Chapter Text
1.
It’s late at night, Eddie is in bed and slightly drunk, and Venom’s tongue is halfway down his throat.
Not that that’s a bad thing. It is, when Eddie is in this state, a very good thing. Eddie thinks about it during the day sometimes, thinks of the tongue pressing down into him like this, Venom’s face close to his own with his tongue drooling slime and scraping him up with the barbs at its base, and it makes him want to shudder like he’s disgusted. But as soon as they’re alone in his bed Eddie just wants it again, wants Venom to fuck his mouth just like he is doing right now. Wants him to wrap long slimy parts of himself around Eddie’s cock, wants him to pin him down and push other parts up inside of him, until Eddie is sweating into the sheets and trying and failing to get enough air, until he can barely stand it…
Eddie groans, opens his mouth to allow the wet tongue to work in deeper. It arches up slightly, so that the rough surface rasps across the roof of his mouth, and Eddie twitches violently enough for the whole bed to thud against the wall. He keeps his mouth open though, straining his jaw to accept as much as Venom will give him. There’s just enough room like this for Eddie to breathe through his nose, but he can’t breathe well—his vision is starting to go fuzzy around the edges, and everything is turning gray, fading into itself: the dim walls of the apartment around them, the mattress underneath, the tentacles holding down Eddie’s wrists and ankles and thighs, the sliding, pulsing movements of the tentacles around and over and inside his lower half. The single thick tentacle pushing against his insides—Eddie has been trying to push back against that one, but the other tentacles wrapped around him won’t let him shift his hips, won’t let him move his legs to get leverage.
Good, Venom says in his head, and Eddie whimpers as the tentacle in his ass pushes deeper, as the tendrils around his cock constrict and pulsate and dig in. He feels exposed, inside and out, like all the skin’s been stripped off him. It makes him shudder. It makes him want to hide his face in the sheets. It makes his dick harder.
Do you want to come, Venom says.
“Mfffmm,” Eddie says around the thick length of muscle in his mouth, and does his best to nod.
In front of him, Venom’s head tilts questioningly, as if he can’t understand what Eddie means. Eddie looks up at him, his hands clenching a little where they’re pinned against the scuffed-up bedsheets. He might not be at his mental best right now, but he has known Venom long enough to know what is going on here. The symbiote is fucking with him.
Well, Venom is not the only one who can do that. Eddie glares at him for a moment longer, and then bites down hard on Venom’s tongue.
It doesn’t hurt him, of course, but Venom growls, the sound loud and threatening within the walls of the small apartment. There’s a weird suctioning noise as the tongue pulls its way out of Eddie’s mouth. The other tentacles stop their steady movement.
Eddie gasps, sucking in air, and then immediately chokes on the slime Venom had left behind in his mouth. He tries to smile up at him through the coughing fit regardless. His mouth is wet, sore, swollen.
“Say sorry, Eddie,” Venom says, out loud this time.
Eddie is still coughing, and doesn’t have it in him to speak, but he shakes his head.
Venom growls again, and then the tongue is sliding around Eddie's neck. He closes his eyes. Claws must have materialized from somewhere, because now there's something sharp digging into the skin on his upper arms, a warning that’s already harsh enough to bruise.
He smiles again and swallows, clearing his throat of the slime Venom had left there. It’s glorious, pissing Venom off like this, and Eddie tries to move his hips up into the tentacle still wrapped around his dick, but of course Venom won’t let him.
Say sorry, Eddie, Venom says, in his head again now, but the symbiote still manages to make it ridiculously loud.
Eddie hums, his eyes still closed, ignoring him. He waits until Venom's claws have dug in a bit more, almost piercing the skin on his biceps, waits until the tongue is pressing tight enough around his neck for the world to start to fade and shift again. Then he mumbles: “Sorry.”
You don’t mean it.
The tongue twitches tighter around his neck. Eddie is wet everywhere; he can feel warm drool dripping into the hollow of his throat. He opens his eyes again. Venom’s face is so close to his.
“I mean it,” he croaks, and he does. He’s had his fun. “Sorry, Venom. Sorry.”
A little ripple of satisfaction goes through Eddie then—he is still getting used to being able to feel the things the symbiote feels, especially when he is the cause of them—and then the claws ease off his arms, and the tentacles on his cock and inside his ass resume their perfect motion.
“Mmmm,” Eddie says.
You are sorry, Eddie, says the voice in his head. You will do anything for me.
“Oh yeah,” Eddie says, and means it. He’s being fucked hard enough now for the mattress to creak. He wants to come like this. He wants them together. “Anything—anything—“
Anything? The tip of the tongue is pushing wet behind his ear.
“Yes. God. Fuck.”
It happens immediately.
