1k of shameless fluff. The morning after the night before.
Alistair knows he’s probably grinning like an idiot, and he tries to school his face into something less incriminating. It’s just that he never expected it - any of it. The softness of her skin, even with the callouses on her hands and the scars he spent so long tracing. The way she spoke to him. The fact she seemed happy to laze in his - their? That’s really a conversation they should be having sometime - bedroll and wrap herself round him like a cheerful, gorgeous limpet. Not that he was much better at letting go of her when it came to it, world to save or not.
He remembers her squirming out of his arms, despite his protests, grinning at him. And there’s a word he doesn’t get to use often about Morgana - but there, bright, happy and unashamed, she made him want to stop and stare. Maybe stay another hour. Or, you know, forever. He didn’t mind.
Maybe it’s selfish that he wants it, all of it. He wants to spend every morning with Morgana in his arms, soft and satisfied and smiling at him.
And most of all, more than how it all felt… She loves him. She loves him.