Skellig mutters a sleepy reply that sounds something along the lines of perfect idea to me as he melts into a sprawled puddle beneath her, barely even noticing that she's rolled them over until he feels her sprawl over him.

After a brief moment of recovery, he finds coherent speech.

"Not goin' anywhere ever," he 'agrees', contentedly wrapping one arm around her - the armband on his bicep brushing over her back, where it comes to rest, metal warm against her skin. "My mate and my treasures, right here in our nest."

Which is so damn comfortable, and he is so very worn out (in a very, very good way) that he doesn't take long to drift off into sleep, relishing in the afterglow bliss.