Dad/Mom: Trope- old movies, when two characters have sex, the camera pans to the curtains before the scene fades out
"Roxy!" he called as he ran over, all lanky limbs and dorky smile, sixteen and still in love with life. "Roxy, let's go see a movie. You'll never guess what came out last night!" He panted, a little out of breath and sweaty (Mama Jane's cakes were not a recipe for stellar stamina, but being fresh from tennis practice probably wasn't helping either). "It's only the movie you've been talking about for forever!" He teased, small smirk coming to rest on his face.
She pretended to think about it, "Oh, whatever could it be? Surely, Mr. Egbert, you wouldn't be talking about The Blue Lagoon? Why, I would never want to see such a sinful movie." She batted her eyelashes here, gleefully ignoring her best friend's mildly exasperated sigh. "Oh fine," she said, and Roxy dropped the unnecessary southern belle accent, returning to the slight slur of her extremely northern accent. "You know I've been itching to see that one."
"That's why I got the tickets to the drive-in, Roxy." Hugh Egbert said with a sort of tongue-in-cheek self-satisfaction. Roxy jokingly swooned ("My hero!"), and they laughed for a while before parting with a promise to meet up by six. Of course nothing is that simple, however.
"…Wasn't this supposed to be a movie about an island?" Hugh whispered in dismay, wrapping his arm around Roxy's shoulders. They were seated too close together for any chaperone to be comfortable, but as they were alone in Roxy's beat up Chevy, that was hardly a concern. He had an almost scandalized scowl on his face, and his grey eyes were scrunched up as his expression twisted into disgust.
"I don't know," Roxy whispered back, "I think I like it." Her eyes weren't so much watching the big screen as much as they were focused on Hugh, and it made the pit of his stomach warm. She leaned in slowly, and his breath hitched. Their lips slowly touched together, and he could feel his heart rate skyrocketing.
"Roxy," he murmured, eyes flickering to the old noir film playing on the large screen, but quickly reprioritized when her hand touched low on his hip. He stuttered, nonsensical protests not making it past his lips, as his eyes flew everywhere but to the hint of cleavage pressing into his chest. He was nervous, so nervous. "What about the movie?"
"Screw the movie," she purred, and trailed her fingertips along his body until she could fist her hands in the fabric of his shirt. And she leaned in to kiss him with passion. She fitted herself into the contours of his body, and sighed contently into his embrace when he reciprocated.
In the background, the private eye of the noir film kissed his dame fair as they rolled over onto a bed, and the camera panned up to focus on the floral printed drapes.