Work Text:
entomology
/ˌɛntəˈmɒlədʒi/
noun
noun: entomology
- the branch of zoology concerned with the study of insects.
- the study of insects and their relationship to humans, the environment, and other organisms.
Is that really what this could be called, though? Or were you just trying to water it down so you didn’t feel like as much of a pervert as you were acting?
The way the amber sunset spilled through the half translucent black curtains made Cell look more beautiful than usual. It also made the purple flush on his pale, alabaster cheeks more apparent— much like the light sheen of sweat that coated his plush skin and rigid exoskeleton. If you disregarded his utterly ridiculous seven foot stature and build comparable only to a brick wall, he could be considered pretty cute. Well, to you, at least.
You’d told him you wanted to learn more about him. Explore his body, phrased in a way where it seemed like genuine curiosity rather than perverse admiration. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what you thought of him— you weren’t coy, you didn’t tiptoe around it. You seemed authentic in your ruminative gazes, how you’d often let your eyes run up and down his frame and giggle to yourself when you were certain he wasn’t looking. How’d you’d lean in, half-lidded gaze that bored into him filled with yearning whenever he spoke about training, or power levels, or other things he knew you didn’t really care all that much about. You really, really did like him. Maybe that’s why he agreed to let you do this. Reluctantly, albeit.
He’d never even considered his body to be for anything but fighting. And killing. And hurting. Maybe, with enough convincing, this could become a regular thing.
Maybe.
Your hand gently trailed down the onyx chitin on the top half of his body, tracing the space where the diamond shape nestled comfortably beneath his bust sank, and stopped abruptly at the speckled green built-in armour. You lifted your head, meeting his face and making a feeble attempt to read his expression. Impassive. Not quite vacant, or lacking thought. He was always thinking, but he never quite felt the overwhelming need to divulge the machinations of his highly advanced mind. He very rarely publicised his inner thoughts or feelings as of late. Not that he was much different from before. Typically, blank. Unless there was something he found amusing, at which he’d smugly smirk. Or, if he absolutely had to exert himself in a fight, he’d bare his teeth, baring them like a threatened street dog as he tried to keep his composure in check. The same could be said for his cadence— a silky smooth and deep tone which rarely inflected or hesitated, not unless he felt like he had to play up the dramatics. You’d often thought if he wasn’t a not-quite-man bug person, he’d have made a great stage performer.
“I still don’t understand what the purpose of this is,” he declared. His tone was always that of the utmost importance, like his word was gospel. “It feels nothing short of entirely pointless.” Patience was never his strong suit. You’d always wondered how that was the case when he scheduled the Cell games ten days after achieving his ‘perfect form’ rather than starting right away. Maybe he wasn’t so callous and cruel to give Earthlings a fight they didn’t even have a chance at winning. Or maybe it was a sadistic way of inducing anxiety in the populace.
You huffed. “I haven’t even done anything yet,” you murmured, letting your gaze follow your hand again as you drift the pads of your fingers against the hard shell of his exoskeleton— cold. And hard, obviously. He was an android, right? It only made sense. Although… he wasn’t entirely an android. You weren’t really sure what he was. Cell continued to ramble. You found out early on his favourite sound was his own voice; that was maybe the one thing you knew for certain about him. You didn’t blame him entirely. Whoever made him had the right idea fitting him with that timbre and eloquent manner of speaking.
“Well, to me it seems like you’re just wasting my time,” he grumbled, his grip on your bedsheets anchoring as he balled his large hands into petulantly assertive fists. You weren’t paying attention to that. Not really, at least. You were more focused on the heather mauve that joined his torso to his hips, fleshy-looking and just begging to be touched. You didn’t think you could be much more patient than you were already being. And you didn’t think Cell could feign interest any longer— if he was even doing that to begin with. Gingerly, you traced your thumb along the raised ridge at the foundation of his thorax, moving deliberately, as if you’d spook him away like a startled animal if you weren’t gentle with your movements. “Honestly, don’t you have much better things to do? I’m certain I do—“
He let out a choked gasp that made you stop in your tracks, making your heart flutter.
This may have been the only part of his body that you felt confident was comparable to a human’s. Sure, he was huge, but his waist (if it could even be called that— what’s the bug terminology?) was compact between his exoskeleton segments, especially taking into account the flare of his hips, and the way the ridges of his thighs made him look so— ugh. Focus.
“Is this okay?” you asked. You didn’t wait for a response as you gently thumbed the malleable ridges of his purple flesh. Still, he nodded, lips pursed and tight as he bluffed his composure as best as he could. You kept your head tilted down, but your eyes flitted between his waist and his face. His facade was stuttering; the violet dust on his cheeks had deepened, and he was actually struggling to keep his mouth shut as his eyes fluttered between wide-eyed and a tight squint. “It… feels fine. No complaints,” he muttered, swallowing thickly and humming contemplatively. He had to avert his gaze to maintain even a modicum of decorum, an odd mix in his gut of both shame at how easily he was swayed and pure, unfettered fervour.
His jaw hung and slackened in awe when you actually had the gall to let your hand move further down, tracing his hips around the onyx codpiece which preserved his dignity. “…And just what, exactly, are you planning on doing there?” he demanded, his tone an accusatory murmur. Though it never quite shifted into genuine anger. You peered up at him through your lashes, trying to feign oblivion. “What do you mean?” you asked coyly, tilting your head. He scoffed at you.
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You—“
He stopped himself, inhaling flusteredly like you were testing his patience. Which you were, to be fair.
“…Whatever you’re looking for, it’s there,” he muttered petulantly.
That got your attention. So quickly you almost snapped your neck, you tilted your head up to stare at him.
“…What do you mean?”
