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Joyce’s breath fogged in the icy night as she closed the squeaky motel door behind them, shutting out the swirling flurries and the sharp sting of Alaskan wind. The room was cramped and stale, no bigger than a storage closet, but the dry heat felt almost luxurious and for the first time since their wild escape, she felt warmth seep back into her aching limbs. Hopper jabbed at the light switch, but nothing happened. He huffed, then tried the cracked bedside lamp, which flickered and settled on a dour, yellow glow that barely reached the corners.
Hopper had been the first to suggest finding somewhere to rest, reading the exhaustion etched in all their faces, especially as the wait for their late-evening flight back to Indiana stretched ahead, heavy and uncertain. Still, when Joyce heard Agent Stinson would be meeting them at the airport to escort them home, something inside Joyce finally unclenched. She was really going to see her kids, all three of them, soon. Even if it meant facing Hawkins again, she would take it, just to hold them again.
Joyce let her gaze linger on the window for a moment, watching snowflakes tumble in lazy circles beneath the weak halo of a parking lot light. The night felt hushed, almost otherworldly. She peeled off her cable-knit beanie, fingers still tingling with cold, and set it aside, then wriggled free of the heavy puffer jacket Hopper had managed to find for them back in that drafty old church. She dropped it onto the chair next to her, and that’s when she heard it—a strained, brittle sob that shattered the quiet behind her and made her whip around in alarm.
Hopper stood by the bed, already stripped of his jacket, his fingers ghosting absently along the faded bedspread like he was afraid all this might not be real. In the dim lamplight, he looked smaller, almost lost. Something in his posture, the way his shoulders sagged, the far away look in his eyes, unraveled her. To see all that strength, worn down to the bone.
She crossed the distance to him, careful and gentle. Her hand traveled up his arm, steady and warm, coming to rest on his shoulder before guiding him to face her—trying to anchor him back to now.
“Hop,” she whispered, her thumb brushing across his cheek as she cupped his face.
He met her gaze, eyes wet and shining. “Thank you, Joyce. For always believing.”
Joyce swallowed hard, feeling a sudden lump in her throat. “As soon as I received that letter…” she trailed off, shaking her head.
“There was no second thought. I had to believe. I had to find you, because I knew, I knew it was real. And that you were out there.”
Hopper reached for her, hands settling at her hips, grounding her. His grip was gentle—a promise disguised as a touch. Joyce blinked back her tears, feeling her chest tighten. “I told you,” she whispered, “I made this choice and I would make it again a million times over.”
She kept her gaze on him, steady and fierce. “I will always find you,” she promised, “If you’re lost in the Hawkins tunnels or locked away in a Russian prison, I’ll keep searching, Hop. I’ll never stop.”
Emotion flickered across his face, impossible to hide. “Oh, Joyce…” he breathed, with a slow shake of his head, a trembling smile breaking through the shadows, prompting her own smile in return.
Suddenly the air felt charged, dense. Joyce could feel her pulse hammering, could see the hope and longing reflected in Hopper’s gaze. In the hush of the room, the world narrowed down to just the two of them as they leaned closer, their movements slow, almost reverent. She let her eyes flutter shut, tilting her chin up just as Hopper’s lips brushed against hers—gentle, almost hesitant at first.
But then their mouths found a quiet rhythm, slow and unhurried, every movement saying what words couldn’t. It was nothing like the hurried taste of desperation they’d shared in the church, or the steady anchor he’d offered her in that bleak, cold prison. This kiss felt private, bound by a hush only the two of them could hear, the rest of the world quietly slipping away until there was only this closeness, only this moment.
Joyce let out a soft, involuntary moan against his lips, and Hopper found himself smiling right into the kiss at the sound. Her hands wandered down his chest, nimble fingers tugging his shirt free from his waistband, making his whole body tense with anticipation. He had to break away, just for a second to catch his breath, his heart pounding with a strange, almost teenage nervousness, as her hands slipped under the fabric and met his bare skin.
With anyone else, he could’ve played it cool. But this was Joyce. That fact alone made him feel like the stakes were impossibly high. He wanted it, no, needed it, to be perfect for her.
Joyce felt him hesitate beneath her touch, sensing the shift in his breathing as her palms grazed his abdomen and immediately worried that she’d done something wrong.
She stopped, searching his face, and the look she found there made her heart tighten.
