"We need to talk."

Khonshu's words haunted Marc even after he dressed himself up again and the chatter of the streets welcomed him and Clara back into the nightlife of Casablanca. A dubious transformation happened to the city after sundown, when though the walls have not moved an inch, the atmosphere grew tighter; paradoxically, though the sun was gone, the warmth lingered and the pollution stopped the stars and the moon from shining down any brighter than the thousands of lights flaring in shops.

It was for the sake of the warmth that both of them have disregarded a lot of layers which in San Francisco would have been crucial. White was widely known as perhaps the best color to wear, but they both went for more neutral tones for the comfortable clothes. Clara's blouse was the more airy one, because there was nothing which made her and her symbiote more uncomfortable than clothes sticking to their skin in a too warm climate.

They haven't forgotten their task for the following week leading to the new moon though. Blending in as tourists on the streets of Casablanca only happened after all in a radius around the El Hachim Resort. There weren't many "witness-less" streets or buildings, on their first glance around, for the last hour.

But Clara had also noticed that Marc was properly out of it.

"Should we talk about his little crisis in the room?" Venom asked. "Or about us reacting so fast? Haven't seen you care that much unless it's for Priscila."

Luckily for the two in symbiosis, the streets caught the noise of some music too at some point, so it concealed their chatter perfectly, while Clara kept her tone to a private level of sound. "I don't think he wants to talk about it, so better not bring it up. We don't talk about him saving us from Abomination either-"

"Got it!" Venom got immediately louder. There was no one who knew better that Venom disliked bringing up his low times. It had something to do with being an apex predator. "No bringing up weaknesses, as you wish, host."

And, of course, there was no one other than Venom who knew Clara's feelings and thoughts for a while now. She's been dodging his question for ages. Even then, she completely ignored his insisting on the topic of "care". So, carelessly, the symbiote took matters in his own hands; he had read somewhere, at some point in their early years together, how humans showed affection and that led right down the rabbit hole of learning this species dealt with hormones way different than his own.

Either way, Venom took control of left hand and with the help of some of his own substance, he connected her palm with Marc's.

The very sudden contact made him flinch, but for the better, because he's been anything but attentive since the beginning of their walk. Khonshu has been "punishing" him for disobedience all along; Steven, his Steven, was having a crisis unlike any other, because Khonshu didn't like his tone. Marc felt filthy and drenched in rage, yet fearful all the same, because even formless, that God had dominion over his mind and over many things out of his control. And he wanted to talk with him.

About what?

The streets haven't been helping because unfocusing from reality was one of his unwanted skills and oh, how easy mass chatter could become just background noise.

But Clara holding his hand pulled him right back to reality and he almost stumbled on thin air, trying to understand. The deep questions causing a crease on his forehead, switched to puerile worries like whether or not he should get his hand away from hers or look down at it and inspect if he really felt right and Venom made sure Clara didn't let go either.

She realized a second too late what Venom was up to and by the time she joined hands with Marc she truly just had frozen on the spot. Avoiding to look down at their hands and looking for an escape out of this awkward situation with an even more awkward explanation -not being able to control her symbiote was even worse than having to admit Moon Knight kicked their ass and saved them all in the span of a week- was all Clara could do. As the back of her neck caught the beads of the beginning of sweat, accentuated now by a three-second stress, she felt the breeze, coming from the left side, towards her right. She looked to the right and spotted a sign over which "TO SELL" was plastered over.

"Over here," she played off the hand holding by dragging Marc along towards that alleyway, beside a building, to identify where this gym place to be sold was. An empty gym would be perfect for a little catching of breath after the heist, and if not, at least she would have an excuse.

Marc let her drag him along, taking advantage of this moment to look down at their hands. Venom was not in sight -because the symbiote was smart enough to just control her from within to not be able to unclench that hand after the deed was done- and to his surprise, he felt a little hint of newfound hope stir in his chest, take over his being.

He hadn't felt like that since... since before he enrolled in the army.

Sure, he had flings here and there, but nothing lasted, because he didn't particularly want anyone in his life, he just needed various outlets for anger.

And Clara? Well, she hadn't felt her heart beat this fast in a long time.

