Elsa can't move for a moment. Doesn't know what to do, with Anna's lips pressed against hers. They're soft and gentle, kneading against hers in a way that's perhaps a little more instinct than skill, and she finds her breath catching in her throat. She can't make herself close her eyes.
So Elsa just sits there until Anna lets go. Her lips are parted, damp, and Elsa just feels queasy for having noticed it first.
She pulls her hand away. "P-perhaps we should head home," she suggests, looking down.
Anna doesn't argue.