He scowled, averting his gaze and refusing to answer. You frowned, sitting up on your knees and levelling (or trying to) with his gaze. “You can’t just say that and not elaborate,” you complained, your volume still soft as you continued to trace his body. “I’ll have you find I can, actually,” he drawled, his tone laced with arrogance. You glared at him, furrowing your brows. He studied your expression momentarily, finally sighing wearily after a loaded silence. He just couldn’t deny you, could he? “Fine. Fine,” he exhaled with irritation, making you unclench your brow and settle back onto your knees. He sighed again before speaking bluntly. “Whatever bodily part of me you’re… looking for under there. I can assure you, I have one.”
His ambiguity bothered you. “Meaning?”
“Meaning a sex organ.”
His unabashed phrasing took you slightly aback, and you had very obviously made some expression of shock, because he smirked in that frustratingly smug way he always did. But you nodded understandingly nonetheless. “…Which one?”
It was Cell’s turn to make an appalled expression, eyes widening as his mouth tightened. “That’s— does it matter?” he hissed, purple dusting on his cheeks deepening in colour as he sputtered. “That’s an absurd question to ask.”
“I mean— is it?” you bargained.
His nose twitched, and he huffed once again. Logic dictated he couldn’t really argue with that. He had lead you on, and it wouldn’t be just to back off now. And what would that say of his pride? The perfect being wouldn’t shy away from a little exposure. After all, this was an… exploration, of sorts. One he had agreed to, he reminded himself. “I… suppose it makes sense. Considering the current context.” His clinical, almost professional tone that never seemed to falter always made a shiver roll up your spine.
“…So?” you drawled, your tone sing-songy as you invaded his personal bubble.
He eyeballed you judgementally, scowling as he pursed his lips, seemingly trying to gauge how to tackle a topic as… delicate, for lack of a better word, as this. It was a fair enough aspect to reflect upon. You talked big, of course, acting like nothing he said or did would dissuade you. But he could never be too careful, he figured. But the longer he pondered the thought, the more impatient he grew. He wanted this over and done with, in one way or another.
Oh, to hell with it.
“…Why don’t I just show you?” he proposed.
…Oh.
That caught you off guard. Very much so.
You didn’t catch yourself in time before you started nodding quickly. He couldn’t help but smirk weakly at your eagerness, despite how antsy he was. He had to admit, he was at least a little fond of you. Not so much as an equal— never an equal— but more like… a companion? There wasn’t any word distinct or accurate enough to describe how he felt about you.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, his face easing back into neutrality as he settled back. “Just… give me a moment. Please.” His politeness was pleasantly surprising. You would have heeded his request regardless, but the courtesy was a nice addition. You nodded, observing carefully as you watched his hand wander south tentatively. He cupped the shiny black codpiece between his keratin thighs and started to massage gently, gaze fixed in a squint as though he were trying his absolute hardest to focus.
You watched intently, unsure of whether you should maybe avert your gaze to preserve his dignity. You almost immediately disregarded that thought when you heard him moan softly under his breath, suppressing the urge to giggle to yourself giddily. He did look good like this; slightly stooped over himself, jaw slackening with each deliberate and calculated motion of his hand. Your perversity-induced vertigo swelled in hot blooming pulses in your belly as he retraced his other hand from your bedsheets, placing the pads of his fingers against his chin in an uncharacteristically bashful manner— almost like he wanted to cover his mouth, but stopped himself. The whole scene appeared to you as though this was not, by any means, something he did regularly. Of course he didn’t. If prompted, he’d probably say something along the lines of how ‘the perfect being needn’t stoop to lowly, humanistic desires,’ or something pretentious and annoying like that. That wasn’t an issue, though. You were happy to shoulder the work that had to be put into ensuring Cell’s pleasure.
Although you didn’t entirely mind watching this all unfold, it brought you nothing short of immense satisfaction when he had finally freed himself from his codpiece. His cock blossomed outward, and he gasped softly as if it were the first time he’d seen it himself. You were taken aback, too; it was slick, and entirely smooth. Well, almost. He was, scarily enough, endowed with soft-looking ridges that patterned it and gave him a texture similar to that of the joint flesh between his torso and hips. It was a soft darkened purple, not too dissimilar from the flesh that joined his torso to his hips, and… leaking. Precum had gathered at the tip and settled into a half-translucent pearl between the gentle ridges that peaked at the very end— maybe the only human aspect of it. Otherwise, it was entirely devoid of any sort of mankind’s biological influence.
You ogled it— him— for a moment. You swallowed thickly, your gaze flitting from base to tip being rigid and stiff as though a wrong look would make him retreat. Truthfully, you didn’t really know what else to say aside from stating the obvious.
“…It’s purple.”
“I’m aware.”
You paused.
“…It’s big.”
Cell scoffed. “Just full of enlightening little morsels today, aren’t you?”
Ignoring him (the safest course of action, really), you planted a hand on the inside of his thigh. He reacted in several ways befitting of someone who was (strangely), by all definitions, a virgin— most notably, the way he twitched anticipatorily, coco bobbing upwards between his thighs and making his expression knot into a fluster atypical to his limited emotional wheel. Big was an understatement on your part. You weren’t sure if, if it came to it (which you desperately hoped it would), you’d be able to make it work anatomy-wise. He grumbled something under his breath that, truthfully, you didn’t really pay much attention to. You careened your head up to face him, shuffling forward and rousing his nerves further by sliding your hand up the green expanse of his inner thigh.