“Hop?” she asked quietly, uncertainty threading through her voice as she gently slipped her hands away from his skin.
He searched her eyes, his palms warm on her waist. “Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice was quiet, almost shaky, holding a vulnerability he rarely let show.
Joyce gave a soft, almost relieved sigh and brought her hand up to cradle his face, her thumb tracing along his cheekbone. “I’ve never been more sure of anything, Hop. I want you. No one else.” The words barely left her lips before she leaned in, standing on tiptoe to pull him back down to her, her kiss answering every unspoken worry.
His hesitation broke like glass with the certainty in her touch. Something flickered in him, as though every nerve in his body finally caught up with his heart. His hands came alive, sliding along her waist before curling into the hem of her Hulk Hogan tee. Joyce lifted her arms without a word, trusting him completely, and Hopper pulled the shirt over her head, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.
His own shirt was off almost as soon as hers hit the ground. Their lips barely broke apart, parting only as long as it took to strip away the barriers between them before they found each other again, breathing heavily in the narrow gap between shared warmth and skin.
Without hesitation, Hopper steered Joyce backwards, her heels bumping into the small, wobbly bed the motel offered—all while their kiss held, every bit as fierce as when it started. Joyce let out a muffled noise as the edge of the mattress caught her legs, and Hopper eased her down onto it, never breaking their connection.
He joined her, crawling onto the bed and looming over her, his hands framing her head, lips wandering along her jawline. Joyce’s breath came faster, the wanting between them electric. Her fingers almost worked frantically at the button of his jeans, popping it open without hesitation.
But before she could go any further, Hopper caught her wrist, gently pinning both her hands above her head. He brushed her lips with a soft kiss, then another, trailing his mouth up to her ear.
“We’ve got time, Joyce,” he murmured, teeth catching lightly on her earlobe.
Her heart pounded; she bit her lip. He pulled back just far enough to search her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely louder than a breath, “I keep worrying I’ll wake up and realize this was all just a dream. That you’re not really here.”
Hopper gave her a sad, understanding smile. He released one of her hands and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “I’m here,” he said quietly, brushing a kiss to her cheek. She echoed him—“You’re here,”—the words trembling, but sure.
He nodded gently. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just have tonight. Let’s make it ours,” Hopper said softly, pressing a kiss to her other cheek. “Let me make you feel good.”
Joyce swallowed, still biting her lip, but now feeling slightly more at ease. “Okay,” she whispered, her one free hand cupping his face.
With that quiet reassurance between them, Hopper freed her other hand, framing her head once more as his lips traveled down the center of her chest. Joyce arched instinctively, breath catching as his hands slid expertly beneath her to unfasten her bra. He tugged the straps down her arms, never breaking his gaze, then slipped the bra away and let it drop to the floor in a forgotten heap.
She bit her lip again, nerves and excitement tensing her body, while he took in the sight of her for the first time. His hand came up, large and warm, and gently cupped her breast, the shape fitting perfectly in his palm. Joyce shivered at his touch, a soft squeeze making her draw in a shaky breath. Hopper glanced up, offering her a soft smile.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, tracing his thumb over her nipple and feeling it harden beneath the delicate touch. Joyce trembled, barely able to stifle a gasp.
He lowered his head without another word, mouth finding her nipple and drawing it in gently. His tongue circled in slow, lazy strokes, each one sending a subtle wave of pleasure through her. This time she couldn’t hold back, the moan spilling freely as her hand slid over the back of his head, pressing him closer.
“Oh, Hop,” she whispered, her voice rough with longing, arching into his mouth.
His other hand moved to her second breast, teasing and coaxing, while his lips worked a steady rhythm between both. Sucking, swirling, kneading—he worshipped every inch, sending sparks flying in Joyce’s nerves.
She moaned again, the sound thick and needy, one hand still pressed to the back of his head, the other gliding over the strong lines of his scarred shoulder. Each pull and flick of his mouth sent jolts of need straight through her, hips rolling up into his as her body demanded more, desperate for relief.
She’d never known sex like this before. With Lonnie, it had always been about him—his wants, his timing, his needs. Most nights, she might as well have been folding laundry. It was function, not passion. And Bob, sweet as he was, just couldn’t quite find his confidence; there was barely any foreplay at all. Everything had always felt hurried, as if he was embarrassed by his own desire.
