Turning you against him, your back to his front, supporting him, was a fine idea until you flinch, and he feels bad, pulling his hand fast away - in the wrong direction, smacking your arm as you move. Awkwardness ensues. He's about to back off when you tip against him, still shivering, and he's not made of stone.

He embraces you, one arm banded across your chest, palm cupping your bicep comfortingly. His lips are on your ear.

"Are you ticklish?" And because he's a big ol' kid, he just has to poke at everything twice. He trails his fingertips in a circle around your navel and then downward to the side, toward one of your hipbones.