You leaned in close, almost sharing each other’s air as you spoke. “May I?” you asked, your courtesy ridiculously oxymoronic with the invasion of his bubble as you let your hand drift closer, lagging and stalling at the ridge of his thigh as you waited for a response. Cell’s initial poise and impatience had long since worn thin. While he did indeed attempt to maintain his blank expression (an effort that did not go unseen by you), his needs betrayed him; his eyes sat half-lidded on his lavender flushed cheeks, equally purple tongue visible past his parted lips as he took each breath, inhales and exhales comparable in weight and intensity. He seemed to ruminate on the question, only momentarily, running his tongue along the backs of his teeth before nodding quickly. He wasn’t sure what sort of pathetic, needy drivel would spill out of him if he even attempted to speak, so he opted to rather not risk it to maintain what little dignity he still had.
You lifted your hand toward his quivering cock, puffing in amusement at the way he twitched at the contact of your fingertips gently grazing the base. “Have you ever done this before?” you crooned softly in his ear (or what you figured was supposed to be his ear; his so-called perfect form still confused you sometimes). You found yourself oddly pleased when he simply shook his head wordlessly. You did your best, and daintily wrapped your hand around the base, thick and oddly warm in your palm compared to the rest of his body. He stiffened, abruptly planting his hands on your thighs and squeezing firmly to anchor himself. You ever so slightly tightened your grip around him, earning you a soft noise that made your cheeks flush. “I’m gonna move now.” He nodded silently again.
The texture against your palm was nothing like anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, exactly. Just… odd. Like putty, but firmer. Much firmer. You gently dragged your wrapped hand up, slow and deliberate in the motion. He leaned forward, exhaling a weighted sigh and leaned against your shoulder. You could tell the action filled him with deep chagrin, having to rely on something— someone— else, just to keep him from collapsing forward onto your bed. He didn’t involve himself as much as you did observation wise. Like he was ashamed of acknowledging what an inferior being such as yourself was doing to him. He couldn’t say anything— no, he wouldn’t— as you reached the tip, and began to let your hand descend downward as the start of a gentle rhythm. “Hmmh…” That seemed to be a feeble attempt to silence himself.
“How does it feel?” you inclined your head slightly at him as you spoke. He obviously had no intention of looking you in the eye, but you’d at least make some attempt to level with him. He grumbled something under his breath before muttering a curt “fine”. Something told you that it could have, perchance, maybe felt just a little bit better than just ‘fine’. But you wouldn’t pry. Well, not with words, at least. You slowed your movements, pausing at the tip of his pulsing cock and waited. After a few moments of catching his breath, Cell tugged at the fabric of your pants, his voice a mumble, and strangely needy. “I don’t recall saying you had to stop.”
You hummed in acknowledgement. Gingerly, you swiped his tip with your thumb, smearing the bead of precum that had pearled over time across the slick expanse of purple flesh. He let a choked gasp tumble out of him, and you thought about how he’d consider it— a sound so unbecoming of the perfect being. You wanted to hear more. Cell’s hands jolted up to grasp the sides of your upper arms, squeezing tightly as he panted while you worked the tip. Clearly, that had caught him off guard. “Shh… shh…” You let your thumb dip between the ridges that peaked at the tip of his cock, delving between them and deepening your touch. “Ah—h-hah—“ he choked on the sounds he was trying so hard to suppress, his breath hot against your skin as he squeezed tighter and dug his nails in.
“Is this okay?”
“Y… yes…” he hissed through grit teeth, like it hurt him to admit such a thing.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, thin ropes spurted from the tip of his cock, pearlescent and coating your hand in warm strings. “Ah— ugh…” Cell scoffed, panting heavily as his fingers balled tighter. “That— that wasn’t… th— that hasn’t happened before,” he assured sternly, like he was ordering you to believe it. You’d believe it. “Hey, hey, it’s fine— really. Doesn’t matter.” Your words seemed to have brought him little comfort, his gaze lowered in perhaps shame or irritation. Maybe both, knowing him. “It does. I wasn’t ready.” You gently patted his inner thigh with your free hand, peering up at him tenderly. “That’s okay— we can always try next time—“
“Next time isn’t soon enough,” he mumbled, reeling back at the last word as if he hadn’t meant to speak. “It’s— I still have more, obviously. I’m not some pathetic quitter.”
You thought over your next words carefully, not wanting to… well, scare him off. You continued swiping your thumb, making him shudder as you spoke.
“…Do you want more?”
That question made Cell seize up, eyes widening as he buried himself deeper in the crook of your neck, mumbling to himself. “And how do you suppose I go about that?” he sneered, like it was the most ridiculous proposal in the history of the universe, one he couldn’t even fathom having a logistical answer.
Cheeks flushed, you shrugged, pressing your thumb against his slit and making him sputter quietly against your skin. “Well… how would you like to go about it?”
“I don’t appreciate having questions answered with more questions.”
“Sorry.”
He paused, deftly letting his hands slide down your arms and stilling at your elbows. He steadied his breathing, the rational part of his brain swallowed up by the part that was screaming at him to do something about… whatever this was.
“If…” he started, clearing his throat before he continued. “If you… want to do that for me,” he mumbled, cheeks so hot you could feel it radiating on the skin of your shoulder. He sunk his head further into your neck, resigning any semblance of his ego that could have possibly remained in this very moment. “I… wouldn’t be opposed.” It made your heart flutter how his composure seemed to slip, how he was now so flustered and reluctant to speak his mind compared to before.
“…I’d like a yes or no. Just for peace of mind.”
“Are all humans as pushy as you?”
He sighed. All that effort getting to transform into the perfect being, and he was being toyed with by some nobody human.
“Unbelievable… Yes, I’m saying I want to.”