But Hopper—Hopper was entirely different. Everything shifted with him. She was waking up to new sensations, discovering new places she liked to be touched, like the way his big hands covered her breasts, kneading gently but with purpose, sending hints of pain and pleasure mingling under his thumbs. Hop was, she realized, definitely a breast man. He moved slowly, savoring her, his mouth hot and insistent. The way his lips pulled at her nipples, lingering, swirling his tongue, made her buzz with anticipation.
She could tell he would have stayed there forever if she’d let him, lost in her, but she could feel the heat building between them, the tension pressing and urgent. At last, he released her nipple with a soft, wet pop, then lifted his head, eyes heavy-lidded and locked on hers.
There was a spark in her eyes and a wide, mischievous grin playing on her lips. His hands lingered on her breasts, and Joyce let out a laugh laced with half amusement, half arousal.
“Who knew you were such a breast man,” she teased, drawing in a sharp breath when he pinched her left nipple, just enough to make her gasp.
He met her eyes with a crooked grin. “Oh, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he shot back, letting his thumbs and fingers roll her nipples before giving a playful tug, sending a jolt straight through her.
She arched toward him, hands covering his for a moment, letting herself feel every squeeze and pinch. “Is that right?” she murmured, breathless herself now. He pinched harder, eyes locked on hers, and she let out another gasp, this one sharper. “Well, are you planning to fill me in?”
Her hands slipped away as he finally released her, only for his finger to trace a delicate line down the center of her chest, pausing at the button of her jeans. The whisper of his touch across her skin left goosebumps in its wake. He slipped his fingers just inside her waistband, trailing them along the edge, slow and teasing, until they circled back to the button.
He looked up at her, smirking. “Absolutely,” he promised, and popped the button with a practiced flick.
She felt excitement tighten low in her belly as his hands hooked deeper, gripping the denim to slide her jeans down her hips. Instinctively, she lifted herself to help him, then watched as he slid off the bed, tugged them free, and tossed them aside. He shrugged out of his own jeans with a practiced ease—his button already undone, thanks to her handiwork from before—shoving his jeans away with a single kick before he crawled back onto the bed, eyes never leaving hers.
Joyce parted her legs instinctively as Hopper settled between them, her pulse skipping as she caught sight of the unmistakable shape beneath his boxers. Hopper met her gaze with a smirk, reading the blend of longing and nervousness in her eyes as his hands trailed slowly along the inside of her thighs.
She drew in a shaky breath as his fingers rose higher, barely grazing the edge of her white panties. Then he brushed his thumb over her, gentle at first, and her quiet moan gave her away. Color crept into her cheeks, all pretense slipping away as desire took over.
Hopper lingered with his touch, noticing the warmth and the dampness beneath the fabric, and how it spread with every slow, deliberate swipe. Joyce's hips arched up in response, earning a low chuckle from him.
“You’re such a tease, Hop,” she managed, her voice soft but edged with need, especially when he pressed a little firmer.
He gave a little hum in response, flashing a wicked smile. “Guess I can’t help it. Drives me wild, seeing you like this,” he said, eyes dancing as he hooked his fingers in her waistband.
He hesitated, searching her face for reassurance. Joyce gave a little nod and a reassuring smile. That was all he needed—he slowly eased her panties down, peeling away the last barrier, and blindly threw them aside, leaving her bare and open beneath him.
Even with her nod of encouragement, Hopper could sense a trace of hesitation—maybe nerves, maybe embarrassment—lingering in the air between them. He wanted to soothe her, to make her feel as comfortable as possible, so he let his hands drift gently along her thighs, feeling the tension begin to ebb away beneath his touch. Her knees were bent, feet pressed flat against the mattress, and as his hands lingered on her knees, he let the moment stretch and deepen.
Slowly, deliberately, he urged her knees farther apart, revealing her fully to his gaze. Joyce’s breath grew shallow and quick, her heart in her throat as he finally let himself truly look at her—laid bare, vulnerable, and breathtaking. All the shyness she’d felt before dissolved when she heard the low, hungry sound that escaped him. He took in the way her curls framed her: unmistakably natural, a shade darker than the hair on her head, each curl carefully kept and softly inviting.
“Hop,” she whispered, the sound trembling between longing and awe, as his fingers reached forward, combing slowly through the soft curls. Warmth and dampness met his touch; beads of moisture glistened on a few strands, proof of her arousal. He slipped lower, his knuckles brushing where she was most sensitive, and Joyce drew a sharp, involuntary breath, every muscle wound tight with wanting.
