Philia
C is for Cunniligus
C is for Cunniligus
Freeza’s favorite place to see Cell is between his legs. Despite his initial skepticism, the android had proven to be a veritable bull of a lover, and damned if he didn’t go about his task with a focused intensity that would have outright broken anyone else.
But Freeza’s lived long enough to keep an unimpressed mask of indifference on his face as Cell sets about in his work, his arms crossed as he rests the heel of a foot on one wide, metallic black shoulder.
“You’re certainly taking your sweet time down there, Cell,” the warlord snaps, his tail striking the ground in impatience. “If you don’t hurry it up, I may grow bored and finish up myself.”
Cell’s muffled chuckle in response against Freeza’s thigh tells him that his bluff has just been called, though to his partner’s credit, his tongue hits the tip of his internal glans just so that it causes Freeza’s nails to bite into his upper arms. Freeza’s not stupid enough to think that this reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and he can practically feel the android’s smug grin against his opening.
“I seem to remember you were much less critical the last time I did this for you,” Cell counters, raising his face from between Freeza’s thighs slightly to look at the form scowling above him. “Or was that because you were otherwise occupied? I can’t seem to recall.”
Freeza wants to wipe that self-satisfied smirk right off the android’s face, and backhands him, just because he can, and Cell’s head moves with the blow.
“I don’t recall asking for your crude commentary, imbecile.”
The grin is still plastered on the other’s face, eyes twinkling knowingly. Loathe as Freeza is to admit it, no lover before had brought him to orgasm as hard and as fast as the being currently sneering at him did...and Cell knew it, too.
Arrogant bastard.
Delicate, tapered fingers slowly curl around a long, white throat, and Cell seems surprised for the briefest of instants before the android’s eyes flutter shut, releasing a shuddering hiss of breath as he raises his chin, pressing his larynx into the hollow of Freeza’s awaiting hand.
“You do realize,” the warlord continued, fingers bearing down so that his nails carved long, purple gashes into the column of his partners’ throat, “that nothing happens here unless I deem it so.” His expression sharpens, increasing the pressure until Cell is gripping back at his wrist, whatever pulse he has slamming against Freeza’s palm.
Freeza finds it particularly amusing.
How unfortunate such a perfect being cannot reach his own fulfillment without the help of another.
It is only until Cell’s fingers dig into the ridges between his knuckles does Freeza release his grip.
“Now finish the job before I rip that tongue of yours out and use it to finish for you.”
Cell’s seemingly pained expression once again turns into a lazy grin as he bends back down to complete his work.