He’s hit, suddenly, by a fucking car crash of symbiote emotion, so strong that it pulls him away from the rising tension of his orgasm. It’s not the usual vague feelings of pleasure and satisfaction that he gets from Venom when they do this: this is different; this is strong, adoring, possessive, fierce. Venom might as well be trying to drown him in cartoon lovehearts. Eddie feels warm, all through him, as strong and interconnected as if they’re sharing a nervous system.
The tongue is gone from his neck while Eddie is thinking, and then it’s back in his mouth, pushing in hard and sudden, working deep. All he can see is Venom’s face, those eyes looking directly into his, and what he can feel—
Oh god, he wants to say, oh god.
The distraction from his orgasm is gone, but the feeling isn’t: it all just circles back to his dick, to the pleasure in his insides and in his throat, stabs in deep along his nerves, so good, so perfect, warm, warm. Eddie wails around the tongue in his throat, jerks under the tentacles holding him, comes hard all over his own sweaty stomach.
The feeling doesn’t let up, even once Venom has withdrawn his tongue and the ceiling above him has come back into focus, even once Eddie’s cock has softened and the cum is cooling on his damp skin. Eddie just lies there, basking in it, letting Venom stroke and kiss him, letting whatever it is the symbiote is feeling play back and forth between them.
Maybe he should suspect something is up then, but then again, he’s kind of distracted, and it’s not like it's the first weird thing that’s happened to him this month.
2.
He wakes up early the next morning, covered in the unpleasant tacky sensation he always gets when he neglects to shower after sex. The bed smells… not great, and one of the sheets has a tear in it right near Eddie’s shoulder.
“That’s your fault,” he mumbles.
No answer. Venom is still out of sight.
Eddie rolls over to face the direction of the bathroom, which he decides counts as the first step to actually getting there. He can still feel the bruises on his wrists, and there’s a raw ache deep inside him when he moves. A slight metallic taste in his mouth, as well, where the barbs on Venom’s tongue had scraped him. None of it is particularly painful, but it’s unusual—usually Venom heals all of that stuff right after sex.
Well, maybe he’d forgotten. Eddie twitches his fingers against the bedsheets, expecting Venom to send out a bit of welcoming goo to wrap around his hand like he usually does in the morning.
Nothing happens.
“Hey, you,” Eddie says. “Do you want to eat?”
No answer.
“You okay in there?” He frowns, feeling something heavy in his stomach that for once is nervousness and not the presence of an alien symbiote, and then finally, he hears the voice.
Tired, Venom says.
Eddie shrugs, sitting up and not hiding his relieved smile. “I didn’t know you could get tired. You need a nap or something?”
Tired, Venom says again, sounding annoyed.
He shrugs again. “Okay. Whatever.”
He stands up—that hurts too, a little; he really has become too accustomed to Venom fixing him right after—and heads to the bathroom. Might be nice to get some peace and quiet for once, anyway.
He showers, bracing one arm against the wall to ward off the last of his drowsiness. There’s still marks visible on his arms and wrists from last night, which is also unusual, but honestly—well, it’s not that Eddie is into Venom leaving this many bruises on him, but he’s not not into it. Eddie is just gentle when he towels himself down, and it’s all good.
It’s also good to be able to watch TV without fighting over the channels, and to actually get as much work as he wants done without getting constantly distracted by an alien asking questions about every tiny thing. He still ends up eating a huge breakfast, and then two versions of lunch, and then an extra dinner, but clearly symbiotes still need a lot of energy even while they’re resting.
“How long do you guys nap for, anyway,” he asks at about nine pm, while he’s standing in front of the open fridge door in his pajamas looking for an after-dinner snack.
No answer. He can hear nothing but the sound of the almost-muted tv across the room, and of his downstairs neighbor calling for her cat again.
Eddie shrugs and grabs a plate of leftovers that had managed to escape his notice for almost twenty-four hours. He’s happy back on the couch with his meal for a good half an hour before things start going wrong.
3.
He’s already opening the apartment’s front door before he realizes what he is doing.
Eddie gets like this, sometimes, when he’s hungry: he ends up standing in front of the fridge or one of the cabinets in the kitchen, looking for something to eat without realizing it.
But not the doorway to his apartment. The door's open in front of him: he can see out into the short hallway. Anyone coming home would be able to see him here, half-awake, in his pajamas and looking like he had ordered an entire catalog of drugs and then taken all of them.
He glances back at the couch. The plate he’d been eating off is on the floor now, empty, and there’s a pillow lying at one end of the couch, a blanket that looks disheveled—had he fallen asleep? Had he gotten this far before waking up? That hasn’t happened before.
“Venom,” he mumbles. “Why are we here.”
No answer, but he knows already, somehow. Eddie is hungry, but not for anything in the fridge or the kitchen. No, there’s stuff in the apartment across the hall that he can eat instead, stuff that Eddie can get if he wants to. Muscles, bones, maybe a bit of—
Wait. Muscles? Bones?
