Philia

H is for Hermaphroditic 

Cell is the first lover Freeza’s had in his bed that had not at first balked at his anatomy.  Perhaps it was because Cell was created of his genes, or perhaps because he simply had no other basis for comparison, but the fact that Freeza was born both male and female didn’t phase his partner in the slightest.  If anything, the android had responded downright enthusiastically.

Instead of pondering exactly how he would approach this newfound knowledge like so many before him, Cell had presented himself on bended knee, skimming his palms up the warlord’s legs, feeling the corded swell of muscle that lay just underneath his thighs before continuing upwards, his fingers ghosting over the slit between the warlord’s legs, thumb just barely pressing inside.

Cunt or cock, Freeza did not particularly care which his partners chose to engage in, but so many had avoided the former simply because they felt their perceived slight would end their own lives, but it was this error that the tyrant had found so insulting and had costed him more than a few bedmates in his lifetime.

But Cell knows Freeza has all but a wealth of power at his feet and does not hesitate to put his mouth to that slit, worshipping him like the god he deserved to be, fingers smoothing over the top of the warlord’s legs as Freeza feels the muscles in his thighs contract, pushing his erect member free into Cell’s mouth with a hollow grunt.

The android takes that without hesitation, too, sucking him fiercely as the warlord claws at the thick tendons in his neck, leaving bright purple streaks in his fingers’ wake because Cell’s always been ridiculously good at this, and it keeps him from outright thrusting into the other’s mouth like a wanton harlot.  And Cell responds to that sting of pain with a full-body shudder—a slight shiver that creeps up the android’s body and makes him momentarily pause in his work, his fingers convulsing at Freeza’s hip.

Freeza coolly notes the bloody crescents his partner’s nails have left on his skin, and mentally files it away to scold the android about later; but not now—not when Cell has two fingers pressing insistently against his slit and his tongue circling the head of his length, threatening to make the tyrant’s knees buckle.

He thrusts forward, making the android gag, just because he can, giving him a not-so-subtle reminder that he is always in control of the situation, daring him to think otherwise.

And then Cell’s fingers are in him, curling forward until they’re buried up to the second knuckle, stroking him in time with his lips and tongue, causing Freeza’s toes to gouge great trails into the earth beneath him.  The warlord can feel Cell’s pulse slam against the palm of his hand, and for the briefest of instants, he thinks about snapping the android’s neck just to release the tension.

But Cell twists his fingers just so, and all his focus fractures—white hot—and he comes with a sharp hiss of breath between his teeth, his tail coiling around Cell’s wrist to keep his fingers there, muscles clamping down upon them.

Freeza’s quick to come down from his high, and he watches as his partner draws back, casually spitting his mouthful to the ground.

“Always a pleasure, Freeza,” he says, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, the glimmer in his eye letting the warlord know that he is, indeed, utterly pleased with his accomplishment.

And Freeza, for all his composure, allows himself a smile, though it is warped and hungry, and it makes Cell’s ever-permanent grin all the wider.