However, by the time they found the entrance to the deserted gym, her struggles paid off and she managed to unclench her hand and let go of Marc. Her sigh of relief had been a bit too obvious, making Marc watch for any other specific signs on her face to guess thoughts he didn't feel confident enough anymore to ask about.

He had lost his touch with humans and Clara no longer believed she had it in her to get attached and disappointed. Perhaps that's why it had been so easy to flirt with Steven. Apart from him being an absolute angel and a nerd-ish delight to be around, it was the deadline... three days was all it was said they had together and Clara had no further expectations than that. Even then it had been hard to let go, but the prospect of maybe having no deadline with any of them...

That was a gamble and she hated losing bets.

"One fence away from the terrain of the resort," Marc pointed out. "Away from the streets, unlit path. Might have stairs to the roof or a sewer in the back by the smell of it."

When she spotted the abandoned gym, Clara was no longer thinking of their future mission, but only at her need to escape. However, once Marc started listing positive aspects, she played along. "What would you do without me and my perfect sight..." Her index finger was covered in Venom at the sound of her words and pointing it towards the keyhole, the symbiote handled opening the door as if they weren't even breaking in.

There were no lights working in the gym. Marc's eyes were fine with adapting to darkness and thanks to Venom, Clara's night vision was enhanced too. They both pretended to study that empty gym for a good, silent ten minutes. Music and chatter from Casablanca streets seemed miles away through the walls of this gym. Well, it sure would have been a great gym, back when it still had things to define it, other than a few web riddled lockers, deserted and a boxing ring which surprisingly held up the best.

Clara was uninterested in that dusty centerpiece until she stole a glance at Marc and realized she knew what emotion was behind his eyes as he looked at the ring: melancholy.

"You know what could help decrease that tension you're holding in your shoulders?" she asked, breaking the silence they have allowed to linger around them. Marc didn't have to look back at Clara to identify the sound of her steps, drawing nearer. The next time he heard her voice, after he hadn't really answered, she was beside him. "A rematch."

They looked at each other at the same time. His glare and her grin, topped with the mutual understanding that they were more than ready to have that heist done with or without Paul, and they could spare this moment for harmless shenanigans.

Marc knew he missed those times. Boxing came in his life after he had lost everything he worked for. Life in the ring was his escape from reality before he became a mercenary. Perhaps violence simply had always been his universal cure and if that was the case, then he was starting to believe Clara was one of those pesky mind readers for sure.

"Come on," Clara bumped her right hand into his arm before sliding into the ring.

To her surprise, Marc followed without much fuss. "But no suits," was his only request.

"That's fine by me."

"Not by me!" Venom argued. "I have been wanting for that rematch for ages."

"That's what you get for controlling my hands, buddy," Clara said almost through gritted teeth, making some steps around the ring and stretching her arms. She felt an odd deja vu.

"You've done boxing before?" Marc rolled up his sleeves to not get in the way. He wasn't planning on exactly going as hardcore and brutal as on their first meeting. They weren't rivals anymore and hardly strangers either.

"Nah, just cage fighting and that was long ago," Clara dismissed it quickly, though the heavy bitterness she felt messed with her compass. She turned to him again, "Did you? I saw the way you looked at the ring."

"Heavyweight champion at some point, before I was recruited for mercenary jobs and well, became whatever I am now." Marc rolled his shoulders back and finally showed the little reassembly of a grin, "But don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

Clara laughed shortly.

But that was about all the breath she wasted before actually starting their little playfight. Knowing he used to be a professional boxer made it a lot easier for her to know what fighting style she should adopt. Because unlike him, Clara had no actual training, but only Venom's ability to absorb knowledge, so she grew accustomed to what she usually had to go up against which made use of brutal force as much as the strength of the adversary.

She went for a classic Krav Maga punch, after taking two calculated steps closer, at a speed which was well dosaged. But only from observing her stance, Marc anticipated her move and caught her elbow, grabbed her arm properly and got behind her. In a real fight, this would have been the end of the game, because he could have a clear hit at her head, but he just held her arm and breathed down to her neck while she cursed under her breath, still laughing.

"That would have been a really wise choice if I hadn't been in the army before going to boxing," Marc gave her the tiniest of praise at least for the try.

