Her breath catches; not with Morrigan's gasp, no, although that has her watching intently, gaze sharp as she studies Morrigan's face and commits the reaction to memory with the looming risk that this may be the only time she sees it. What does make her breath catch is Morrigan's hand finding hers, the pleasing presumption of another hand brushing against her own and the flicker of magic that makes her look down with surprise.

Her own skin is warm, but very pale. The freckled she sported in the Fifth Blight are less visible now, hidden away from a lack of sun, and she is so used to contact being something risky, forbidden, that Leliana turns her wrist over with quiet wonder. It is not a slow action, even if it feels that wa to her. Her fingers catch Morrigan's, weaving them together, before she looks back to Morrigan, her dark lips and her smirk and those golden eyes that seemed to always watch so intently.

It feels-- good. It feels comforting, the kind of warmth unfurling in her chest that has been absent so long as to feel unfamiliar.

Leliana's throat feels very dry, her breath a little less steady, and she pulls Morrigan closer (presses her against the cool of Leliana's chainmail) as she finally kisses her, lips parting and skin flushed and warm.