He seized again when you let go of him, tightening his grip around your arms as you let your hands wander upwards to hold the spongy segment of his waist. He lifted his head to lean his forehead against yours, sharing each other’s air. He was ready to waive his dignity, his pride, anything he needed to to get this to happen. He leaned forward, supple pale lips centimetres from yours. His mouth was parted, and his deep purple tongue dragging anxiously along the bottom row of his impossibly perfect teeth taunted you. “Get it over with.”
Before he could consider the notion that this was a foolish, indecent and utterly perverse idea (which you didn’t think he would, but you didn’t want to take chances), you closed the gap between you, taking his mouth in a kiss likely much too intense for someone who hadn’t experienced a shred of shared intimacy in his admittedly very short existence. Both of you hummed softly into each other’s mouths, vocality being more prominent on Cell’s behalf. Like the rest of him, his lips were slightly lukewarm, a more rounded chilliness that couldn’t quite be considered icy. Maybe only warm because of your close contact with him. He had begun to let his hands wander, restlessly exploring your body the way you had his. You revelled in the gasps and moans that escaped him as you stroked him again, the way you quickened your pace seeming to flick a switch inside of Cell. He muttered your name against your lips, less kissing, and moreso studying your movements and relaying them back to you. It was painfully obvious he wasn’t constructed with this sort of thing in mind. But you figured if he had the parts, there was a way.
You let your tongue flit against Cell’s milk-toned lips, the action emitting a soft gasp from him as he tremoured for just a moment, before returning it. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure about what the purpose of kissing was— as far as he was concerned, mouths and tongues and teeth were for chewing, eating, spitting. Disgusting things; pointless and human things he needn’t concern himself with. But you did say you’d make him feel more, and you very much were following through with your promise. Something hot swelled inside him as you kissed him, and he pondered momentarily the idea that you could just keep doing this, maybe forever if you’d let him. But then again, that wouldn’t do much to speed things along on his end, would it? You caught him at just the right moment, while he was deep in thought, your rosy pink tongue meeting his and nudging experimentally, before you made the move to push forward into his unguarded mouth. He moaned softly, mumbling your name as he squeezed you tighter. Embarrassingly enough, you’d started to lose yourself as well; you’d entirely neglected the way salvia spilled over your bottom lip and began to roll down your chin, much too preoccupied with Cell. He tasted odd— similar to how a doctor’s office smelled, a strange combination of the scent of latex and ice water, but slightly sweeter. Although, well, unfamiliar, it wasn’t unpleasant by any means. Cell seemed equally enthralled by your own human flavours and fragrances. He deepened the kiss, pushing forward and letting his tongue drag against yours slowly, studying the sensations. It was obvious, though, that he had no real idea of what he was doing. He had entrusted you with this task, though, and you’d do whatever you could.
You began to undo your belt buckle, fumbling mindlessly with the clasp like it was second nature as the leather slackened against the belt loops, metal clinking against itself awfully loudly in the otherwise quiet room. “Cell,” you mumbled, thumbing the waistband of your pants and tugging down, your cheeks burning as you struggled to maintain contact. “Mm,” he acknowledged, reluctant to pull away as you spoke. “I need to—“ you tugged your pants down your hips, trying to shift while Cell relentlessly advanced in his attempts to make sure you wouldn’t— couldn’t— pull away. He tightened his grip on you, humming softly in satisfaction.
“Let me,” he huffed, finally pulling away and not giving you even a half-second of recollection before his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your jeans, tugging down so hard you were worried he’d rip the denim. “Careful,” you chided, frowning as the material was haphazardly disregarded and tossed somewhere on your bedroom floor amongst the rest of your laundry. Cell ignored your complaint, moving to crawl between your parted thighs and sitting on his knees, hunched over your form. He tentatively began to palm himself, running his hand along the slick purple and humming softly in contentment. “This is so—“ he huffed, scrunching up his nose like a bunny in that oddly cute way only you could find in him. He couldn’t finish his sentence, and you certainly wouldn’t make him while he reached forward to tug at the hem of your underwear, his fingertips cold against your skin and his nails dragging sharply in a way that made you jump as they were discarded along with your pants on the floor somewhere. You’d deal with that later, if you could be bothered to remember after this.
He sat back and admired momentarily, for lack of a better word. Watching your legs shift in an antsy way as you seemingly internally debated how to position yourself in a way that was inviting to him, but not so open that he’d get spooked off, or something. His eyes followed downwards, pausing at the slickness that had eagerly gathered between your parted thighs. It soothed him in an odd way to know that you were just as affected by this as he was, although he wasn’t fully certain it wasn’t just your human biological impulses kicking in.
He scooted forward again, taking his cock tentatively in his hand and guiding it. He lowered his head, tilting it as he lowered his voice to a murmur. “Experiement, you said. You’re a liar,” he scoffed, pushing against you; hard and warm as he dragged up and down between your slick folds and making you shudder. You shrugged at him guiltily. Who could blame you, really?
After a moment, he huffed and started to ease forward. “You— be patient,” you huffed, scooting backward slightly. If you were honest, you weren’t entirely sure how this would work, anatomy-wise. Cell groaned, obviously noting the furrow in your brow and the panic in your tone. “You said we’d do more,” he drawled, like you were being nothing but a nuisance who was hellbent on wasting his time. “So I’m doing more.” He shifted forward again, and you sputtered and backed up again. “We have to work up to it, first,” you argued, frowning at him as anxiety swelled in your chest. He took his eyes off the prize for a moment and caught your gaze, pondering for a moment.
“… Fine. Just don’t hold me up any more, understood? You humans and your little defects make no sense.”
You didn’t love when he was snarky, but you’d put up with it. For now. At least until this was over… whenever that would be. But you supposed he was right, to a degree. Everything he knew about this was, you figured, very clinical and by the book. He probably never even began to think something like this would ever be chanced upon him, let alone so casually and in this very odd scenario.