"Right," Clara hummed, leaning her head back a little, but only so she could concentrate on the feeling of just how faintly he was holding on to her arm. He didn't joke about going easy on her and half of her was pissed by it, while the other half thought she should call herself part of the fortunate few now.

Either way, his light grip was her escape, because she could spin back around and have them face each other. The bridge of her free hand kicked his wrist and it was as easy as that to shake him off. However, while the flat of her barely freed arm came up to his chest, he deflected with his own hand, pushing the momentum of the hit down.

Clara didn't let it throw her off balance, but rather followed the curve and helped herself with raising her left foot off the ground and giving that a throw towards his chest too. She almost got him, were it not for his timely dodge.

Marc had realized he had been a bit of a hypocrite to ever think Clara was only able to fight because of Venom. In fact, he was not starting to understand, as he was forced to dodge five hits, one after the other, that the suit made her slower, even if a bit stronger. He hadn't got the chance to throw any punch of his own and she noticed he didn't even tighten his fists. But oh, he was good at deflecting and at the sixth punch, he managed to throw her off balance and make her stumble past him.

"This rematch is not going in your favor so far," Marc thoughtlessly let those words out. It was something about being back in the ring which gave him a little hint of normalcy, of forgetting life has changed and just letting himself exist, without anything else but them in that moment.

"We're not done yet," Clara first looked over her shoulder at him, her smile ever glowing in that obscure darkness of the place. Marc had turned to her, raising his chin, pretty daring her to get to the attack again.

And she did, only this time, she moved the punches up, towards his face and Marc was forced to raise his fists as well. He dodged once, twice, then the momentum naturally gave him the opportunity to lunge two hits towards Clara too. Between them, she punched him in the face, lowering under the second one and letting him step back to feel the taste of blood from his lip.

"Yes!" Venom cheered. "I knew my host was the best human."

Marc chuckled, sticking his tongue out a little, just to lick the blood off his bottom lip. "You throw heavy punches."

"Still wanna go easy on me, Spector?"

Marc puffed a short exhale and his expression changed, dropping a nuance darker, but not in the way he threateningly looked before summoning the suit, not even in the way he intimidated before a real match or before a mission. It was a different type of shadow and it had him start the fight this time, with fists less relaxed and more into it.

Clara dodged his first punch, letting it fly by her right ear. Tilting to the side, she gained access to the second proper hit. Marc acknowledged the pain in his side and dismissed it completely, because one success on her side, made her lower her guard enough for him to raise the right foot and get her off guard.

He didn't hold back and he was right not to do so, because though it hurt like a motherfucker and she managed to bite her own tongue, Clara was exactly like him in ignoring pain. She stayed on the ground less than one second before getting up again even more passionate about their match.

Marc was starting to enjoy it. Watching her concentration, letting her think she was going to strike with the next punch then getting her instead across the face. Clara recovered like his punch had been but a tap and turned her face back to him in time to catch his body half turned. She hooked his arm in place and got one leg behind him to kick him out of balance, then controlled the fall to the ground of the ring, pinning him down.

It was that second, in which she chose not to get up immediately and Marc looked up and so her above him, inches from his face, that he became aware of how much he was actually enjoying this. She too realized the exact same thing, riddled into the little instinct to draw nearer, rather than lean back.

"I won," she mumbled. There was no need to be any louder, the whispers were kept between them and the loud street was far away.

Though dark, they've long grown accustomed to this shadow. Their features were no riddle for each other while this close. And they were close, even if the fighting position did not allow Clara's chest to fall right on his, their heartbeats were almost reaching out to the other, trying to have what the air in their lungs did, that little collision, from their parted lips, their not yet touching noses.

All Clara had to do was look down further than to the point her eyes escaped focus and she'd be remembered that she did think of getting him in this position, perhaps even before she saw him undressed.

Marc caught her gaze slipping down to his lips and he almost wished she hadn't trapped his right arm in an uncomfortable position, just about enough to block even his left from reaching up and acting on this sudden urge to defile what little distance was left between them. The adrenaline of the fight was still running in chest, surely, or he could just admit that these past few days proved to him that having her know him was the ultimate aphrodisiac after years of solitude.

