[ There may be truth to that, more than Angela was ready to admit. It was easy to claim it was her desire to help him – that no animalistic and foreign attraction was bringing her to him, but would she be able to lie? He can feel her, they both can feel the storm of curiosity and desperation for understanding. Where it borderlines into a hunger for heat. For warmth. For want that may never find the end.
She parts her lips to stammer out some poorly constructed rebuttal – but it fails as soon as it begins. Why does she need to defend herself? The ghosting feeling... is there a pulse he can pinpoint? A thought that strays longer than she thinks to when she looks at the being (and man) before her? It's invasive, but – she instead contends with the shift of clothing being pulled from her frame. It was easy to get lost into a trance, the sensations and emotions all a storm swelling inside of her. By the time her jacket was gone and those tendrils encompass around her. Her hands instinctively rise, as if trying to grasp at something – the back of a lover's hand, the mapped and familiar form of their bicep pressed into her. Instead, she feels the warmth spread across her bare skin when the shirt becomes another afterthought. ]
Mr. Brock – [ Her words finally stumble, and she nearly stumbles the symbiote's claim to name as well, but she fails. Her heart thumps against her chest, her thighs instinctively tightening in a guarded stance to sate her body's own reaction – how hollow she feels, how cold she feels with the shivering sensation he offers her then. That tongue... it canvases against her as if claiming her undoubtedly. Or, perhaps, when she undoes how human nature was so focused on one and one – he was bringing her back to where they would be whole. It will become second-nature, one day. He leaves her with the gesture, leaves her eyes shut tight and jaw dropping as if her body betrays her.
The promise of answers, of wholeness was too good for even the most noble and realistic doctors to ignore. For the woman he's bonded with to ignore. She gulps and nods. ]
And... there can not be. A life of suffering... of being cold, alone.
[ The summer she remembers was gone and heat was calling for her – and as each layer was pulled away and she was bare, he had all the answers he would need from her. Her willingness, her bare body allowing the black mass to press against her and take any lingering warmth she offers.
The firmness against her was a swooping, strange feelings but – there was something Angela feels obligated to do. To pull from him as if there was some last minute doubt. Her eyes meet his – whether she can see Eddie or Venom, she doesn't care. ]
I... am. If this happens, everything you spoke – our bond – it will be us. Together. Beyond us warming ourselves, beyond.. tendrilled webs binding us, and beyond a doctor and patient. [ Her words were strong, not lost in the haze of her own uncertainty or her body's reaction to his touches. ] Together in ways no one else can understand. Where words... fail.
[ Carefully, her hand moves as if she was trying to touch a wild animal. She doesn't stop until her knuckles brush against his jawline, to grow accustomed to the sensation on her terms as well. ]
no subject
She parts her lips to stammer out some poorly constructed rebuttal – but it fails as soon as it begins. Why does she need to defend herself? The ghosting feeling... is there a pulse he can pinpoint? A thought that strays longer than she thinks to when she looks at the being (and man) before her? It's invasive, but – she instead contends with the shift of clothing being pulled from her frame. It was easy to get lost into a trance, the sensations and emotions all a storm swelling inside of her. By the time her jacket was gone and those tendrils encompass around her. Her hands instinctively rise, as if trying to grasp at something – the back of a lover's hand, the mapped and familiar form of their bicep pressed into her. Instead, she feels the warmth spread across her bare skin when the shirt becomes another afterthought. ]
Mr. Brock – [ Her words finally stumble, and she nearly stumbles the symbiote's claim to name as well, but she fails. Her heart thumps against her chest, her thighs instinctively tightening in a guarded stance to sate her body's own reaction – how hollow she feels, how cold she feels with the shivering sensation he offers her then. That tongue... it canvases against her as if claiming her undoubtedly. Or, perhaps, when she undoes how human nature was so focused on one and one – he was bringing her back to where they would be whole. It will become second-nature, one day. He leaves her with the gesture, leaves her eyes shut tight and jaw dropping as if her body betrays her.
The promise of answers, of wholeness was too good for even the most noble and realistic doctors to ignore. For the woman he's bonded with to ignore. She gulps and nods. ]
And... there can not be. A life of suffering... of being cold, alone.
[ The summer she remembers was gone and heat was calling for her – and as each layer was pulled away and she was bare, he had all the answers he would need from her. Her willingness, her bare body allowing the black mass to press against her and take any lingering warmth she offers.
The firmness against her was a swooping, strange feelings but – there was something Angela feels obligated to do. To pull from him as if there was some last minute doubt. Her eyes meet his – whether she can see Eddie or Venom, she doesn't care. ]
I... am. If this happens, everything you spoke – our bond – it will be us. Together. Beyond us warming ourselves, beyond.. tendrilled webs binding us, and beyond a doctor and patient. [ Her words were strong, not lost in the haze of her own uncertainty or her body's reaction to his touches. ] Together in ways no one else can understand. Where words... fail.
[ Carefully, her hand moves as if she was trying to touch a wild animal. She doesn't stop until her knuckles brush against his jawline, to grow accustomed to the sensation on her terms as well. ]