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Their lives are dangerous. Every day could be the last, no matter how hard they try to keep themselves safe or defended, whether it be on Mother Base with turrets and tanks and as many guards patrolling as they can afford or out in the field keeping watch and marking enemy troops. Danger is, essentially, the status quo.
Venom knows this. He lives by it, lives for it, and he doesn’t regret that. Even when he is bleeding and putting his shoulder back in its socket he doesn’t regret it.
Sometimes he needs to feel that danger in a different way. Sometimes he needs to know the face of that danger closely, personally, intimately. Quiet gives that to him.
She is, as always, silent when she comes to him. She is a shadow in the corner only revealed by the flash of red light from the towers that stop planes from ramming the highest points of Mother Base. Quiet is deadly and he knows this from experience. He’s been beaten by her before and has watched her kill both from up close and afar. It’s always a thrill to see her work. It’s more of a thrill for that calculated precision to be focused entirely on him.
She doesn’t make a sound as she sits on the bed, she only gestures for him to kneel at her feet. His knees creak and his hip cracks as he does so. She hooks a finger under the strap of his eyepatch and carefully pulls it up, over the horn in his forehead, and off. It is placed delicately on the bed at her side. He unbuttons the camo shirt and shucks it off, unbuckles his belt, toes off his boots, and kneels in his pants between her booted feet. She doesn’t smile but there is a softening of her features he always likes to see. Shadows dance across her face and Venom swallows a pleased hum as her fingers card through his hair. She tugs it loose and stroked it, pets him like a large cat. It’s the last moment of gentleness he’ll have for the next hour.
He can’t contain a gasp as the fingers in his hair curl into a fist and pull. His head is jerked back, his neck exposed, and his heart begins to beat faster behind his rib cage. Pain, sweet and sharp, courses through him. Quiet cocks her head to the side. She’s thinking, taking in the image before her and deciding what to do. He clasps his hands behind him at the small of his back and waits.
They have a truce, an understanding of sorts that she is an ally. She works for Diamond Dogs, she is a part of them as much as anyone. And yet… she isn’t.
Quiet has tried to kill him before. She is still under orders to do so as far as anyone else is concerned. Any moment he is alone with her could be the moment she chooses to strike and fulfil that mission. The mission comes above all else, that’s what he has been taught; or at least he thinks he has, the memory is fuzzy, grainy and distorted like aged videotapes played one too many times. If she wanted, she could take his life and snuff it without a second thought.
He doesn’t trust that she won’t even though he trusts her.
She stands. He is dragged to his feet. He goes willingly.
Her eyes flick to his waist and he quickly unbuttons the fly, her hold on his hair gone as he pushes the trousers and underwear down and kicks them aside in a pile. As he stands naked before her, Quiet assesses him in the way only a predator can; intense and cool, muscles coiled tight and ready to move, all control and contained lethality.
She circles him once, no warmth radiating from her but he feels the movement of the air as she moves around him. It makes the hairs on his arms stand up. He shivers as her fingers press into one of the scars on his side and she stares into his eyes unblinkingly. There are no questions there, she wouldn’t ask even if she could, and Venom is glad.
In a flash, a lightning bolt of movement, she grabs him and throws him to the ground. His back hits the floor. He feels his head smack against the ground and grits his teeth. She straddles his hips and pins him, her body cool through the scant clothing she wears, and the tights are impossibly soft and smooth against his skin. A shiver runs through him as she rakes her nails down his chest, catching his nipples in twin sparks of pain. He arches into it and feels his blood heat up. The hands grip his sides as Quiet leans over him, her hair loose in a dark curtain that smells like freshly cut grass.
Her hips grind down in circles. He grows hard, pushes up lightly into the pressure, groans as she plants her hands either side of his head and bites at his throat hard enough to bruise. Her breath is warm even though her skin is not. It ghosts over his skin and he tips his head back to give her more room. He can’t help the small gasp of her name. “Quiet!”
She stills. Her body rises from where it was pressed against him. One hand, delicate to the eyes, grips his throat. She squeezes. A warning, he thinks, but it makes his heart pound with arousal. Her head tilts again and she presses harder. Air enters his mouth, stops before it reaches his lungs, and his hips jerk.
Quiet makes a low, hungry sound. He hears the sound of fabric as she shoves it out of the way, tears it to rut against him skin to skin. When she lifts her hips and sinks down onto his cock he chokes and grips at her knees. The hand on his neck releases, lets him take in oxygen for one sweet moment.
They haven’t done this before. They’ve fucked, yes, but the choking is new. He likes it.
Her fingers tighten once more as she starts to move. Warm and wet, her body surrounding him in the most fundamental ways, and he drifts into her touch. Pleasure-pain sparks behind his eyes as he rocks against him, rising and falling and taking exactly what she wants from his body. Little gasps leave her mouth and each one makes his blood sing.
The edges of his vision start to fade as Quiet holds him still. His hands jerk and tighten to fists, hips pushing up to meet her thrusts and it feels good, primal, it feels right to be at her mercy-
Air rushes back into his lungs as she lets go and his body arches. Colour dances in front of his eyes, he gazes up at Quiet and shivers under her as she keeps moving. The small gasps have become pants. She leans back, grinds herself on his cock until she locks in place, shudders, comes with a long and low groan he hasn’t heard before.
Venom stays still. He doesn’t want to break the moment.
He moans when Quiet lifts herself up and lets his cock drop back to his stomach. As she leans forward, body pressed to him once more, her lips find the shell of his ear. He takes himself in hand and strokes as Quiet hums to him, her hand back at his throat to hold him still as he chases his own release.
It’s perfect, in its own way.
His right hand works quickly, his breath shallow and ragged as he listens to the hum that usually precedes death. He comes with a bitten off cry and wonders for a moment if she has finished her mission after all.