All of a sudden, Clara became aware of her heartbeat. What was she doing? Leaning in to kiss a man that continuously brings her trouble? Madness, pure madness was this want, finally creeping in through the cracks of those hits they've both taken and accepted, like true masochists.

She looked Marc in the eyes now. Not catching his own gaze slip anywhere else, Clara was compelled to acknowledge she might have crossed a line. She let go of his arm and leant back. Marc followed, sitting up, but not to break apart, yet keep the closeness.

With hands free, his right held the side of her face, stopping her from moving any further -and that warm touch did make her freeze, as paradoxical as that might be. It was less than a second, a moment of blind impulsivity which made Marc get ever further and pepper a light, hesitant kiss, barely ghosting her lips.

It was a shock to reality.

He really did that.

With Clara.

She was either going to punch him or...

Oh, he wasn't sure which option terrified him more when with wide open eyes he sharply leant back.

Her exhale was soft after that little teasing peck. He sure craved more and it was obvious for Clara that she needed more than just that. Because that's how things were, passion was an undisturbed catastrophe, a bomb waiting to explode when the right nudge gets its way. This was the nudge; she still felt its tingle on her lips when she leant forward for more.

Marc's sigh of relief while the kiss returned, but in a far more certain mannerism proved to himself that he ached for her approval, for her attention, for her presence. To him, she long passed intimacy, by meeting his personalities, by talking with every side of him and hearing out what few have told him.

It was as his hand glided over her ear and into her hair that Marc tasted bliss in the shape of tinted iron, forming between their parted lips. He couldn't recall his madness for Khonshu, because his mind was bringing laurels to the God that forced him to cross paths with this woman.

Clara bit on safety made flesh while her thumbs ran down his chest, because he was absolutely crazy, and that was exactly what she needed. The fire between their lips caught their breath on a hook and separating was no longer an option when each other's scent became intoxicating and their surroundings absolutely irrelevant.

How long exactly did they hold back this need to be close? It felt like an eternity trying to get out all at once and make up for the lost time the best it could: by clinging to the other, by digging nails into skin, by tugging on a blouse's material or leaning into each other without the tug of wind.

Venom was ready to interrupt from the moment Marc dared give Clara that first hesitant kiss, but aware of how it made her feel, he decided against it, with the secret promise of not allowing this human to leave if he truly let her down like all her attempts before.

One hand in her hair -she leant into his touch-, the other running under her blouse on her back, Marc was already breathing heavily from the separation of their lips and her gentle bites and tickles on his neck. She inhaled his scent and breathed in with hunger the warmth with which his skin felt on hers.

It wasn't perfect. The ring was dusty, their clothes were clinging to their skin and the atmosphere was tight on their lungs.

But it was a relief. Everything they needed. That tension which had turned to adrenaline, suddenly drained away from their bodies and the heavy shoulders of worried, deprived people relaxed.

Marc made a mistake though, and that was trying to open his eyes. Then, he saw Khonshu, watching from the edge of the ring. He flinched and Clara stopped, immediately snapping out of it. She was too versed in failed attempts to not spot one right away, even if it wasn't the case. She leant back and checked his fixed gaze, followed it, saw nothing at all in the darkness and lingered her gaze towards that nothing still. Marc didn't know what to say. He was desperately needing their moment not to be over just because he was seeing things, but already out of reach, Clara got up from the ground of the ring and brushed the dust off her knees.

It was over. And it was out of their control. And nothing hurt more than an almost.

"He didn't say anything. What happened?" Venom's voice returned in Clara's mind and she rejoiced in that company to drown out the awkwardness she simply could not allow to be there. They had to move on. She didn't know what else to do but ignore what just happened, while Marc had no idea how to word whatever he was feeling, the fossil of an emotion dug to light from another life.

And in the pocket of Clara's pants, her phone, in silent mode, lit up with a message she was not going to see for a while.

author's note:    what were the chances of marc getting the first kiss from Clara? 😂😂 I think it's sort of poetic, considering he had been coming to terms with the fact that he's the least likable...

And yes, I was planning this and I literally had this very train of thought: "these slow mfs are never gonna kiss if i don't make their adrenaline rise first."

now, next update is on Tuesday 💖💕