Jemma -> Jess
It’s swift- the reaction to Jemma’s blatant disregard to her threat ( given in jest, of course, but she can’t just not follow up on it now that it’s been laid out- ), and all of a sudden Jess has transformed from slack muscles to sharp tendons and tensed ligaments. Her free hand, the one pressed between the cushion and her body has shot forward, index finger and thumb catching the soft space beneath Jemma’s ribs.
“I warned you-” And she’s moving, a sudden whirlwind of motion all knees and elbows, shifting to better apply pressure to what should be a tender spot while still keeping the sandwich aloft, shedding crumbs into the space between the cushions.
Whatever response she’d been expecting, that was not it. As she fell backward, she almost didn’t recognize the noise that was pulled from her. She squealed. Jemma Simmons, despite all past evidence, was actually capable of squealing.
It took her an embarrassingly long time to recognize what was actually happening. Her back arching and legs flailed about of their own accord as she devolved into peels of giggles should have been a clue, but it seemed thinking was not that easy.
Cheeks flushed and gasping for breath, her tormentor finally released her. Panting, she looked up at the ceiling. “So that’s what being tickled feels like...”