For once, Leliana obeys, though the movement is only slight at first - a step forward, leaning into the contact, before she thinks better of it. Her hands anchor behind Morrigan's thighs and she hitches her up, lifting with the intention of setting Morrigan sitting on the desk. It's both forward and strangely not, a slow and cautious thing done as she watches Morrigan to try and guage her reaction. It is a bid to steady them both, to let her lean her weight against Morrigan without the risk of pulling them both down, and it feels like--

It feels like a relief to lean against someone without exerting some fashion of control over it. More truthfully, doing anything without holding herself back and maintaining an uprightness befitting a marionette with the string from its head pulled tight is foreign and she shifts with some strange mix of discomfort and curiousity. She can't quite decide if she wants to refamiliarise herself with this or not, how to do it if she does, because doing something because a part demanded it was different to doing it herself.

She feels as though she is holding herself over a precipice rather than simply leaning against Morrigan, but maybe that is the cost of being so heavily armoured. She is better prepared for a precipice than for intimacy, and there is a quiet breath that is not a laugh but certainly isn't anything else as she pulls down her hood and lets her mouth graze against Morrigan's jaw.

"I feel like I should think of something clever to say," Leliana murmurs, a little wryly. "Very clever or very romantic."

And she can't think of a single thing. Typical.