Chapter 4
It’s not like Eddie makes it a habit to speculate about the dating lives of strangers, and normally hearing something to the effect ‘persons X and Y are making out on the reg’ doesn’t even register with him unless it’s relevant to a story he’s chasing. Even then, he’s not a paparazzo, he’s got real stories to tell. All that veneer of sophistication goes out the window when it’s aliens.
“So you’re telling me that not only do we have another obligate cannibal pair in San Francisco, running around on ‘your turf’ killing and eating ‘your’ bad guys - which, by the way, territorial much? Not only that, but they’re dating?” By the end of the sentence, Eddie’s voice hits a squeaky edge of an octave he doesn’t normally make use of.
YES
“...Do you think they’re-”
COPULATING, YES.
The way Venom says ‘copulating’ sounds both filthy and clinical enough to make him twitch, but his brain can’t help but wander. What would that even be like? The only thing he can think of is ropes. Lots of tendrils, sliding smooth over bare skin-
He stops that thought in its tracks. He doesn’t need that image in his mind right now, and he definitely doesn’t want to give Venom any ammunition, he’s ruthless when he finds something new to tease Eddie about. And anyway, the literal alien living in his body might be a pretty decent copilot who won’t let him get hurt, but he still doesn’t want to drive like a dumbass and get ticketed, he can’t afford that shit.
He waits till they get home before checking his messages. Apparently, Jess entered a single sunflower emoji in the contact info instead of her actual name.
-Ngl thought u were gonna fight me
-Ur alien is real shouty what’s their deal
-Plz dont turn me in thx
He sends a single thumbs up instead of an actual reply, because he honestly doesn’t know what to do with the information he’s received today, and turns on the TV so he can fall asleep while Venom is watching one of those shows where Gordon Ramsay yells at assholes.
It’s amazing how easily he falls asleep, actually.
Eddie never used to dream much, or at least, he never remembered them if he did. These days, he dreams every night. They’re the kinds of dreams where he’s nearly lucid, but he can’t quite open his eyes. Like someone’s holding them shut. But he can still feel everything, in as much as you feel things in dreams. Like touching clouds that have the same impact as the things they represent.
(clouds in inkblot black that light his skin on fire, a weighty fog that seeps into and out from his pores)
His bodymate doesn’t comment, thankfully, despite the fact that Eddie just knows that he can see the images his brain draws up in his sleep. In return, Eddie doesn’t draw attention to the way he feels Venom shift under his skin in the mornings.
Tonight’s dream feels more like a nightmare, but it’s impotent in the same way that watching a mediocre thriller movie too many times kills the fear. He’s in an alley, and someone attacks him from behind with a bat or a rock or a gunshot , and he feels himself fall for far longer than would make sense in waking life - the same fall, repeating itself over and over, until he’s diving into the void. He tries to open his eyes, like every other time he’s had this dream, and of course he can’t.
The first time he had this dream, he was terrified. Now, it was practically normal.
—
Two days after the incident with Jason, Jess wakes up from a nightmare with her heart hammering and her legs tangled badly enough that for a moment she thinks she’s been tied up.
The dream had started out as a rehashing of that night; Her hearing that he was making out with some other girl over a pool table in a bar near Fisherman’s Wharf, screaming at him not only because of the cheating, but also the sheer volume of the music, getting into another screaming match behind the bar because he can’t let her disrespect him like that. He pushes her backwards, and she falls into a puddle as deep as the ocean.
Down, down, down into the depths she sinks, until out from the dark looms a massive shape, all teeth and menace. An enormous great white, the size of the largest whales, holding eye contact and circling. On an impulse, she reaches out to touch; the shark responds by turning and snapping, and right as the teeth close she wakes up.
The sheets are damp with sweat, but the fever seems to have gone. The alien, however, remains a growing concern, considering it’s spread thin over half of her body. It hadn’t spoken to her since the shower, but she’s been uncomfortably aware of the shifting in her gut that is more than simple nausea.
Tentatively, she touches a patch of the exposed alien where it’s resting on her belly. For a moment, she registers a sensation that reminds her of the one time she made oobleck when she was ten. Method shrinks back like a startled anemone and sifts back into her skin.
“Feels weird,” Jess mutters aloud.
So do you, the voice in her head retorts. She doesn’t have a smart response to that. It occurs to her that she should be having a touch of existential panic about this whole thing - aliens are a thing, one is living in her body, it apparently eats people.
Eats people.
…She’s hungry. Like she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Why does it have to be people?” Jess whispers. She isn’t sure who else might be in the house.
The main source of sustenance for my species is an amino most bountiful in the brains of carbon-based life forms.
“...Are you gonna eat me?”
No.
“No?”
You are more valuable as a host than as a source of nutrition. The tone is matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. We will still need to eat, however.
“Who’s ‘we?’”
You and I. I understand our union was one of circumstance and not of choice-
“Union is an interesting choice of word-” Jess feels her jaw click shut of it’s own accord, her tongue still and stuck to the roof of her mouth like too much peanut butter.
-HOWEVER. I would prefer this to be a mutually beneficial partnership. I must have a host, and I must eat. In return, you will be protected.
“Protected from what?” Jess asks. Her mind is immediately flooded with memories of her last fight with Jason, from an outside angle, and then of the last look of dumb shock on his face in his last seconds on Earth.
The details can be discussed. Do we have a pact?