“…Understood.”
Gingerly, you reached your hand down and wrapped your fingers gently around him again, making him stutter in his movements and stiffen like he’d been shocked. “Here…” you mumbled as you brought him down, closer to you, and slid back toward him. Gently, you coaxed his quivering cock between your glossy, slickened folds, feeling him jump warily as his body tensed. You angled yourself just right and felt his hips start to jut slowly, anxiously, as he grew more used to the sensation. It was a gentle back and forth, a drag along your sensitive flesh that was just enough to both physically prepare for what you were about to experience and tide you over until that moment inevitably came. “I fail to see the point of this,” his words came out heavily, and despite his words he did seem to be enjoying it. “Because it’s nice and I don’t want you to hurt me,” you near spat out, trying to maintain your stern tone as you chided him. But you couldn’t quite help yourself as he built up a gentle rocking rhythm that made you ball your hands into your sheets. “Well, frankly, that’s a you problem, isn’t it?” he mumbled. “And there’s… nothing nice about making me wait.”
He eased into a gentle back and forth, scoffing whenever he seemed like he was enjoying it too much to downplay whatever pleasure he was feeling. You surmised it was likely a combination of two factors— one of which being that he and his so-called perfect body isn’t equipped in the slightest for such delicate touch; he was built for defense and battle. During the training regimens he so often insisted upon deep within the woods by your apartment, you’d playfully punched him once on the hard chitin of his arm (albeit slightly harder than you would a person), and actually sobbed after recoiling back. Cell had turned around, cocked his head sideways at you and shrugged before wandering off. But the touch you were offering him now was so, so very different. It was gentle and, you initially thought, still too delicate for someone of his calibre. But you were pleasantly surprised as you were proven wrong once again.
The other factor of which being he didn’t want to stroke your ego by making you think he was enjoying this any more than you were.
“Ahh— hah,” he panted out, his hips bucking somewhat frantically. You swallowed down a lump in your throat, now slightly panicking about the damage he’d do to you later on if this was how he was behaving now. You figured there was enough sweat and slick between the two of you by now to make that less of an issue than you initially mentally planned for, and that eased your thrumming heart like Cell had begun to ease the pace of his hips. He exhaled, keeping his jaw clamped tightly shut as he breathed loudly out through his nose at a volume that made you nervous— like he was mad, or annoyed. Frankly, you didn’t blame him. You had made him put up with your anxieties about handling him in such a manner as this that he had to wait to get what he wanted. For the first time ever, actually. How could you do such a thing to him? How could he ever cope with such a wrongdoing on his behalf? How could he possibly cope? The thought of his petulant gripes was stupid enough that you had to suppress a smile. Your nerves subsided as he finally stilled to a gentle halt, trying to keep his hips stuck in place and not grind against you and waste his time any more than he already had. He lifted his gaze toward you, determined with brows knotted in slight irritation.
Cell gestured with his chin, downward toward where his pelvis sat comfortably with his shaft twitching against the slick, sensitive confines of your insides he oh so desperately wanted to bury himself in. Was this what sexual desire was? The need to procreate and breed? He didn’t quite know how to organise his scattered thoughts to create a solid opinion on the matter as it was right now. But he did know he wanted to feel it to its fullest extent while he could. It was a sensation that was entirely new, and wholly carnal in a way that made something in him tweak a little when he thought about how far he could take it with you.
“What?” You asked, your tone irritatingly and purposefully oblivious.
“…You know what,” Cell grumbled, averting his gaze in a shy way you didn’t think was possible for him, before flitting back to meet you with slight vexation. “I want in.”
You always liked that he was straightforward. No beating around the bush or pussyfooting around a notion or desire. If he wanted something, he’d outright say it.
Cell’s bluntness exceeded words, you also came to find out, as he took it upon himself to rearrange you to his liking. His hands near wholly enveloped the circumference of your thighs as he gripped you, pulling toward him and having your calves rest in the slots above his thighs, the surface in which your body near flawlessly slotted against his. He experimented with the new position he put the two of you in, leering over you and ogling where you two would soon be connected. He swallowed heavily, his throat bobbing anxiously as he reached his hand down between your bodies and taking his cock in his grip with a fretful sigh. It was so strange to him, all of these feelings, sights, sounds, everything. And you two, allegedly, hadn’t even done anything substantial yet. Not that Cell would know. “Well. Look at that,” he hummed, dragging a finger along the crease of your entrance that made you jump in surprise. He inspected the warm slickness with a strange curiosity, stretching it between his index finger and thumb. You didn’t quite have it in you to fully ponder on how odd this behaviour would be if it were any regular human man. Well, if Cell could even be called a man, really. If you were honest, this fascination with the products of your body made you feel a little more at ease about this, made you consider a bit more his inexperience despite how objectively terrifying he was as both a creature and a concept.
“Suppose that means we’re both ready now,” he murmured. “Aren’t we?”
He didn’t take long to start to ease himself in, the movement anything but clean. His precision was not rewarded with a rudimental slip and stretch against slick and warm walls; nature was against this pairing, it seemed. That wouldn’t stop Cell, though.
Cell huffed, cheeks burning as he pushed forward again with a slight intensity that made you wince as you started to ache around him. “Ah— hold— Cell—“ Your words were lost on him through his dedicated efforts to make this work, to make himself fit. “You— just said—“ he gasped softly, his expression twisting into something that slightly resembled a mixture of shock and slight fear. Although you were sure he wasn’t afraid. You hoped he wasn’t— that wouldn’t make this a very nice moment. You settled when his gaze flitted upward, lingering on you with a slight, wry smile taut against his features like he was trying to control himself. He cleared his throat, biting the inside of his cheek before speaking softly. “You don’t have to worry. If you get hurt, I won’t be able to do this again.” You felt an aching sift through your pelvis as he inched ever so slightly forward. “So you can be sure I’ll make sure you stay somewhat intact.”
