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Cell's never met someone with such a pathetic power level. All of the humans he's come across are somehow stronger than you, and yet there you are.
You're strong in ways that don't matter to Cell. You might stand your ground in an argument or keep from crying when you're being criticized, but he's come to like the way you tremble in fear. He doesn't even have to try to get you squirming and shaking; when he grabs you it's like pulling a little dolly.
Your legs tremble as he scoops you up to place on his lap. When Cell guides you to rest against his sternum he can feel the racing of your blood as it thunders beneath your skin. How easy would it be to use a hand and scrape you open? It wouldn't be fun. A human would bleed out too fast. He's consumed your kind for nothing but sustenance, but he's seen the alleyway cats and dogs well enough to know that you're not much better off in his hold.
The ridge of your nose slopes down to the curve of your mouth. You make an indignant little noise as his thumb presses against your bottom lip, tracing the divots of where your teeth sit in your gums. Humans are omnivorous, and yet he can't believe you'd tear meat asunder with such small canines. Your eyes are blown out in fright as his thumb moves away. Your heartbeat is too wild for how small you are. Cell can't help but grin, asking the obvious:
"Are you scared?"
Those words have the intended effect. You wince, mumbling a defiant little, "I'm not scared of you," in such the weakest voice it takes effort not to laugh. You're looking a little sick.
"You're lying to me?" Cell's pointer finger traces from your lip to your jaw, massaging the bone next to your cheek. You squirm in his grasp, but say nothing else as his hand dances towards your neck.
Oh, and how pretty you bare it for him! So many humans curl up and bring their hands over their head like it will save them from death. You'd willingly surrender yourself for the greater good, wouldn't you? A shame he has no need for that; though if he were not perfect he might not witness your tendency to shudder as he traces a thundering vein down your neck to your collar.
Your neck works as his hand slides down your sternum, rounding to the side of your ribcage. The labored breaths below can only rise so much before your body can't take it. When you cry your lungs are erratic, little breathy whiny sounds he wasn't sure anyone except children could make. It seems humans don't like to cry. Cell doesn't mind it; after all, he can understand that humans aren't bred to be perfect. They'll never be more than human, good enough by the laws of the universe.
His hand can fit around the side of your body. When he presses down you cry out, wincing and squirming anew in his grasp.
"Like a bug," Cell tells you, feeling the way your ribcage stretches and expand to fill your lungs with panic. "I know you can't help lying to me. It's just in your nature, isn't it."
Pretty glinting tears start to pool in your eyes. You're blinking, trying to will them away. It's adorable like you think he'll listen: "stop it!"
"You're quite sweet, though," Cell muses. He loves the look in your eye, the way your jaw works as your face screws up like you're mad. "You'd not be worth it to kill.
"Maybe I will simply eat…"
Lower, towards the padding of your stomach. Your spine tries to curl in to protect those vital organs, but Cell splays his hand out to keep you from looking more and more like a bug to squash.
"you…"
Towards your thighs. The bones and muscles here are meant to keep you braced, but they're well-protected within your flesh. Striations along your legs wiggle with the growth of new cells; there's a bruise on your leg where you had slammed yourself against a door. The way your flesh heals is botched, but Cell reminds himself that there are better aspects to humanity aside from the physical.
"…up."
Down to your feet where the bony sections of metatarsals stretch into toes to keep a human upright. Yet, most of the humans he knows are the opposite of graceful. You're curled against the chair as your spine presses against the chitin of his leg. The padding of your feet is just enough to keep the muscle and tendons from bursting, yet humans continue to trod with shoes on terrain not meant for their bodies. You're squirming even more in his grasp, jerking your leg back as Cell traces the sinew from your ankle back to your leg.
In one sharp movement you yank your leg back. "Quit that!" you exclaim. Your outburst might be indignant, but it's adorable all the same. "Eat someone else if you're so hungry!"
Cell laughs at how frustrated you look. Does it really hurt? Or is it that uncomfortable to be teased? "I'm sorry." When he grabs at your stomach you almost shriek and try to squirm away, but you're pressed back onto his lap against him right where you started. Slowly, you settle down. You're nothing more than a frightened little animal in these moments. It's Cell's job to keep you comfortable, keep you fed and watered and loved. All you need is enrichment; isn't this enough?
Perhaps you don't like it when you're so weak in the wake of perfection. Cell understands. It must be difficult to wrap your puny little head around something so glorious. Between his pointer finger and his thumb he grasps at your chin. You make another adorable little noise — some squeak of surprise — before he leans down and captures your lips in a kiss you can't flee from.