maybe i was yours all along

"I fucking knew I could do it!" the man cries, throwing his hands up in the air in elation. Held in his grip is his cellphone, clutched with so much force that Venom cannot help but wonder how Eddie has managed to keep the splintered thing functioning for so long. Still, Eddie beams before thrusting the phone into Venom's face.

The screen is covered by fingers that are a little too grimy to be flattering, nails red-ringed and bitten raw after too much anxiety, too much fear, too many sleepless nights to count. It does not matter, though. Venom doesn't need to see the screen himself; one quick look into Eddie's mind is enough to tell him what has occurred.

"Have you been saving up for something?" he asks tacitly.

For a moment, Eddie smirks, his demeanor shifting almost defiantly. Venom understands the words unsaid- "Why don't you just look into my head, dickface?" is a sentence which he has heard more than enough times to have memorized by now- and responds automatically, "You said to listen to your boundaries. I'm listening."

The man whose body Venom infests pauses, his smirk softening slightly as he lifts his gaze, looking into the reflection upon the metal refrigerator. Venom does not know what the other man sees in his heart.

Whatever it is, however, it makes Eddie smile, genuine and true. With a giddiness that Venom has only seen in children on television, Eddie announces proudly, "Well, if you must know… I finally saved enough to buy myself a new bike! I've been trying to get mine repaired for so long. It got way too beaten up after our little spat with Carlton, remember?"

Makes sense. However, as Eddie finally sits back down and pops a cold tater tot into his mouth, Venom cannot help but grimace anyways. While he has grown to love the taste of human food, there is nothing ever as satisfying as the flavour of fresh blood pouring down his gullet- the quickening pulsing of a screaming heart rumbling faster and faster in his stomach, squeezing honey-like metal up along his curled, waiting tongue. "Why not use that money for food? For some fresh food? Get some new leads. I want to feast."

Shaking his head, Eddie shrugs, spreading his arms out on either side of himself. "I let you eat plenty while we were getting back on our feet, Venom. For now, we're gonna be sticking to cold tater tots and beer- but, since you asked so nicely, I'll ask the chef to throw in some cheese balls, too."

"If only you were a chef. I want meat."

"You love me anyways," the man quips, stretching his arms high above his head before rocking to his feet. Satisfied to ignore Venom's grumbling, Eddie walks over to his awaiting laptop, flipping quickly through his email inbox to ensure he is caught up.

Peripherally, Venom looks over Eddie's shoulder, taking in the information as quickly as he can. There are no new leads to report, no new invites for investigation for the moment.

They shall have some quiet, it seems.

"But what's really the point of getting a new bike, anyways-"

"Because I want to," Eddie says firmly, a hint of exasperation seeping into his tone. "I get what you're saying- getting some more food won't ever hurt, for sure, but…"

Venom pauses. He does not truly understand this hesitation in Eddie's voice. "But? Explain."

The journalist is quiet for a few minutes, pensively gathering his thoughts as he looks down at his phone once more. Finally, he says in a voice so soft it is almost yearning, "A bike's good for the soul, man. I want to ride again. It's not just about survival, y'know? That ain't what it means to be human."

Venom doesn't understand, nor does he pretend to. Being human is still a baffling experience to him- there are far too many rules, too many contracts, too many nuances for him to comprehend, and yet, Eddie navigates it all with ease. What in the world is a 'soul'? Why in the world would a 'soul' matter? "Is there any physical need that will be met?"

"No more taking the trolley," is the immediate, deadpan reply.

Venom grins, his own satisfaction seeping through his thoughts in a guttural sigh of appreciation. "Good. The trolley isn't fun to ride. I can't eat anyone on there."

"No you cannot," the man replies happily, "and now, no more trolley. No more bus, no more train, no more nothin'. We're free."

We're free, Venom thinks in his heart of hearts, far away from the listening ears of Eddie. He does not know why he hides this thought from the man who has so openly become his host, the bearer of his symbiotic burden; and yet, he does.

Freedom. It's a lovely word, he thinks- just another one of the million little things he likes about this world. It was a good choice to stay here.

xXx

The new bike is purchased, and it does not take long for him to get to experience the freedom which Eddie had mentioned firsthand. After a week of rain, the skies finally clear one Friday evening, leaving behind the scent of damp asphalt and petrol lingering in the air. Venom doesn't enjoy the scent, per se- there is something tainted behind it all as he breathes in the polluted air of the city, something festering beneath the surface. Something rancid.