Hopper let out a low hum, his palm steady on her knee while his other hand drifted with intent curiosity, sliding a finger gently between her folds. Joyce gasped, surprise blooming across her face as her hips bucked in response, chased by a rush of sensation she hadn’t expected.
“So wet for me already,” he teased, voice thick with pleasure and playfulness. The way her cheeks flushed at his words only spurred him on.
She opened her mouth, some clever retort hanging on her tongue, but his touch stole the words away. Instead, she let out a loud, desperate moan as Hopper stroked his finger along her slick heat, spreading it, gliding up and down in slow, deliberate strokes that made her shiver.
“I need to taste you,” he murmured, his fingers circling lower, tracing the delicate edge of her entrance, swirling with reverence and anticipation. “Can I?” he asked, looking up at her, nearly breathless, seeking not just consent but connection.
The way he asked, like her pleasure mattered, like she could say yes or no and he’d honor either, lit a fuse low in her belly. It had been so long since anyone had offered, truly offered, this. The anticipation tangled with trust, and the thought of Hopper, this man she felt safest with, sinking down between her thighs sent a thrilling current straight through her, leaving her trembling with longing.
“I thought you’d never ask,” she said with a sly smile. Hopper couldn’t help but grin back, his eyes bright as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and deep, breathing her in. When he finally drew back, he trailed downward, settling between her legs. His lips brushed the soft curve of her bent knee, planting a lingering kiss there. He took his time, letting his mouth wander across her skin, teasing her with gentle nips as he worked his way gradually up her thighs, every touch making her pulse race.
Hopper traced a constellation of feather-light kisses along her upper thighs, each one teasing and deliberate. She fisted the sheets beneath her, tension coiling in her belly as he lingered everywhere but exactly where she craved him most. She caught the fleeting brush of his breath—so unbearably close, then gone again—as he switched sides, and her body responded instinctively, tightening with both longing and impatience.
Propping herself up on her elbows, Joyce watched him and caught the flash of intent in his eyes as he pressed a final kiss to her right thigh before slipping off the bed. There was an urgency in his movement as he pushed his boxers down with a shaky breath, sighing at the relief of no longer being restrained. Joyce’s breath caught as she took him in, cheeks burning with desire. He was big and unmistakably aroused, springing upward toward his stomach. The sight sent a spark of excitement through her, sharp and breathtaking, anticipation mixing with a sudden jolt of heat low in her stomach. She watched, captivated, as he wrapped his hand around himself, giving a few quick, almost desperate strokes before lowering himself to his knees at the foot of the bed, eyes never leaving hers.
Before she could register what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around her legs and tugged her downward, sliding her to the edge of the bed. Suddenly, she was sprawled out before him, her legs draped over his shoulders and her back flat against the mattress, utterly exposed beneath his gaze.
His thumbs coaxed her open with deliberate tenderness, and a wave of warmth swept through Joyce at the raw intimacy of being laid this bare for him. Every detail of her was slick and shining with need, her clit barely veiled beneath its hood and swollen with anticipation. The sight alone sent a jolt of hunger through him, sharp and immediate, his cock throbbing almost painfully.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and awed. His breath ghosted so close that goosebumps chased over Joyce’s skin.
No one had ever looked at her like this. Lonnie never had, and not even Bob. This feeling was completely new—the sense of being wanted, fully, deeply, seen and cherished. What she saw on Hopper’s face turned every nerve in her body into live wire.
She almost sat up on her elbows again, restless with anticipation, when he finally closed the distance. His thumbs stayed firm, keeping her spread for him as he dipped his head. The first sweep of his tongue was slow, tasting, savoring—Joyce’s breath hitched hard, spine arching. He slipped his arms beneath and around her thighs, pinning her in place as he licked her again, this time with full intent. A low groan vibrated from his chest at the taste, and the sensation thrummed through her, making her gasp and grab for the sheets, hips helplessly pressing closer.