Bones?
“What is this shit, Venom?”
No answer.
The hallway is quiet, so Eddie risks sticking his head out and looking around. The stairs are as empty as you'd expect them to be at this hour. No weird sounds or smells—nothing weirder than usual in this building, anyway. Nothing that might have brought him out here and given him thoughts like those.
“We talked about this,” he whispers angrily, and steps back and very firmly closes the door with a loud click. “We don’t eat our neighbors, Venom. We don't…”
He can’t finish.
He’s hungry, a wave of new, unfocused hunger that seizes his stomach like a cramp. He groans and stoops forward, presses one hand against his abdomen as if touching it will help; the other hand moves, of its own accord, back toward the door handle. Eddie forces it back down next to his side instead.
“No,” he hisses, and takes a step away from the door and toward the kitchen instead. It’s ok. He’s been hungry before, even if it's never been like this, and he still has food, even if he’s out of leftovers. Venom will tell him what he needs to eat. Even if Venom is still—napping, or whatever he’s doing—the symbiote will tell him. He always does. Eddie will know what to do. He’ll just go over here and eat the kitchen, he’ll just…
Wait. The kitchen?
“The kitchen?” he says out loud, and that's when Venom finally decides to answer.
Eat the walls, he says.
“I’m not eating the fucking walls,” Eddie says.
No answer.
Eddie takes a breath, which is difficult when his stomach feels like it's trying to digest itself. Tries to speak calmly like he always does when he has to be firm with his symbiote. “Are you talking in your sleep or something? You’re being weird. I think you should wake up now, Venom.”
Nothing.
“Venom. Listen. I think you need to—”
HUNGRY HUNGRY HUNGRY
Eddie jumps, stumbling back and falling heavily onto his ass next to the door.
HUNGRY
HUNGRY
HUNGRY
I can make it to the fridge, he thinks, and he gets there mostly on his feet, even though his stomach still hurts and it feels like every cell in his body is suddenly screaming at him as loud as his asshole symbiote is. Venom will tell him something more sensible to eat when he's there. Venom will tell him, and it will make sense.
He yanks open the fridge door, grabs the egg carton on the second shelf. It’s a big 18 pack, missing only the four eggs that Eddie had put in an omelette that morning. Eddie opens the cardboard lid as he sits down on the tiles in front of the still-open fridge, cold air on his face and the cold tiles under his ass, and it’s ok, Venom will—
Eddie picks up one of the eggs. It’s like a movement entirely from memory, automatic, like riding a bike, except that no, he has definitely never shoved an entire raw egg into his mouth before.
He bites down on it. The broken pieces of shell scrape on his already scraped-up mouth as he chews, and it hurts going down his throat, but it’s okay. Better than okay. The yelling has shut up now, and this is not exactly what he had expected Venom to direct him toward, but does that really matter when eggs are so damn delicious?
He picks up another one of the little tasty bastards, and then another. The second egg goes in too fast, and pieces of the shell slip out of his mouth as he crunches it between his teeth. Eddie picks up the eggshell pieces from the floor, pushes them back into his mouth.
‘Oh god,” he mumbles. “Oh god that’s so good, thank you thank you.”
He eats another, and another. It is blissful. The awful, cramping feeling in his stomach has already faded to something dull enough for him to almost ignore.
“Thank you, chickens,” he says. He pulls the last egg out of the carton and bites into it. His fingers are covered in sticky egg white, and he licks them off now, sucking the last of the goop from under his fingernails. “Thank you. Oh god, that’s so good. That’s so good.”
Good, Venom agrees. Now eat the kitchen.
Eddie looks up sharply, wiping spit off his fingers onto his t-shirt. “I’m not eating the kitchen,” he hisses.
Eat the kitchen.
He looks up at the countertop, just resting there on top of the cabinet next to the fridge. It actually does look pretty good, and it's not like Eddie actually needs a countertop for anything. He can just eat like this on the floor.
Still, though. “I can’t eat that," he says. "It’s too hard. I’ll—I’ll break my teeth.”
Eat your teeth.
“Venom, for god’s sake.” Eddie’s hand shoots up to cover his mouth, as if he can protect what's inside it that way. “Wait. How the fuck would I even do that?”
Teeth, Venom says.
“Shut up.”
Teeth teeth teeth teeth teeth TEETH
“Enough.” Eddie says. “This has gone on far enough. You ignored me all day, and now you’re just being really fucking weird. What the hell is going on?”
A pause, and he waits, thinks Venom is going to explain. His symbiote is a lot of things, yes, but indirect has never been one of them.
But he just sits there waiting for a while in the light of the open fridge door, and then Venom just says:
Tired.