You were almost offended at his seemingly low level of care for your physical wellbeing beyond whatever he could stick his dick inside, but the affront was a feeling that wasn’t more overpowering than the stinging stretch of Cell easing himself in at his own leisure. He wanted to be slow, you thought, given the fact you hadn’t split in half yet. He was purposefully building it up, so he could reap the reward as soon as possible. But a glance up at his knotted features revealed that he was actively attempting to hold himself back, much to your (pleasant) surprise. His chest rose gently in shallow up-and-downs as he seemed to consider whether all this build-up was worth it, lips parting in a shuddering breath every few seconds as he rebuked his own doubts with a simple few centimetres forward push. He concluded that, yes, although it was irritating, the build-up would indeed be worth it if it felt this good already. He cleared his throat, forcefully prying his eyes away from where you two connected to gaze at you.
“You know,” he hummed, deliberately pausing to see if you’d pay him any mind. You swallowed the lump that built up in your throat, and nodded wordlessly for him to keep going. “This sort of thing isn’t something I thought I’d get to do. You know. Sex.” You almost laughed at his tone, but you bit your tongue when he opened his mouth to keep going. “Truthfully, I— I didn’t know much beyond the basics. Well. I still don’t.” Shallow, antsy flutters of his hips made him rock ever so slightly deeper into you as you relaxed beneath him.
“I’m not going to thank you for letting me, or anything like that,” he clarified without you asking. Although you never planned to ask him to. “But I will try and make it at least somewhat pleasurable for you. If that’s what you want.”
Wow. So self-absorbed.
You cleared your throat. “…I would appreciate that.”
He huffed, raggedly. “Wonderful. Seems this’ll all work out, then.”
A jut forward made both of you cry out— the sting and ache of Cell dragging against your cervix and trying to force himself to settle inside you comfortably; the overwhelming heat and tightness that enveloped Cell wholly and so suddenly it nearly brought tears to his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he could suppress them, if it came to it. His hands balled up into your sheets either side of you, arms trembling as he leered over you. “I’m— ah, is all of it…?” He muttered to himself as he lowered his gaze to the crowded space between your thighs, swallowing heavily and letting his jaw hang open in bewilderment as he saw how he had fully disappeared into you. A shift made him wince, mumble something with laboured breaths and a quiver of his lower lip. He blinked rapidly for a few seconds, seemingly trying to decipher whether he actually enjoyed the overwhelming sensation rather than hating how contained he felt. An unthinking clench and shift of your hips answered his question fairly quickly.
“I’m— hmm—“ Cell’s respires grew frantic, his hands clamping tighter around your thighs and burrowing his nails deeply into your skin you almost cried out louder than you had before. “You— feel like you’re pulling me in…” his voice had uncharacteristically raised an octave, tongue running along the inner flesh of his bottom lip as he contemplated. You hoped he’d contemplate a little longer— you weren’t certain your body had fully accommodated him yet. And you were certain it was the same for him; his sensitivity was obvious, what with how he twitched inside you at every exhale, every slight ghost of skin on skin. It seemed to feel good to him, from what you could gather. Yet… you still felt inclined to check. You couldn’t disregard this in good conscience.
“Is it okay?”
His gaze remained floored, nodding softly, wordlessly.
So far so good.
“…Did you wanna move?”
Cell peered at you past his brow, furrowed in irritation as he pouted grumpily. “Of course I do. What, you want me to ask permission?” He finalised his sentence with a scoff, keeping his crimson eyes off you. Emphatically, he repositioned his hands, fidgeting with the position momentarily before planting them back on your inner mid-thighs and pushing down gently. “Just stay still. I don’t need you wriggling while I…” he huffed, letting his hands splay and squeeze the pudge of your thighs. With a decided hum, he paused, before rocking his hips gently and hissing through his teeth with a sigh. He’d pulled back a good few inches, but you still felt entirely full of him. He seemed to be pondering as he moved, drawing back his hips and squinting his eyes thoughtfully, like he was trying to gauge how far back he should go before pushing back in. This seemed very experimental for him. You would have tried to talk him through it, maybe explain the motions. But you were sure that would lead to you either getting kicked out of your own bedroom so he could sort himself out, or lectured for so long that he’d forget what he was doing in the first place. Maybe it was worth a shot, this time…?
“Here,” you propped yourself up on your elbows, wincing as your core ached with the pressure of something threatening to pop through your cervix, sitting up and leaning against your bed frame so you were more on Cell’s level. You could tell he was about to ask what the hell you were doing, yet jumped out of his chitin when you gingerly placed a hand on his hip; having the chance to gripe ripped from him being more of a shock than the hand on his body. “Forward— slowly,” you punctuated the order with a stern gaze upwards. Though frowning, and eyes narrowed, Cell obeyed, canting his hips forward gently with a sigh, and relaxing his body. The ache inside you swelled, and you fought back a whine as you kept your hand planted firmly on the bio-android’s hip.
“Good, good— now back. Slowly, again.”
“I’m not a dog,” he mumbled. Yet, he obeyed.
