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Winter had come early this year.
The onslaught of late-November cold brought a wave of peculiar cosiness. It wasn't Christmas yet - it wasn't even close enough to start thinking about buying gifts - but Peach couldn't help feeling the pull of festivity as she huddled up beside the fireplace every night, lost in her favourite romance novels.
This morning, she awoke to stark whiteness through her bedroom window. The tallest trees were caked in snow, their branches hanging heavy with it, wet and glistening, and the air was so still that she could see nothing moving. As though the world itself were holding its breath, immobilised in a slice of time.
Awareness of the snow would normally make her feel cold, even tucked up in bed as she were, but the warm bundle against her right side ensured anything but. A fond smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Sleep-slow, she reached out to brush her fingers through his ruffled brown hair. He stirred almost unnoticeably, his breath making his mustache move. She almost giggled, but suppressed it fast enough to avoid waking him.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, he seemed to be waking up on his own. The tiny movement was followed moments later by a more obvious one. His legs shifted beneath the quilt, stretching to their fullest length, which didn't make a whole lot of difference, and his fingers curled restlessly against his palms. He was wearing a set of dark blue pyjamas with tiny Power Stars embroidered on the fabric. Peach had never asked when he bought them.
It was only their third week sleeping together in her bed, in her castle, but it already felt like they'd been doing it for half a lifetime.
Mario's eyes flickered open, but not all the way. She saw a sliver of bright cerulean and black before they eased open just a little more. "...Buongiorno..." he murmured, still half-asleep, voice muddy and much more accented than usual.
He didn't use his native tongue very often, but every time Peach heard it felt like a special treat. Something about the completely foreign words made something inside her warm up and vibrate with giddy enjoyment. She couldn't even explain why.
"Good morning," she murmured back, smiling and playfully touching his nose with one finger. "Did you sleep well?"
He went cross-eyed trying to keep her finger in sight, which made her giggle. Then he blinked and returned his gaze to her face. It was drowsy, and soft, and filled with timid wonder. He was still in awe that he got to wake up beside her every morning. It made Peach feel, quite frankly, a little conceited. What had she done to deserve such unending devotion and reverence? Did she even want Mario to look at her this way?
But such thoughts were hard to contemplate first thing in the morning, and were swiftly discarded in favour of more important things.
"I did," he replied softly. His accent was still thick, but he wasn't unconsciously slipping into Italian. She found herself missing it. "You look beautiful this morning."
Something about his face made affection roll over her in a crashing wave. She was helpless to its tide.
Mario yelped when she suddenly and decisively rolled him over. She pushed him onto his back and settled herself above him, being careful not to press her full weight down. The momentum of the movement carried her mouth effortlessly down to his.
He always loved it when she tried to act more assertive - perhaps finding some relief in giving up control - and he responded without hesitation. His left hand rested over her cheek, and his right curled around her shoulder. His silly pyjamas were velvet-soft, but she could feel sturdy muscles underneath them; his mustache was tickling her nose, and the warmth was turning into heat.
All things considered, it was a pretty chaste kiss, but when she pulled back moments later, his face was flushed as though she'd done something scandalous.
She couldn't help but laugh. "Are you ever going to get used to me kissing you?" she teased.
"Never," he vowed. His left hand stroked her cheek while his right slowly pushed through her bedraggled hair. She instinctively pressed closer when she felt it curl around the back of her neck - short, strong fingers that left impressions wherever they touched. He wasn't really doing anything, but having felt those fingers in far less chaste scenarios...
A prickling heat crept into her face, and she buried herself in his chest to hide it.
"Now you are the one blushing," he said, soft and gleeful in her ear.
She couldn't help but giggle into his pyjamas. "What can I say? You make it happen."
"I didn't even do anything." There was surprise in his voice beneath the amusement.
After a while, Peach resolved to pull her still reddening face out of his chest, stare him down determinedly, and then drag him in for another kiss. She had no idea what time it was, but it seemed to be early still; she felt Mario tentatively caress her side through her nightdress, and wondered if he might be persuaded to stay an extra hour.