Eddie is of a different mind, however. His grin cannot possibly grow any wider as he hops onto the seat of the bike, slipping on his helmet with a relish that is almost audible. Every fiber of his being thrums in excitement, neurotransmitters running wild with aching emotion, almost disorienting Venom whilst he tries to parse it all. Why in the world would riding a bike bring such excitement? He remembers riding Eddie's old motorcycle with him the night they first bonded, but he recalls little from that experience other than gunfire and explosions, Eddie's adrenaline and fear marked by Venom's desperate need to keep his host alive.

In a few minutes, however, Venom understands.

If he had been asked to describe the taste, scent, sight, sound of freedom an hour earlier, he would not have been able to give an adequate answer, he thinks. Now, however, all he can do is allow his head to emerge from Eddie's back, his amorphous body giving him enough flexibility to hang behind Eddie. His mouth drops open as the brisk, chilly air, still damp and fresh from the rainfall, rushes into his mouth; he inhales gratefully, appreciating the earthy damp, the contrast between the icy cold and the burning rush of endorphins and adrenaline coming from his host as they zip past intersection after intersection.

He does not pay attention to the sights which fly past their bike until Eddie has finally been contented, rolling to a stop atop a quiet, lonely hill. There are no passersby, and even with his heightened vision, Venom can make out little of their surroundings once Eddie shuts off the bike's headlights. "Why have we come here?" he asks, baffled yet curious.

Eddie merely shakes his head, sitting atop his bike as he removes his helmet. Then, he points off into the distance. Venom is overwhelmed instantly; the scent of Eddie's sweat mingles with cheap cologne, the flavour bitter, yet savoury upon his long tongue. The heat exuded off the other man's form is even more palpable in this silence, far removed from the hustle and bustle of downtown San Francisco.

Biting down his disorientation, his eyes follow Eddie's pointed finger, his breath catching in shared lungs as he takes in the view before them. The city twinkles and flashes in the distance, the Golden Gate Bridge's lights glittering upon the horizon, blurring the lines between earth and sea and sky so easily that Venom almost finds himself floating, unanchored by gravity once more.

He does not float away. Eddie's laughter is low, rumbling softly in his chest with a gentleness that makes Venom's throat tighten, although he does not understand why. That laughter holds him down, keeps him grounded, drawing him back to reality- back to the earth, to the damp and the cold and the sights laid out before them.

Even in the faint light, Venom can see Eddie's smile. It's so tender, he thinks- and for the entire ride home, he ignores Eddie's boundaries secretly. He searches silently through Eddie's memories, trying to find any piece of semantic knowledge that may help him uncover why Eddie's quiet joy elicits this reaction from the Symbiote far more than the stunning skyline of San Francisco ever could.

xXx

From then on, they go riding whenever they can. Eddie is truly at the motorcycle's beck and call; for every grumble or groan of the engine, he is ready to take the entire thing apart and put it back together again, determined to resolve any issues that should arise. "I need to protect this baby," he explains sternly whenever Venom teases him about it. "After that night when everything went down with Drake, I could barely ride my old girl anymore. I can't lose this one too!"

Soon enough, though, the teasing stops. After all, Venom cannot deny that he, too, enjoys their rides far more than he ever thought possible. The only time he does not enjoy them is when Eddie begins to remember.

He doesn't really like it when Eddie remembers.

Although he had announced so firmly his plan to bring Anne back into their lives, the memories which surface in Eddie's consciousness whenever they go for a ride bothers Venom more than he would ever like to admit. There is a carefulness in those memories, one which Eddie never bothers to demonstrate around his Symbiote. In those recollections of the past, Eddie carefully helps Anne climb onto his bike; her arms wrap around his waist, her chest pressing against the broad expanse of Eddie's back without hesitation; she smiles and laughs, and he smiles, too, and even though it is little more than a memory, Venom can taste the joy, the nostalgia, the bitterness, which courses through Eddie's system every single time he recalls just how comfortable it had been to have Anne Weying ride in his backseat.

There is only so much Venom can take of this lost bliss, however. One evening after their report has been sent to the publishers, Venom finds himself grimacing, pulling away from Eddie while they ride down the road. The day's report had been focused on a pro-bono firm nearby- not the company which Anne has found herself in, but a group working similarly nonetheless. Perhaps this is why, from the moment Eddie settles himself into his seat, the man begins to think of nothing but the sensation of Anne's fragile, wanting human body pressed up against his own.