He ran his tongue over her slowly, savoring every curve and hollow as he slipped between her folds, lips brushing and softly sucking at her skin. Hopper paused to watch her reaction—her eyes squeezed shut, teeth sunk into her bottom lip—and the sight alone nearly undid him. Still, he mapped each part of her with his tongue but deliberately skirted her clit with each pass, not giving in until a plaintive little sound escaped her, half-whimper, half-plea. “Please, Hop—”
Normally he would have drawn it out, teased her until she was unraveling, but they'd spent enough nights wishing for this. Tonight belonged to hunger and reunion, not games. He found her again with his mouth, this time zeroing in without mercy, circling her clit in a slow, focused swirl. Joyce cried out, hips thrusting up so hard she nearly broke free, but Hopper’s hands anchored her firmly to the bed as he drank in every sweet, desperate reaction.
“Christ, Hop—” she cried, her back arching. His grip around her thighs tightened, grounding her while his mouth worked her over with a hunger that bordered on desperate. His tongue stroked and circled relentlessly, coaxing out waves of pleasure until Joyce’s breath came in ragged bursts, the tension in her core tightening with a fierce, unstoppable heat.
The pitch of her cries climbed higher, and Hopper knew she was teetering right on the edge. Eager to push her over, he slid one hand round and slipped a finger inside her, stroking her in time with his tongue. When he added a second finger, her response was instant and wild. Her toes dug into his back, eyes rolling as his deft fingers curled and pressed just right, sending sparks through her with every thrust.
“Hop, Hop—” she panted, clutching the sheets so fiercely her knuckles whitened, every muscle wound tight.
He pressed his mouth over her again, lips forming a seal around her clit, his fingers never losing rhythm as they plunged deeper. Gentle suction and steady strokes shattered whatever control Joyce had left as the tension wound tight inside her finally snapped. She arched violently, head thrown back into the pillow, mouth parting in a voiceless cry before the sound tore free, ragged and raw. Her legs trembled, every muscle quivering with the force of her release.
She gasped for air, heartbeat thundering in her chest as Hopper slipped his fingers free but kept teasing her with gentle, lingering flicks of his tongue. The world felt blurry around the edges, her limbs loose and boneless now, fingers no longer clutching the sheets but falling limp as she came back to herself. Only when he gave her one last, teasing lick did he finally push up, sliding between her legs to settle above her.
Hopper couldn’t help but smile at the delicate sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, lighting her face up with a golden glow. Joyce’s eyes stayed closed, chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate waves as she worked to steady her breath. Hopper reached for her gently, his fingers tipping her chin so she turned to him. He kissed her—soft at first, then with a slow, growing hunger.
A low moan slipped from Joyce as she tasted herself on his tongue. There was something so intimate and wildly thrilling about that. The kiss drew her under, made the room spin. Hopper’s grip tightened on the pillow beside her head, his other hand gliding along the curve of her thigh, stroking, squeezing, as Joyce instinctively let her legs fall further apart, welcoming the press of his body.
She snaked her hands round the back of his head, drawing him in deeper, hungry for more, breathing him in between kisses. When she gasped, it was right into his mouth, desperate to refill her lungs but unwilling to give up the taste of him, the way they melted together—lips slick, kiss messy and urgent, neither of them in any rush to pull away.
But after a minute or so, Hopper’s mouth wandered lower, scattering warm, searching kisses along the delicate arc of her neck. Joyce tilted her head, almost instinctively, opening herself up to him and letting her fingers drift down from his neck to anchor at his broad shoulders.
“God, Hop,” she breathed, “I need you.”
He raised his hand back up from her thigh, settling it on the opposite side of her pillow so he hovered over her, cradling her in the rough cage of his arms. His lips wandered from the tender skin beneath her ear, trailing down until he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat.
He almost shot back some teasing line, but the moment was too raw, too honest for jokes. Instead, he confessed low against her collarbone, words muffled by her skin, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
Joyce trembled at the admission, goosebumps rising where his lips brushed her skin. She gently lifted his chin so their eyes met, and what he saw nearly undid him. Heat. Hunger. A kind of raw longing that made it hard to breathe. He wanted to drown in that look.
“Make love to me, Jim,” she murmured, her gaze searching his, flickering down to his mouth, then up again.
There was something about hearing his name spoken like that, with so much need, that made his chest tighten. He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he answered by kissing her, slow and deep, pouring everything he felt into the press of his mouth against hers. Joyce let out a soft, breathless hum before he pulled back, her hands lingering at his jaw.
He leaned over the side of the bed, rooting through the pile of clothes until he found his jeans crumpled on the floor. Joyce’s brow furrowed, curiosity creeping in, waiting until he surfaced again—this time brandishing a flash of silver foil right in front of her face.
