

Eddie feels his preening and his hungering and knows what Venom is thinking. He's getting flustered. He doesn't want to tell Anne this, that they want her to be theirs: sometimes he is irritatingly stubborn about interfering in her life. Venom would not hesitate, if it were up to him. Wanting to tease Eddie, and wanting a taste, he sneaks out a tendril and curls it around Anne's wrist.

Eddie slaps his hand over the protrusion. "No--sweetheart, don't do that."

Anne gives a choked, surprised laugh. She hasn't moved her wrist, where Venom's tendril has paused, her pulse speeding under its touch. "Sweetheart? You are talking to Venom, here?"

"It's just a word," Eddie mutters, and Venom slowly uncurls the tendril and pulls it back under Eddie’s skin, their conversation fading now as he stops listening. Sweetheart. Eddie calls him things like that, sometimes. Darling. Still parasite, too, which Venom still hates, but when Eddie says those things he feels something from him that is both familiar/not familiar, something he wants to drink into himself and hoard inside him. All his thoughts and being answer, there is only one word that curls from the depths of his matter, mine.


He fucks Eddie that night in their bed, deliciously slow. He has him the way they like it, on his knees with his face pinned to the sheets, Venom looped around his neck, squeezing gently, rhythmically, coiling over shoulders and arms and wrists, tendrils snaking between Eddie's fingers where they clutch in spasmodic motions. The heat and sweat of Eddie's palms absorb into his matter. He holds Eddie's thighs open and pushes more and more of himself inside him. Not all at once. A little at first, stroking into the hot clutching flesh, snaking its way within while Eddie twitches and trembles and gasps, and then more, and then more, swelling him out from within, searching within the bends and curves. Parts of him dissolve and absorb, becoming one with frail humanity, and parts of him stay separate, and thick, and deep, so that Eddie can feel him, feel us, Venom hisses, delighting in it, in Eddie's tortured moans and the way he thinks please over and over again and then sometimes too much, which makes him stop and soothe for a little while until Eddie feels less wild and shaken, more quivery and incoherent. Venom knows what Eddie can take. He pulses affectionately over Eddie's prostate and feels him jerk and shudder within him and around him. He squeezes his cock and laps up his come, so hungry, they are, so delicious, he could drink every drop, and he pushes in more of himself, deeper.

He's been fucking Eddie's mouth, too, sliding luxuriously down his throat, thinking lazily of making the parts of him meet, somewhere, in Eddie, maybe if he went slow enough, long enough, but a flicker of thought at the edge of Eddie's mind catches his attention and the tendril pauses in his throat. Eddie soon starts to choke just a little, starts to slip from lack of oxygen and Venom tightens himself around his neck in a brief wicked squeeze and then loosens again and slides the tendril out. Eddie, he says, and waits for Eddie to think some kind of response back at him.

Say it, Venom tells him, squeezing everywhere he's cocooned him.

Eddie coughs a little. "Say--say--" Venom waits, patient. "Say what?"

Say it, Venom hisses again, slower and longer, rippling deep inside him.

Eddie is struggling on the verge of too much and no more, so Venom works over his cock to distract him and slips an image between them, his own tendril coiling around Anne's wrist.

"What," Eddie pants, "what, Anne--oh--"

Venom masses gleefully at the nape of Eddie's neck. Yes. Say it.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says desperately, and then laughs or gasps or sobs a little, "what, you really like--"

We like it, Venom purrs, sliding more parts into Eddie, curling tighter around his throat and shoulders and arms to hold him still, make him take it. Eddie shudders and moans deliriously. He doesn't even know how big Venom has gotten, how much mass is thrusting into him now, shifting and absorbing and forming again, making room for himself, as much of himself in their body as he wants. He feels so big when Eddie says that, he feels like there's no end to him. All that affection in Eddie's voice and the knowing, knowing he wants to be with Venom, wants to belong to Venom.

Again, Venom says excitedly.

Eddie feels--affectionate, yes, and desperate, and a little bit afraid, not quite sure what he's unleashed. Venom, please. He's beginning to feel how deep in him Venom is now. How much deeper he could be. Venom shifts a little smaller, and then a little bigger still. He does that again, and again, and it feels like fucking Eddie but different, swelling and receding in him, joining, filling every space he can find. He feels Eddie's amazement, and an edge of something frantic. Venom isn't interested in soothing just then, he's greedy and hungry and he wants, demanding with every motion. Again.

Eddie gasps and writhes, or tries to. "I can't--I can't, not if you're going to--"

Yes, I will, Venom says, and fucks along Eddie's prostate and milks his cock dry as another gasping, twitching release hits him, yes, I want you to, I want you to feel all of us, Eddie. For him, Venom thinks, there is no other name, he is just Eddie, ours, mine.

Shit, Eddie thinks distinctly, but Venom knows he likes it, he likes being mine. The give of his body says it for him. It trembles in Venom's embrace, and helplessly yields, while Venom pours himself in and spreads himself out, like he would if he were covering Eddie's skin, but on the inside now. Venom licks along his spine and plays within his rib cage, tickling with fingers that curl around and between his ribs. He is a dark webbing under the layers of Eddie’s skin and muscle, infesting nerve and bone.

Again, Eddie.

Eddie exhales harshly, jerks in Venom's hold. Words stutter and choke from his mouth. "Yeah, sweetheart," he says, and he's almost crying.

Venom wraps him up tight. He can barely contain the joy that wants to spill from their body. It feels overwhelmingly huge, it feels like more than Eddie can take, but Venom pushes it into every corner of their being until he feels Eddie's sense of self blurring at the edges. Eddie is spilling over too, pleasure in excruciating throbs, too much now to cry out or think or do anything but shudder in Venom's hold, and while he is vulnerable, while he is so completely open, he winds with Eddie inside and out like a symbiote should. Mine, mine, mine, Venom pulses inside him, sliding into his veins and around his heart and making mine the echo of every heartbeat.


Venom feels, perhaps, a little sorry.

Standing in the bathroom mirror, Eddie is thinking of how terrible he looks: pale and sweaty, dark rings under his eyes, shivering with chills. He's thinking he's had bad hangovers before, but they were never quite like this. Venom can feel how the shock still lingers in his system. He supposes it was too much after all. Eddie’s only just gotten used to sharing his body, he can't be ready to take so much of Venom so soon. Venom will help him get used to it, of course. But slower next time. Maybe.

He shifts into matter around the vicinity of Eddie's diaphragm, then pushes his way up to his breastbone. There Venom emerges, grinning at him in the mirror. Eddie.

Eddie's tired expression doesn't change, but then he sighs, and his fingers curl up under Venom's jaw. Pleased, he nibbles at Eddie's fingertips, making him flinch, then curls his tongue around them and gives a long slow thorough lick.

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie murmurs, with a ghost of a smile, and Venom quivers all over.

He doesn't answer, not this time.