Venom gulps. Then, he pulls himself out of Eddie's body more so than usual. The wind is brisk, pulling at his dripping flesh as they whip and wind their way through busy downtown streets. Still, he maintains his calm, moving carefully. It takes a surprising amount of effort to be as gentle as this, in all honesty; he is used to being larger than life, bombastic, powerful.

The thinner-than-usual solidification of his arms, and the tentative reach of those arms around Eddie's waist- the pressing of his heartless chest against Eddie's broad, built back- are anything but.

He… he likes it. Venom is not good at softness, but if this contact, this closeness, is what being gentle means…

Immediately, Eddie tenses up under his touch. Curses and obscenities fly out of the man's mouth as he quickly slams on the brakes and curves them into a dimly-lit ally, frantically checking their surroundings to make sure the coast is clear. The moment he feels safe enough, Eddie hisses, "What the hell, man? Don't grab me like that!"

Venom pauses, taking it all in. Eddie's heart races, but there is no joy to be found in his flashing, angry eyes. The man lets out an angry, quaking sigh, running his hands through sweat-slicked, gel-stiffened hair. "I don't understand," Venom growls honestly. "Why is it a bad thing to come out?"

Groaning, Eddie buries his face in his hands. His voice has a slight tremor, muffled as it is through his gloves. "I… look. Don't come out unless we're in trouble, got it? You're gonna scare the shit out of me."

He thought we were in danger, Venom realizes at last. I understand how he might assume that.

So, he agrees. He promises to stay relatively hidden away whilst they enjoy their evening of freedom, giving Eddie some peace of mind to return to the road. That tentative joy which he had experienced so fleetingly is gone, replaced by the taste of damp- of dirty city streets- of disappointment upon his tongue.

xXx

They are at an interview site. As usual, Eddie scolds him. "Stay inside, got it?" he insists as the elevator creeps to the top of the building, a hint of panic to his voice.

Venom chuckles throatily, allowing his tongue to curl tauntingly in Eddie's ear, much to the man's chagrin. "I got it," he concedes at last. He knows that appearing in the middle of an interview would spell danger for them both, after all, and Venom has no intention to jeopardize this fragile peace they have built together.

Still, he cannot help but bicker with the man until they meet up with the producer. That is why he likes Eddie, after all- why he had liked him since the day they had met. Anything he can say, Eddie throws back with equal strength, with equal wit, with an exasperated wryness that fills Venom up to the core with an almost guilty pleasure.

He can feel Eddie smiling whenever they tease one another, too. It feels right.

Still, during interviews, the Symbiote will never play games with Eddie. There is too much danger to be quelled if his existence is revealed to the larger world, and they both know it. Venom can feel Eddie's heartbeat quicken in nervousness each time they meet an interviewee, his pupils dilating and constricting, his breath growing more ragged and shallow as he tries to piece together the details of whatever story he is hunting while also hiding the fact that he is currently melded with a sentient alien lifeform.

If anyone finds out about them… Venom would be called a 'parasite' again, wouldn't he?

Eddie does not call him a parasite. Eddie speaks to him with ease, with a level of comfort that he does not show with anyone else. That treatment does not belong to a parasite- therefore, Venom is not a parasite. Simple as that.

Still, Venom wonders. If he is not a parasite, then…?

Eddie's interview begins. In their intertwined hearts, Venom wishes him luck. He does not know if Eddie truly registers it, but Venom means every word.

xXx

Why he wants to try again another day, he does not know. Not knowing doesn't prevent him from doing it anyways, though.

This time, Venom is smarter. He makes up a lie as to why his torso seeps out of Eddie's back, his own fanged, monstrous face visible to any onlookers who bother to glance their way. "I've got to be out to protect us more efficiently," he insists, the blatant falseness of it all ringing emptily. "If you hit something, we're both going to die."

"We won't die," Eddie grumbles, "right? Won't your cells keep us alive no matter what?"

"The pain will still register."

There is a silence. "Duly noted. Breaking my legs after that last accident sucked." With a sigh, the man properly relents at last. "Fine, but make sure you're as hidden as possible, okay?"

Venom's smile widens ever so slightly.

So, they set out. The world whips past them, a blur of light and colour and sound tearing through Venom's senses. He submits to it all willingly, allowing everything else in the world to become a blur except for the one thing he has been longing for: Eddie's heat.