Her jaw dropped.
“What the—” Joyce sputtered, eyes wide in disbelief.
Hopper rubbed the back of his neck, looking about as sheepish as a grown man could. “Uh… Murray, he, uh, slipped it to me right before we reached the motel...”
Joyce’s eyebrows shot straight up. “He did what?”
“I swear, I didn’t ask for it,” Hopper said in a rush, hands raised like he was pleading his case in court. “I don’t even know where the hell he got it from.”
Joyce stared at him, lost for words, her mouth closing, then opening again in surprise. “That man is unreal,” she muttered finally, though her lips twitched with a smirk she couldn’t quite suppress.
“Well,” Joyce said after a beat, her voice low and teasing as she plucked the foil out from his grasp, “we better not let it go to waste then.”
Hopper met her smirk with one of his own, his heart thudding as he watched her rip open the foil. He sat back on his haunches, still settled between her parted legs, completely transfixed by her. Seeing her body fully on display, along with the ease and confidence in the way she handled the condom, made his heart thud against his ribs. Every line of her was illuminated in the lamplight, the anticipation thick in the air. Nothing in his life had ever aroused him more than seeing her like this, completely unapologetic and in control.
She removed the condom from the foil, holding it ready in her right hand, while her left reached out, fingers tentative but eager. Joyce wrapped her hand around him for the first time, marveling at the weight and warmth of him, her palm gliding slowly down his length, pulling the foreskin back in a deliberate stroke.
Hopper let out a strangled groan, hips giving a reflexive jolt at the feeling of her small, gentle grip. “Fucking hell, Joyce,” he gasped, his head falling back, eyes squeezed shut.
Invigorated by the raw edge in his voice, Joyce tightened her hold, stroking him again, letting her hand slide down to the base where he was surrounded by a thatch of brown, unruly hair. But Hopper’s hand shot out, encircling her wrist, stilling her movement. He tried to wrestle the condom from her other hand, but she laughed softly, evading his grasp and pulling her hand back just out of reach.
“Joyce,” he said, voice tight with restraint, “as much as I’d love for you to keep doing that…I’d much rather be inside you.”
She snorted, a playful glint in her eyes. “You want your dessert that much, huh?” she teased, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched recognition flare in his gaze, the conversation in the church igniting something in him.
His eyes burned as he met hers. “Pretty sure I just had it. This is afters,” he shot back.
Joyce just hummed, but the wicked little spark in her eyes said more than words ever could.
Joyce took the condom and pinched the tip, her movements careful and practiced as she slowly rolled it down over Hopper’s length. Hopper sucked in a breath, trying to stifle a groan as their hands brushed, his larger, calloused fingers joining hers to finish smoothing the condom down until he was fully covered. She lingered to give him a gentle squeeze at the base, then let her hand slide away, her eyes bright with excitement.
Hopper shifted lower on the bed, settling himself more comfortably between her parted thighs. His hand moved with purpose, slipping between her legs, two fingers gliding through her folds. Joyce let out a low sound, hips tilting up to meet his touch as he circled his fingers lightly, feeling the slickness still left from her earlier release. He drew his fingers back, spreading the wetness over himself with slow, unhurried strokes, then positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his cock running teasingly through her folds, collecting every trace of her.
He hesitated, stealing a moment to look up at her. The world seemed to blur and fade until there was nothing left but the space between their bodies. Joyce held his gaze, her eyes shining. When she gave that subtle, unwavering nod, Hopper moved, slow and careful, guiding himself into her at last.
Joyce’s breath hitched, her eyes never leaving his as she stretched to welcome him. There was something electric in the way they held eye contact, something tender in how he pressed forward inch by inch, their pulses racing in sync. The connection was almost too much—intense in a way that made her chest ache with feeling. Joyce realized, suddenly, that tears were stinging her eyes. She wasn’t even sure if it was relief, or love, or the wild disbelief that this was real, that they’d found each other here, and now. All she knew was she felt it everywhere.
Hopper leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the paths left by her tears. When his hips finally touched hers, he paused, holding still so she had time to adjust, to let the moment sink in for them both. He brought his lips to hers, soft and searching, one hand cradling her face, his thumb sweeping along her damp cheeks with reverence.
“You alright?” he murmured, his words barely more than a breath against her mouth.
