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Added 2018-12-11 03:28:38 +0000 UTC
Aladdin was only used to the cold of the desert. It could get pretty chilly there, especially on the streets, but in recent years, the palace and its flaming braziers had kept out the wind, leaving only a personable coolness that justified the thin sheets of his bed and pulled him tighter against Jasmine’s warmth.
In Arendelle, it was truly cold. He felt like he needed the smoldering fire in the mantle and the heavy fur comforter just to stay alive. His body felt cold and numb, alive only where it touched Jasmine. She seemed to still have some of the tangy warmth of the desert in her.
It all sounded unpleasant, but really it was a most delicious contrast—somewhat like how delicious a cool drink could be on a particularly hot day. He wondered if this wasn’t something like how Jasmine enjoyed going from a high-born princess to being treated like a lowly street woman in bed. The differences went together as well as any sweet and sour dish from the Orient.
He thought he’d grown used to Elsa’s own low body temperature, but then she shifted in her sleep, her thigh skimming against his legs. When it butted against his groin, as cold as a stone fresh from the river, Aladdin sputtered to wakefulness. Elsa slept on, while Jasmine, attuned to his body, found herself coming awake as well.
