[She successfully goes from having her arms stuck in her shirt to her arms stuck in her shirt half over her face, so congratulations? Whether or not he looks, there's plenty of bare midriff under his fingers, warm and firm and covered in the odd scar here and there as he trails up her ribcage.

Eventually she squirms away with a little squeak, attempting to escape his tickles without unraveling the blanket, all while still caught awkwardly in her shirt like a toddler, which is about as effective as you might imagine]

--Cross! N-not fair!