He does not wrap his arms around Eddie's waist this time. Instead, his arms merely hover, long, clawed hands softening to tendrils which flit bare millimeters above Eddie's torso. The heat transfers anyways, and Venom is warm amidst an icy night.

xXx

No one has ever protected him like Eddie, he realizes with a start.

It is a strange realization to have in the middle of a bakery at midday, but the truth of it all slams into him like a punch to the gut. He is stunned into silence, sitting in the backseat of Eddie's mind as the man helps a young mother pick up the items she had dropped onto the floor. While the action rings clear and true in Venom's mind as just another one of Eddie's acts of unsolicited kindness to his fellow man, he is fairly unfazed by it after being with Eddie for so long. Helping others is just what Eddie does.

No, Venom's focus lingers somewhere else during this exchange. The little girl holding onto her mother's skirt looks up at Eddie with eyes that feel too wise, too knowing, for Venom's liking; with one wrong move, it feels like piercing green would be able to bore through Eddie's soul to find the Symbiote hidden within. He does not like this scrutiny, his own hackles raising in discomfort.

Venom does not need to respond to her, however. Once the items have been righted and Eddie stands up, the woman thanks him before turning to the little girl. Her hand falls upon the child's hair, stroking softly as she murmurs, "Alright, sweetie. Let's go."

Instantly, that piercing stare vanishes, melting into naught but the sweet, unyielding smile of innocence. "Okay!" she says brightly. Then, the woman readjusts her grip on her bags, squats down, and picks the little girl up with ease; in response, the child buries her face into her mother's hair, her happiness and comfort painfully clear.

Venom understands that child's softness towards her mother. She is protected, after all. Eddie protects me, too, he thinks faintly.

That evening, however, as they are riding down the road once again, Venom is able to rule out 'protection' as the reason why he is so drawn to the other man. His face is struck as usual by gusting winds. He enjoys this sensation, just as Eddie does.

However, in his heart, he knows the truth- that all he wants is something different, something far more… visceral. He wants protection, too- protection from this biting wind, from the roaring noise encircling them. He wants to be able to bury his face in the exposed crook of Eddie's neck, to allow the roar of the engine rumbling beneath their seat to fade away as he breathes in Eddie's scent.

He wonders how he is different from that little girl, craving protection from her mother.

Then, he wonders how the exposed sliver of flesh at Eddie's nape tastes.

He is different from that little girl. That does not mean he wants that warmth, that welcome and comfort, any less.

xXx

His stomach is full. Another thug who had attempted to harass Ms. Chen has been taken care of, and Eddie hadn't hesitated in stepping forward. "Venom," he had called, eyes glinting and smile growing wild and feral as it is wont to do, "you wanted dinner, right?"

And just like that, he had allowed Venom to feast at last. With the thug's remains filling his gut, Venom feels his hunger truly sated for the first time in what feels like months.

And yet, this aching in his chest will not go away.

It begins as a choking sensation in his chest, rising up to clog his throat. His words grow silent as he attempts to breathe around the block, the exertion causing his stomach to roil, his lungs to shudder. He tries to swallow down the remainder of sweet, vibrant blood still coating his teeth; nothing stay downs, however, the liquid burbling back up his throat before he manages to choke it down, the sensation not even remotely pleasurable.

This discomfort is noticed sooner rather than later by Eddie. When the man attempts to pry, Venom does not know what to say; the feeling only intensifies as he looks at his host, his head spinning, stomach burning. He feels unwell, off-kilter- the world's axis knocked to the side, leaving him breathless and dizzy, the hollow of his own ribcage more painful than ever.

His limbs are cold. Shivering, he retreats back into Eddie's body, but to little avail. A part of his mind starts to spout off whatever analogies he can find using Eddie's more human comparisons; perhaps it is the cold. Perhaps the flu. Maybe it is merely sadness, or heartache. Maybe he is overwhelmed.

He does not voice these thoughts, though. It… it feels a little too human, to succumb to such things.

Without any information from Venom himself, all Eddie can do is carry on. This leads to their usual evening routine, and, with the blessed lack of deadlines on the horizon, the duo find themselves upon the road within the hour, their tires squealing over dark pavement. Eddie's chipper laughter fills the air for the briefest of moments before the wind steals away his voice, leaving it somewhere behind them to dissipate; Eddie does not seem to mind in the slightest, his joy palpable.

