She’s still giggling through her reply. “My /face/ hurts.” Summer reaches out and pokes Stiles in the side, vaguely hoping she’ll find a ticklish spot. Every couple moment another giggle erupts. Finally she gasps, “Oh my god,” and leans back again, putting her hands over her face. When Stiles opens his mouth again, she pokes him. “No, stop. I can’t breathe, and if you make me laugh that hard again I will /pass out/. Then you’ll have to do CPR, and just no. You don’t want to do that.” A laugh threads under the mock-stern tone.
Stiles gives a very indignant sound, half a squeal at best, and squirms away from Summer’s poking fingers. He’s not admitting to being ticklish but that sort of full-body jump says everything it needs to say about the sensitivity of Stiles’ skin. He chokes a little laugh, shaking his head in dismay. “I’m terrible at CPR, don’t put your life in my hands.”
Summer presses her hand to her chest, trying to slow her galloping heartbeat and breathing. “Ice cream, you said.” She gulps in another breath, makes a fish face, and then says, “Mint. Specifically, Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Peppermint Crunch. Failing that, Chocolate Therapy. What about you?”
From over her shoulder, Beth says, “I hate you, I hate you forever, we are going to get Ben and Jerry’s after this.” Summer’s expression clearly says, ‘no pity.’