He's not handsome, but it doesn't matter. He radiates heat and it travels from your hands, wrists, arms, to low in your belly, stroking the fire that always burns tamely within. You may be able to control the ice and snow but your father was a fire demon and your blood can run just as hot.

The first time you kiss him he's caught unaware. You feel him freeze, hands at his side, before he tentatively starts to kiss back. Your hands slide from his sharp jaw down to his shoulders and you pull yourself closer. One of his hands tangles in your hair, the other at your waist, barely touching. You want more but know that he's not ready and are content to wait.

The second, third, fourth, fifth times are much the same. The sixth time his hands are more confident and you slide yours under his shirt to feel the flex of his abdomen. There's soft hair trailing down into his waist band and when you follow it with your fingers he makes a noise in the back of his throat and pushes you down so he's looming over you. He's impossibly large; he could crush you. You want to be crushed but for now his frantic kisses will have to do.

Things progress as they do. You're rutting up against one another, all but panting into each others mouths. He's hard and hot and straining against his jeans and your skirt is rucked up around your hips. The feeling is phenomenal and you dig your fingers into his bare back and beg him not to stop, please just like that. It's the first time you reach climax by his doing, the culmination of two months of slow exploration. You unzip his jeans and after a few clumsy strokes he shutters and comes on your thigh.

Six months after you first kissed him he's shyly asking if you're sure you want to, he won't be mad if you change your mind. You smile and turn the question around and he's ready. It's what you expect; mild discomfort that gives way to a feeling of fullness. You're just starting to enjoy the sensation of movement when he swears and it's over. He ensures you aren't left unsatisfied but apologizes any way.

Subsequently it becomes easier. You're in his lap, grinding down and swearing while he kisses your neck. You grab a handful of his hair and pull back so you can lick up the line of his throat. He makes a noise and you leave light finger-shaped bruises on his shoulder. Another time he has a large hand square between your shoulder blades, your face pushed into the floor. His hips snap viciously and you can feel his sweat dripping onto your back. It's a rough fuck. Afterwards he kisses you and plays with your hair and talks about the dinner he'll make you.

You love him and this is just part of it and not even the simplest part.

...

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu Yu Hakusho.