A mellow back-and-forth was what you figured would be a good starting point— for now, at least. It was slow, first of all. And it seemed to establish a good rhythm to call back on if this were to potentially ever have a ‘next time’. Cell was less enthused by the prospect of having to stay composed for so long. And for what? For the same inevitable result, just later? “I want to go faster,” he mumbled after a few more shallow rakes of his hips, just loudly enough for you to hear so it wasn’t a complete and total whine. You ignored him, pretended like you didn’t hear him. He’d be grateful he waited, you knew he would. He’d just have to—
“I said I want to go faster,” he spoke more clearly this time, trying to force you to meet his interrogative gaze, questioning why you wouldn’t just cater to his every whim and desire. “I heard you the first time.” He waited for more. A confirmation of his wishes, something to grant him to let loose. Much to his chagrin, you kept your mouth shut, save for soft whines and reeled-in huffs.
“…So?”
You peered up at him. “So… what?”
Cell sneered, rolling his eyes impatiently and tilting his head away from you, keeping his slow and steady pace. “I’m not going to ask, if that’s what you’re after. And you wouldn’t expect that of me, either, if you had a shred of any self-preservation.”
“Well, then I guess we’re not going any faster. Unless I’m getting hurt,” you mumbled, wincing as you felt him twitch inside you. Buried deep within, he paused, grunting irately and leaning over you, hanging his head dejectedly. Another twitch, a squeeze of your thighs. He scoffed at himself.
“…Fine. Fine. Fine by me. Unless you’d like to take over, I guess we’re not going anywhere since you’re making this difficult.”
“Unless you’d like to take over”.
Hm.
“…Lay back.”
“What.”
“Just do it.”
Unenthusiastic. Begrudging. No better words to describe the things Cell was saying, how his expression was knotted as he did as he was told. Another thing to piss him off the more he thought about it later on. Unbelievable. The only thing that came close to the abnormality of this all was how you two had managed to position yourselves this way so easily. Something Cell chalked up to as his own pure effort.
You settled on top of him, knees bent remarkably comfortably against your mattress as you settled your hands on his broad chest. You weren’t sure how many of your hands it would take just to encompass the front of his chest, let alone his whole torso— his size really became apparent to you now that you were the one on top. Cell cleared his throat, dragging you out of your thoughts and back around him, clenching down around his heat that pulsed and quivered at any shift in environment, dramatic behaviour akin to a sensitive house plant.
“There. You got what you wanted? Really showed me who’s boss,” he ranted, nails digging into your thighs as he scowled at you. “Honestly, I knew this would be a waste of time. I could have done this all on my own if I really—“ A slight, supine rise of your hips stalled his running mouth, his last word extending into an anxious drawl.
Bracing your hands against his body, you hunkered downward with a clap of skin against chitin exoskeleton. Cell moaned, curt and loud, snarling through his teeth as his eyes rolled back into his skull, lids flitting shut and squeezing as he gasped. Huffing through his nose like an irate bull, he built up the courage to peer up and look you in the eye.
“Y-youuu… you…” he growled, sneering as he embedded his nails deeper into your skin. “What, exactly, do you think you’re doing to me?”
You pretended to ignore him.
Leisurely raising your hips again, you dipped back down again, harder this time. Again, Cell cried out, averting his gaze and tilting his head. “Ah— you—“ he whimpered softly, just loud enough to hear, and take as a cue that what you were doing was good enough for his standards. You shifted forward, leaning closer toward him and angling your hips so his cock just barely caught on the rim of your entrance. You paused, noting the ache in your core had finally subsided. “I’m going to really start moving, now,” you warned. Cell wasn’t paying attention— his head hung sideways, resting on the mattress as his last shreds of dignity had been torn from inside him and used to bind his hips so he stayed inside you. No matter how much it pained him, how much it battered his ego, he wouldn’t— couldn’t— lie that he wanted it more like this. More how you wanted it. He’d never let you know that, though. Well, he’d do his best to. “Fine. Fine. Whatever.” His eyes kept straying away, fighting the urge to look at you. “Hey,” you tapped his cheek gently with your fingers, the flat-handed and clap of his skin against yours louder than you’d anticipated, and lightly startling you out of your audacity. Cell’s eyes widened, brows narrowing as his gaze slid toward you. You frowned at him, gently palming his cheek in your hand and guiding it, tilting his chin to face you. He grumbled in your hand, pouting petulantly to let you know in his own way that he wasn’t enjoying the way you were manhandling him whatsoever. He was above such things, he was probably thinking. That someone—anyone but you— treating him this way would signal instant death.
Leering forward, bolstering your weight against him, you arched your back gently and began to careen your hips. Up and down, slowly, at first. A slightly insignificant motion, you would have thought, had Cell not shifted his grip to your hips and let his jaw hang agape, slacken with an awestruck expression. Stifled sounds you thought you’d never hear from him were now bursting through past his tightened lips, egging you on to keep going and show him what this sort of thing was all about. You steadied yourself, setting a mild pace where he’d catch on you before you’d collide against him, goaded by his breathless gasps and the burrows of his nails into the skin of your hip.
“Ah— hhh-ah—“ Cell threw his head back against your mattress, his expression knotted in a strange way you’d never seen of him before. You kept your pace, a gentle up-down having seemingly wrought Cell out of his arrogance and into the moment, feeling him struggle to keep his hips from bucking up into you. “You—“ he choked on his words, hips fluttering in small bursts as you rode him. “You— you’re so— warm—“ he spat, a wry laugh tearing from his throat as he drew in a rushed gasp. “So… huh…” He couldn’t finish whatever it was he was trying to say. One pale hand dragged leisurely from your hip, lagging as he ushered your body back from its leering position so you’d sit directly on top of him. The hand splayed on your stomach as you kept your pace, doing your best to remain consistent despite this new angle that hit you in every which way you didn’t think was possible to reach. With each flounce of aching knees, his cock collided against your core with a mellow drag against your cervix that was an oddly pleasing sensation, akin to pressing on a bruise. You were worried he’d wring you out dry if you kept on like this. Or vice versa.
