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Day by day, their bond crystallizes, and Eddie's elation builds at this impossible, wonderful thing that has happened to him. Protecting himself and the symbiote has come at the cost of hurting a lot of people—bad people, he’s made sure of that, but fellow humans all the same. But god, is it worth it to have what they have. To walk around with that power singing through his blood, an entire separate consciousness intertwined with his own.
During idle moments, when he can’t feel Venom shifting inside him, he wonders where that intelligence rests. In his chest, rocking with his heartbeat, massaged by each expansion of his lungs? Gliding along his spine, feeling the flexion and the sparking of nervous signals? Sunk deep in the crevices of his brain?
Fascinating how Venom can seep out so painlessly, to form the glossy exoskeleton, or for the occasional face-to-face conversations that feel less and less authentic or necessary as they grow into each others’ presence. That face terrified and repulsed him at first, but now, feeling it wrap around his skull, knowing that he wears it as his own, thrills him to the core.
Venom benefits just as much, from what they’ve told Eddie. For a naked symbiote, existing as a shapeless, pseudopodial mass, senses are sharp but homogenous. All knowledge of the surrounding environment derives in some way from bodily contact, whether on the multicellular or molecular level. But the moment a symbiotic bond takes hold, the organism's sensory world explodes. Eyes and ears and differentiated touch receptors slam open to a flood of information in astonishing breadth and detail, just the mental echo of which leaves Eddie breathless. The intensity lessens with time, Venom concedes, but the variety never gets old.
As distinct as their experiences of symbiosis are, there's a commonality at the beginning: each feels the other fully within, or fully without. When Venom is not swimming through Eddie’s veins, they form an unbroken shell around him. Felt, but not touched.
And the closer they get in other respects, the more urgently he wants to breach that barrier.
One night, freshly fed and trying to distract himself from that fact, he returns to the thought. Just an hour earlier, with their forms merged, he felt the symbiote’s strength as his own and, yes, joined in delivering the killing bite. Being Venom, truly embodying that "we", never feels solitary, but neither does it satisfy his desire for closer contact. He even braved the evening chill in short sleeves, just to see if the extra bit of exposed forearm would make a difference during their merge. It didn't. In those moments, Venom is just an extension of his own body, just a thicker skin. Their total physical assimilation confers enormous power, but it frustrates him all the same.
So, why not try a different form of touch?
He fixates on his hands while showering and changing. The anticipation numbs his stomach and strains his jaw. How much of this can the symbiote feel? They must recognize the stress hormones coursing through their host's system, not to mention the increase in his heart rate. Finally, as Eddie lowers himself to the edge of his bed, Venom speaks.
Eddie. What's the matter?
He exhales slowly. It does nothing to reduce his anxiety. Well... I kinda wanted to ask you a question.
Oh?
His heart isn't supposed to pound this hard; he's supposed to sound casual, not like a nervous teenager. Why would Venom ever agree to something so ridiculously sentimental...?
Then again, it's hardly without precedent. From the beginning, they were invested in Eddie's relationship with Anne. Not to mention that other thing that was apparently their idea. Perhaps the symbiote is a bit of a romantic. And a simple request can't hurt, right? So Eddie requests.
"I'd like to hold your hand."
He wouldn't have said it out loud if he'd known the words would hang in the air, unanswered, for so many stifling seconds. But when Venom responds, they sound intrigued rather than scornful, and far from disgusted. And how would that work?
"I'd like you to form a hand, so I can hold it," Eddie says, struggling to keep his voice level and not collapse in on himself from embarrassment.
Without warning, his left hand thickens and darkens into an oily glove. Like this?
He swallows. This is happening. And it is happening incorrectly. "No, because I don't—I can't feel that. It's just us. It needs to be separate from me to be... tangible." He cringes at himself. There's a much simpler way to say this—I want to touch you—but he'd rather come off as incoherent than crude and desperate.
Venom is unperturbed. I see...
The blackness absorbs into his hand and reemerges from a point just above his wrist, as if flowing directly from the vein. It branches into fingers that slide between his own and grip tightly. The disembodied hand feels taut like muscle, but simultaneously liquid and yielding, and as it penetrates back into his palm to grip from the inside as well—an odd, ticklish sensation—Eddie dares to think that he isn't alone in wanting this.
He slowly brings Venom’s hand up to his cheek. The coldness surprises him; Venom is warm when enveloping him entirely. Warm from his own warmth, he supposes, as the symbiote jumps through his skin. The outside must chill quickly.
To give a little of that warmth back would be nice, wouldn't it?
Self-consciously, he turns his head, opening lips slightly against the symbiote’s mass to breathe against it. Venom softens abruptly, loosening their internal grip on Eddie’s palm to engulf his jaw in a fluid caress.
Eddie sighs more heavily against Venom and feels a low note of contentment rumble through them.
He turns back so just his cheek is touching. You like this? he asks, hoping he hasn’t taken things too far too quickly.
The enthusiastic response comes in impressions more than words. So much of Venom’s existence is built around the hard, sharp, swift, and unwavering, and Eddie feels their quiet awe at how pleasant gentle touch can be, how effortlessly they melt into it. There is gratitude as well: only through Eddie’s differentiated senses can they fully appreciate the modulation and meaning of this touch.
As Venom ripples along Eddie’s cheek and jawline, applying soft, circular points of pressure, one after another—a series of light kisses, he realizes—something catches inside him. It’s an ache, a longing not for anything other than this moment, but for the moment to continue indefinitely. His head lolls back, only to be caught and cradled by a hammock of tendrils. Venom still holds his hand.
This is nice, they say languidly.
Nicer than our kiss in the woods? Eddie teases, his tone softened by affection.
Venom answers seriously. Yes. At that time, I could concentrate only on restoring our bond. Reaching out to feel your mind overtaking Anne’s. Sensory attention divided. Not enough time to appreciate this… external contact.
Thinking back, Eddie has to agree. His surprise and relief in that moment had crowded out his full enjoyment of Venom’s lips on his. Maybe at some point they can try that again… or maybe not. Maybe this is enough. There’s an equivalency here, a reciprocity to their touch, that feels so much more heightened and intimate than either the symbiotic or the human default. With some concentration, he can feel and internalize the calm that his own touch brings to Venom.
Eddie could fall asleep like this, and suddenly wants to do exactly that. He twists around to arrange the pillows with his unoccupied right hand.
Hold on, Venom says, let’s...
His left hand is suddenly clutching emptiness, but the rest of the tendrils remain in place, now twining upward from his collarbone. Eddie glides his fingertips across Venom's surface where it fills out the hollow of his cheek.
Touching; touched. Warmth rises in his chest.
Better?
“Just as good." Eddie reluctantly breaks contact for a few seconds to switch off the bedside lamp. He lies down, taking care not to pinch any part of Venom against the pillow.
The symbiote’s already subtle movements slow and soften further under the cover of darkness. Thin finger-like appendages curl around Eddie’s ear and comb soothingly through his hair.
He’s about to drift off when he hears a quiet, hesitant Eddie?
“Hmm?”
When we first spoke face-to-face, I told you that you were mine. Since then… I have realized I am yours as well.
Eddie can't help but break into a wide grin that bumps up against the light pressure at his cheek. He falls asleep stroking Venom’s tendrils as they lap at his face, cold and loving.