Hitch
The camera lies abandoned on the shelf until Jane picks it up again, flipping open the screen and watching the room come into focus on the television. The angle is wrong; only the corner of the bed is visible in the shot. There's a click from Ricky's lighter followed by the distinctive smell of pot, and she follows the line of the bed until he comes into view. He has one arm folded behind his head as he watches her, a shadowy figure behind a cloud of smoke, eyes unblinking as he's mirrored, his reflection exhaling on the screen.
She props it up on the shelf again, glancing at the television as she moves it closer. She crawls back onto the bed; plucking the joint from his fingers and inhaling. Ricky smiles slowly and she ducks her head down and kisses him in a wreath of smoke. His hands close on her hipbones, tugging her closer. Their actions mirrored and captured as they move together, their hands slick against each other's skin as they kiss. Ricky pulls back and rests his hands on her thighs.
"What do you want me to do?" His face is completely open for once, hesitation written in the planes of his face, the wrinkles on his brow, as his eyes run hungrily over her body.
Jane shivers under his gaze and stretches with a sigh.
"Touch me?" she asks, the pot buzzing pleasantly in her skin and brain. Her question seems to echo in her head, a thousand little Janes, half naked under their boyfriends' eyes. "I want you to. Please."
Ricky's hands are hesitant, his fingertips barely touching her skin as his fingers skim up across her belly before briefly dipping under the edge of her top. Jane can see how his breathing hitches, ribs shuddering under his skin, as his hands come to rest on her collarbone, eyes meeting hers, lifting the tank top over her head.
"You're beautiful," he says, lips spreading into a smile, and Jane smiles back, sliding her hands over his shoulders and behind his neck so he has to fold down towards her for a pot scented kiss. Her hands slip down his back and over his sides, ghosting over his ribs so she can feel him shudder again as his breathing stutters under her exploring fingers. The stutter of his ribs repeats in magnified detail on the screen beside them, followed by her gasp as his hands brush against her breasts. Ricky pulls away, breaking the kiss with a slick soft slide of mouth and lip. He gestures at the screen and Jane smiles.
"Sometimes," she says. "I want something to help me remember, too."
"You don't feel naked?" he parrots back to her, and she grins, their voices joined together in reply.
"I am naked."