No but I really love the way her expression changes, from cheeky-with-a-side-of-reckless as she sidles up to him, to this surprisingly serious face right before she makes to grab his chin. I imagine she didn’t just get from “it’s a nice Fade for an evening” to kissing with tongue just from his “I felt the whole world change” comment. Maybe she’s imagined how the scene would play out; turned the thought over in her mind this way and that, wondering who would take the first step (hoping it would be him), and how she’d react (hopefully with that seamless meeting of lips (
battling of tongues) that you find in all those raunchy romance serials from Orlais). She thinks she might pretend to be surprised, that she never saw it coming, so as not to let on just how much she’s been thinking about it (about him, and in a capacity that is anything but academic).
He doesn’t move to kiss her, though. He’s probably thought about it, and how could he not? The stolen glances in passing, the hand bumping against his (seemingly accidental but for the fact that it’s not), and her habit of chewing on her bottom lip. Of course he’s imagined kissing her, but in far less detail. His mind is calmer, a quieter place, and where hers is a cacophony of impressions (hands on her back or her hips? where does she put hers? will it be cold, snowflakes in her hair, morning or night, quick or languid?), his are simpler (soft smile, softer skin. maybe tongue), though no less insistent. But he resolves not to act on the thought (nothing good can come of it, not for him, not for her, even if good is all she is, body and fierce, indomitable spirit), and she waits, teetering, heels rocking with her anticipation. Maybe, maybe.
Then he looks at her like that, and she remembers she’s not this fawn-like young thing lurking behind the aravels to watch the hunters laugh around the fire, waiting for one of them to invite her over. The Breach could open up again and she’d still be waiting, and Fen’Harel take her coward’s heart if that were the case. And so she stops pretending at modesty, and finds instead something bold, but right before she leaps there’s a second where she thinks this might be a mistake; that he’ll push her away, and would she be quite so bold then, if all she got for her daring was a polite rejection? (because he would be polite, of course he would, and she can’t imagine anything worse).
But she kisses him, and he returns it. There are hands on her hips and snowflakes in her hair (but whether or not there’s tongue involved is apparently up for debate). She’ll question the wisdom of her decision later, missing one arm and one whole heart, but one hundred hard questions, and she still can’t make herself regret it.