It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and Eddie Brock, the least wise person on Earth, was on his way to get a gift to surprise his husband, a lump of sentient goo who was anxiously awaiting his return in their apartment whilst inhabiting the body of a dog they had borrowed. Eddie stopped in front of the nondescript door of San Francisco’s hidden Sex Hospital, and rang the buzzer.
“Sex Hospital,” a voice answered from inside.
“Hi, I have a booking for a top surgery.”
“You are aware we only do the secret type of top surgery, right?”
“Yes,” Eddie said, his eyes filling with nervous tears, sweating like a billionaire in a rocket. “That’s the type I want. I want the type that turns me into a top.”
“Okay,” said the voice. “Come on in.”
A few short minutes later, he lay on a bed on the third floor of the Sex Hospital, which was cheerily decorated with snowflake decals and an inflatable snowman that towered toward ceiling height. Eddie looked down at his own body wistfully and hoped that he was doing the right thing by choosing this particular Christmas present for his spouse-slime. The only problem in Eddie and Venom's happy relationship was that they were both bottoms. They’d found ways to work with it, either by Venom taking one for the team and dicking Eddie, or by getting Anne to come over and dick them both. But Anne’s strap-on was getting worn down from excessive use, and sometimes Venom had an air of sadness whilst in the middle of their passionate dicking. Eddie had vowed to change all of that this December.
If only Venom was here, Eddie thought as he looked at the cheery decorations hung up around the room, but at least this would be a big surprise when he returned to the apartment, a changed man and bursting with Top Energy.
A doctor wearing a Santa hat stepped into the room, and looked down at Eddie's chart with a concerned frown. “I have to warn you, Mr. Brock,” he said. “I have never seen such high levels of bottom energy. This is going to be a difficult surgery.”
“Will I survive?” asked Eddie.
“Maybe,” the doctor said and shrugged.
“If I don’t,” Eddie said, “Please donate all my organs to my husband.”
“Your husband is in need of a transplant?”
“Not exactly,” Eddie said and wiped away a tear.
Reader, let the narrator here fleetingly intervene to inform you that the surgery was a success. Mr. Brock awoke several hours later in a different snowflake-covered room, covered in bandages from the neck down, bruised and beaten but radiating with a top energy that impressed even his skeptical doctor.
“My best work,” the surgeon said proudly, adjusting his Santa hat already thinking of the article he would soon submit to a secret medical journal entitled Successful acroplasty on patient with hyperhidrosis and hyperbottom-related counterindications.
“Thank you, doctor,” said Eddie, who his delight was already feeling a strong desire to cut a hole in the hospital bed and stick his dick into it. “Now I must get home to my sludge partner.”
“Venom, I’m home!” Eddie cried as he bounded into the apartment, already sporting an impressive erection barely hidden by his hospital gown. “Wait until I—hang on, why are you covered in bandages?”
Venom had emerged from the body of the large dog it was inhabiting. It looked weird and not very sexy when Venom's head came out of a dog like that, particularly when the dog was wearing reindeer ears like this one was, but Eddie was already pulsing with so much BDE that he didn’t mind.
“WE WANTED TO SURPRISE YOU, EDDIE,” the symbiote said.
“Well, before you tell me more about it, let me conveniently give you my news. I have a surprise for you of my own. It's a Christmas present for the both of us. I had surgery. I am a top now, Venom!”
To Eddie’s surprise, Venom did not look happy. Instead, it threw its head back and roared in what sounded like rage and pain.
“What is wrong, my love?” Eddie asked sweatily.
“THAT IS NOT GOOD, EDDIE. WHILE YOU WERE OUT, WE WENT AND GOT SECRET TOP SURGERY AT THE OTHER SEX HOSPITAL ACROSS TOWN.”
Reader, our young and foolish Mr. Brock sat down on the wooden floor and wept. What was going to happen to their joyful and enduring bond? Who was going to dick whom? Eddie pulled at his messy hair in frustration and looked down at his erection, which although as present as ever, now seemed foolish and useless. What irony! Their love for each other had engendered a tragedy! People were going to have to study this dumb story in high school and write essays on its dumb deeper meaning for centuries to come!
“EDDIE,” Venom’s entire mass suddenly flopped out of the confused dog, which wandered over to its water bowl in the corner and started drinking, still wearing the reindeer ears. The lump of black slime crawled across the floor to its husband and pushed its way through his thin hospital gown and into his torso, its head then emerging to speak to him comfortingly. “DO NOT WORRY, EDDIE. I AM A SYMBIOTE MADE OF GOO. I CAN JUST MAKE EXTRA HOLES AND WE CAN BOTH DICK EACH OTHER AT THE SAME TIME.”
“Can we?” Eddie asked, his eyes bright as he looked at his idiot husband.
“YES, EDDIE. WE CAN.”
Eddie wept with joy, and then there was a knock on the door. It was Anne.
“Hey guys,” she called. “For Christmas, I got us a new strap-on for me to wear!”
Reader, in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, Venom and Eddie Brock were definitely not the wisest.