That aching intensifies- the cold, too. So, Venom does the one thing he can think of to alleviate it all.

Eddie does not say a word as Venom's tendrils solidify into arms wrapping fearfully around the other man's waist. They are on a straightaway, so it should be fine, Venom thinks; it would be hard to crash amidst this empty section of freeway, anyways. So, Venom throws his caution to the wind and finally, truly put some strength into his grip, tugging his torso flush against Eddie's chest, his corded arms and large hands wrapping firmly around Eddie's relatively thinner waist.

He is so thin, Venom recognizes. Eddie- so small, so thin and fragile without Venom's help, is just as feeble as the rest of humanity. And yet, Eddie protects him with this tiny frame. He keeps Venom a secret, lying to everyone in his life… all to keep his Symbiote safe.

'His' Symbiote. The thought only intensifies the ache, spreading from the heat surrounding Venom's arms and up into his chest, the contact between their torsos almost scalding.

Strangely enough, Eddie does not protest this time, allowing Venom to, after a moment's hesitation, press his face against the crook of Eddie's neck, tongue timidly sliding across that exposed nape. His entire body shudders as gooseflesh touches his tongue, senses screaming with a sense of want that he has never before experienced. It is electrifying, causing him to tighten his hold even further.

Finally, the bike slows down to a grumbling halt. Venom takes one final long, deep breath in, committing this scent to memory- salt and sweat and exhaust fumes, leather from his jacket and pineapple from his hair products- as clearly as possible before finally releasing the other man, lifting his head up.

"You doin' okay, Venom?" Eddie asks. His voice trembles. Venom has never heard it quiver like this before.

"…I… am better now," he whispers back. The taste of Eddie's skin still lingers on his tongue. He wants more, he notes absently- not to consume, but just to relish.

It… it is a little frightening, in all honesty.

"Look up," the man murmurs at last, slipping off the bike.

Venom obeys without hesitation. The location which Eddie has brought them both two is indeed a stunning one; from here, one can see the entire reflection of the city mirrored from glassy waters, the duality of the vibrant nightlife contrasting beautifully with the shadows seeping into the fog beyond the bay. Dark blues and pitch blacks meld seamlessly into one another, only illuminated by flashing lights, mere pinpricks in the distance. It is a cloudy night- no room for stars to glimmer in the sky- but Venom does not mind.

It is beautiful.

When he voices as much, Eddie merely laughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Yeah, well… you seemed bummed out earlier, so I thought you'd like it."

Venom's words catch in his throat. Finally, he chokes out, "Did we come here… for me?"

"Yeah bud," the man replies without hesitation. "Did… did it work?"

And it is in that moment that Venom finally knows, so suddenly and truly that he simultaneously wants to scream and to weep, what exactly it is he is feeling. For the first time in his time on Earth, he wishes that he had not been bonded to Eddie like this. He wishes he were a separate entity- he wishes to take up the extra room on the back of the motorcycle, to take up the extra room which Anne used to fill.

He wishes he could hold Eddie like Anne had. Eddie is warm- so, so warm.

Just as quickly, however, he shoves that thought down. Maybe he doesn't want to be in a separate body. If he were able to leave, then could he not be separated from Eddie himself? Wouldn't it be so much easier to be apart from the man, to lose him, to be taken away? To lose this heat, this protection- this heartbeat sending blood rushing through his own veins, perfectly synchronizing the two beyond anything else in the world?

He cannot bear to think of that. He had stayed on Earth for Eddie, after all. A life without him…

Swallowing thickly, Venom finally moves, extended his neck so that he may face Eddie. Carefully, he reaches out, his long, clawed fingers tracing the sunken, stubble-covered cheek he has grown so accustomed to. The blood which flows between their bodies is the same, he thinks.

They are one.

Eddie does not pull away from his touch, his eyes wide and confused and curious. So, Venom continues, tracing every line and wrinkle upon the other's haggard face. The contact leaves his fingertips tingling, but he does not address it.

However, he no longer blocks Eddie's mind from looking into his own. At this sudden openness, Eddie freezes, then flushes, the colour brilliant despite the darkness enshrouding them.

While the man splutters and protests weakly and looks away as Venom finally allows the sensations bubbling up within his chest to spread into the other man properly, the Symbiote raises his eyes to look at the city in the distance.

He is happy, he thinks. He does not know what this ache means, but he knows that he'll figure out with Eddie by his side. For now, that's good enough.

-fin-