She answered with a quiet, trembling hum. “I’ve waited so long for this. I didn’t really know what I had… not until it was gone.” She pulled him back into another kiss, deep and desperate. “Not until I lost you.”
A sad, achingly tender smile touched Hopper’s mouth as he dipped down, brushing his lips over the shell of her ear. She shuddered, feeling the heat of his breath as he whispered, “You have me now.” With that, he began moving within her, deep and unguarded.
Joyce gasped sharply, clinging to his shoulders, her body rising instinctively to meet his. He withdrew until barely there, then slid back in, slow and deliberate. The sensation of her, so fierce, so impossibly warm, threatened to unravel him as he continued, each movement measured and intimate, drawing them closer together with every breath. It was as though the world narrowed to the feel of her drawing him in again and again.
A low, desperate moan escaped her as Hopper slid his hands beneath her knees, gently pushing her legs back and apart, giving himself more space to move deeper. Even with her opened to him, his rhythm stayed slow, each roll of his hips deliberate, the movement measured but intense. Joyce’s eyes fluttered shut as she bit her lip and clutched the sheets, her senses overwhelmed by the deliberate fullness of every steady thrust.
Hopper couldn’t look away from the sight of himself disappearing inside her, the way her body took him in again and again. The sight alone nearly undid him; he threw his head back, a rough groan torn from his throat. It still felt unreal, as if he hadn’t fully escaped the nightmare of the prison, as if some blessing had followed him out of hell, each movement a promise that he was truly free, truly with her.
Joyce moaned and whimpered, her breath catching with each slow, deep thrust. Every time he struck deep, her whole body seemed to tighten around him. A sharp ache bloomed low in her belly, growing with every slow press of his hips.
But it still wasn’t enough.
“More. I need more,” she gasped, her voice catching, as another deep thrust sent a surge of longing through her.
Hopper looked down at her, a slow, knowing smirk curving across his lips. He’d been holding himself in check, wanting to match Joyce’s pace, careful not to hurry her along or push before she was ready. But now that he’d heard those words, he gave another deep, deliberate thrust and stilled, lowering himself to frame her face with his arms.
He met her eyes, searching them, and found nothing but pure want staring back at him. “Tell me what you need, Joyce,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire.
The tone of his voice, husky and deep, made her swallow. She let her grip on the sheet fall away and reached up, her fingers slipping around the back of his neck. “I need you to fuck me, Jim Hopper,” she answered, steady and sure.
Hearing her say those words caught Hopper off guard and he let out a guttural groan, dropping his forehead to the pillow beside her head, drawing a soft laugh from Joyce. She hooked her leg over his hip, shifting his angle inside her, and he took it for the invitation that it was.
He pushed himself up, gaze locking onto her flushed, eager face. And then he started to move. This time, he didn’t hold anything back—his rhythm quickened, urgent and relentless, and Joyce’s mouth fell open as pleasure overtook her.
Soon, Hopper was driving into her with a hungry intensity, every restraint abandoned. Their mouths collided in a messy, desperate kiss, both of them breathless, the unmistakable sound of skin against skin echoing through the hush of the dim motel room.
Joyce clung to him, moaning into his mouth, utterly overwhelmed by the rush of sensation. The sheer force of him moving inside her, the taste of his lips, the guttural sounds escaping his throat—she let herself get swept under by it all. There was nowhere else she wanted to be, nothing more she wanted than to lose herself in him, right there, right now.
Her hands slid down his shoulders, fingers digging firmly into the hard lines of his back as he drove into her with a relentless rhythm. Joyce whimpered, hips tilting to meet every thrust, sparks of pleasure shooting through her with each movement. The increased pace caused the flimsy old bed to thump insistently against the wall. There was no chance anyone in the next room could miss what was happening.
The memory of Murray, many months ago, rolling his eyes and yelling at them to either stop bickering or just get it over with, flashed through her mind. Now, the irony burned hot across her cheeks. She knew full well that Murray could probably hear everything—the sharp gasps, the desperate sounds Hopper coaxed from her throat. The realization only made her want him more, heat pooling in her belly as Hopper plunged even deeper, pulling another ragged moan from her lips.
Hopper dipped his head to press his mouth against her neck, tongue tracing the salty beads of sweat that dotted her skin. Joyce was breathing heavily, moans tumbling out as he worked his lips along the curve of her neck, alternating between gentle kisses and sharp nips that left her trembling, all while his hips rocked in time with her body.
