As per the unspoken but widely accepted rules of a tickle war, Wanda removed her offending fingers and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands on her hips with her thoughts wandering along the same lines as his were, in spite of all her aches. It was kind of hard not to when she was sitting on top of him like this. She knew what she was getting into, this was the danger of tickling someone if you were over twelve, but he started it.
Wanda was weighing the option of putting her crusade on hold for awhile in favor of a go on the couch (which meant even if Clint lost this battle, he'd won the war). The moment was immediately ruined, though, at his suggestion of a possible date location and she thumped him in the chest. Not good enough. She was in control here, after all, her demands would be met to their fullest extent and she wouldn't be distracted again. If anything, she could distract him.
"You can do better than that," she told him with her patented pout and a seemingly innocent shift of her hips against his. "Dinner somewhere nice. A suit jacket, no tie. And then a movie of your choice, no chick flicks." Wanda was a most benevolent tyrant.