“How are you—“ Cell choked out a sputtering moan, drawing you out of your thoughts. “Feels so— good—“ You almost felt inclined to tilt your head at how strange this all was. How strange it was to have this behemoth of a creature beneath you, whom you had personally seen responsible for so many deaths, so much carnage. How he was writhing and moaning beneath you, blubbering and huffing and whining. You wondered what would happen if you’d suddenly ripped it away from him. “I— think I feel s-something—“
At an incline, you paused. Cell hadn’t noticed right away, huffing and puffing with his claws anchored into you. Then, he looked up, expression vacant as he drew his gaze to where you were hovering over the base of his cock. “Wh— wait,” he mumbled, knotting his brows concernedly and trying to hoist himself up onto his elbows, to no avail. The sensation made him shudder. “Wait wait wait— why’d you— ugh.” His frown turned into a pout, then his bottom lip began to tremble as his jaw slacken, stripped of a justification for why you were doing this to him. “Don’t stop— why’d you stop?” His hand balled at the fabric of your t-shirt which you had neglected to strip off, tugging at it and whining as he spoke. “I— keep going, don’t stop!” Fruitlessly, he began to try and buck up into you, do anything to get that wonderful sensation back around him. You idly rocked your hips, enough to make him gasp, but not enough to justify anything beyond that. He tugged at your shirt harder, his tone growing warbly. “I— please,” he mumbled, grimacing like the word left a foul taste in his mouth. When that wasn’t enough, he frowned, and upped the ante. “I- ugh. Please. Keep going. Please?” He looked up at you with pleading eyes, his grip around the fabric of your top loosening to a slight few tugs.
This was making you feel… a certain way.
…Well, he did ask nicely, you supposed.
Kicking up the place, you collapsed back down, rising up again over and over again. You weren’t taking the entirety of him each time— he didn’t deserve that— instead, you kept what you figured was the most sensitive part of him (by human standards, at least) dragging along your ribbed inner walls, keeping the tip of his cock tucked and nuzzled inside you. This went by well with him, you deduced; he could barely speak. Every time he opened his mouth, it was a blubbering spit of pleads and whines about how good you felt, how warm you were. One hand was kept balled in the fabric of your shirt, and the other dragged up and down your thighs, onyx nails digging into plump skin and leaving pale scratch marks as Cell tried to figure out what to do with himself. “B-buh— hhhah—“ his brow knotted into that of a beg, as upturned as his perfect form allowed and staring straight at you, glassy-eyed and half-lidded. “Mn— h-haaah— y-you—“
“If—“ he started, trembling hand unlacing from your shirt and palming your other thigh. He was composing himself the more he spoke. “If you’re— going to do this— th-then commit properly.”
With tightened fingers, he pushed you down onto him, skewering you with a moan equally loud and long as you yelped at the sudden, piercing ache of something so huge battering against your cervix. “C-come on,” he sputtered, his tone challenging as he slid his palms beneath your thighs. “Commit.” He began bucking up into you, moaning equally as petulantly as he was when you were the one in control. No matter what he said or did, no matter how much he manhandled you, nothing could stop him moaning and whining. Even through the upward thrusts and the moans spilling from your throat, all he could mutter were paraphrases of “you feel so good” and “keep going, don’t stop”.
“Oh— huhm—“ a sound ripped from him, different than usual. “Are— you okay?” You had barely managed to choke out the words from the way he was filling you up. “I feel— something.”
Ah.
…You weren’t quite sure if he knew what was coming. Or if anything he’d gathered from his data could explain it adequately enough to prepare for it.
“You— you’re going to… um— cum? Ejaculate?”
“Okay, okay— yes. I get it.”
There was something you’d wondered, something rather important, you thought. How could you articulate it properly? You hummed thoughtfully, trying to compose a meaningful, coherent sentence.
“Can you, um— get me pregnant?”
“…That’s a loaded ask for my first time.”
You scoffed. “No— ugh. I mean— hah— is it— is it possible for me to get— pregnant?”
“Yes, I know what you meant,” he huffed, moaning softly as the sensation caught up to him, the climax building up in his core. “I— don’t believe so.”
That’s vague…
…You’d take the chance.
“…Are you asking me to—“
“Yes. If it’s okay.”
“… I don’t think I could anywhere else.”
Cell’s pace grew feverous, moaning so loud you worried you’d receive a noise complaint, maybe a fine for a domestic disturbance, if the neighbours got the wrong idea. Not that you cared too much (how could you?), given the fact you had begun to match his pace, rocking atop him as you braced against his chest. He had tugged you down against him, wrapping his arms around your waist and embracing you while he fucked you. You had only just begun to share each other’s air momentarily before his hand knotted in your hair and pushed you down against him, taking you in a messy, open-mouthed kiss that left drool running down your chin and saliva slathered on Cell’s lips. Moaning into the kiss, he did his best to speak. “I— love you— feel so good—“ his thrusts grew erratic, his pace long forgotten as his hands travelled all over you, finding purchase anywhere they could. A soft press on your hips, taking him just that little bit extra, and it was all over; spurts of thick semen coated your insides, the sensation odd and filling as Cell kept his place inside you, unloading with a moaning snarl, keeping your forehead against his.
He laid silently for a moment, the pressure of his hands equally as heavily as they had been moments ago when he was burrowing in and out of you. He sat comfortably inside you, breathing heavily, pale cheeks dusted in a dusk purple as he tried and failed to catch his breath. “That… was…” he gasped, twitching harshly as the last of him spilled out inside you.
“Good, I hope?” you murmured, catching his eyes.
He scoffed. “Sure.”
“You said you loved me?”
“I don’t recall that.”