The low ache in her belly tightened, expanding with every movement. She whimpered, unable to hold it back as one of her hands slid down from his shoulder, slipping between them. Hopper seemed to know exactly what she needed; his hand followed, and their fingers found each other, moving together in practiced circles over her clit, the sensation sending fresh waves of pleasure rolling through her.
“Oh, Christ,” Joyce squeaked, their fingers working in tandem with his thrusts.
“Hopper,” she pleaded, her head tilting back into the pillow, lost in the ache that curled low in her stomach—so close to overwhelming her.
Watching her like this, eyes glazed, mouth open, every sound spilling out in broken shards of pleasure, sent his heart crashing against his ribs. He swore he’d never seen anyone look so beautiful, so completely lost to feeling. He wanted to see her unravel, wanted to be the one to pull her apart.
“Come for me, Joyce,” Hopper’s voice was rough, dominating. He moved his fingers away from hers and cupped her face, maintaining the same deep thrusts, determined. “Let go for me. Show me how good it feels.”
The sound of Hopper’s voice, firm and commanding, sent a jolt through Joyce that unraveled her completely. The force of it wiped her clean of words. Her mouth parted, but no sound escaped, eyes rolling back as his command echoed in her mind. Continuing to thrust, Hopper watched her, entranced, as the last of her composure dissolved. She arched beneath him, back taut as a drawn string, legs trembling where they locked around his waist. The force of her climax hit—sudden and undeniable—leaving her utterly undone as a sharp cry finally escaped her. The heat and pressure of her release seemed to pull him along with her, his self-control also unraveling. With a harsh, raw sound, Hopper buried his face in the pillow beside her, surrendering completely as pleasure overtook him.
For a moment, the room was filled only with the discordant rhythm of their breathing. Joyce slowly opened her eyes, her chest rising and falling, fingers sliding over the back of Hopper’s neck as she tried to steady herself. She shivered again when she felt the aftershocks ripple through him, the last pulse of his orgasm fading inside her. Then with a weary sigh, Hopper slipped free and rolled to his side, collapsing on the mattress next to her. He stared up at the ceiling, chest still heaving, the remnants of pleasure etched plainly across his face.
He peeled off the condom and tossed it toward the bin, grateful for once that the tiny confines of the room put it within easy reach of the bed. Rolling back, he found Joyce sprawled out beside him, skin still flushed, chest quietly rising and falling as she caught her breath. They both broke into easy, uncontainable grins when their eyes met, and Hopper reached out, letting his hand travel up the gentle curve of her waist, drawing her close.
Joyce gladly slipped into his arms, her fingers drifting to his cheek, brushing against his stubble as she brought him in for another kiss. This one felt different, less wild urgency, more a slow and steady warmth, a sealing of what had just happened between them. His lips lingered against hers, the barest graze of teeth at her bottom lip drawing a surprised giggle from her before she pulled away. She hooked her leg over his and tucked herself against his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his skin.
She pressed a soft kiss beside one of the older scars, and then she looked up, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Thank you, Hopper.”
He let out a short laugh, unable to help himself. “You’re thanking me for fucking you?”
She rolled her eyes, playful at first, but then her gaze found his, softer now. “For making me feel alive in a way that no one else ever has.”
Hopper shook his head, a look of regret and longing in his eyes as he gently tucked a stray wisp of hair behind Joyce’s ear. His thumb lingered on her cheek for a moment, then drifted down to trace the curve of her bottom lip.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Sorry it took us this long to get here. But from this moment on, I’m making you a promise. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you feel alive, wanted, precious... cherished.” He hesitated, eyes searching hers. “But most of all, I want you to feel loved. Always.”
Joyce pressed her lips to his thumb, then pulled him down into one more kiss, deep and certain. Words would have been too small, too fragile for a moment like this. In that kiss, she poured in every vow, every hope she’d held close for so long. When finally they parted, she nestled her head against his chest once more, listening for the quiet rhythm of his heart as he draped the comforter over them both. The world outside faded away, and for the first time in forever, peace found them.
The future felt like a mystery—uncertain, unpromised. Tomorrow might bring trouble or hope or something neither of them could imagine. But none of that mattered tonight. Tonight, they had this: the quiet, the closeness, and the kind of love that felt like a new beginning.