keeptheselights | (no subject)

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hopper

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It takes her so long to get ready that she might as well be a teenager again. She dresses carefully, layering the lingerie that she'd cricled back to buy with a black velvet dress that's fitted across her chest and flared slightly around her thighs. She puts on heels and agonises, for a long moment, about which lipstick to choose before she goes for red.

She wants to be as far away from how worn down she's felt for a long time as she can. She wants to feel like she did when she was young, and full of promise.

Hopper wanted to pick her up but, because Will hasn't headed out yet, she'd said she'd meet him at the restaurant. She arrives early, standing outside with her arms folded against the cold, a cigarette between two fingers.

She's so nervous she actually laughs at herself.
Jesus.

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Joyce has always been (rightly, she thinks) proud of her chest, and she arches her back a little, pressing her breast into his hand, biting her lip over a moan when he thumbs at her nipple. It's kind of refreshing, to be as old as she is, happy in her skin, confident and comfortable. She presses her fingers into Hopper's hair, cradling the back of his head as he kisses her collarbone. She smoothes her free hand over the broad line of shoulder, back to his shoulderblade.

"C'mon, Hop," she says, her voice husky. "Use your words."

“I thought I was,” he answers, laughing, the sound rough and genuine and real. For so long, he hadn’t laughed much at all, but Darrow has changed him.

He thinks it’s made him a better man. The right man for Joyce, the one he couldn’t be before.

Instead of words, he lowers his head, his lips following the swell of her breast before his mouth seals over her nipple.

His mouth is hot and wet and perfect, and Joyce moans softly, arching her back to press closer to his mouth, fingers of one hand pressed into his hair, nails on the other just scratching lightly against the bare skin of his back. She can still feel him, hard between her legs, and she rocks her hips experimentally, teasing them both through two thin layers of fabric.

"Shit," he says through a heavy exhale, his mouth still pressed to her skin. It feels like being a teenager all over again, finally getting to touch the girl he's been dreaming about and that's not all that far off. Hopper has been thinking about Joyce for years now. Somehow, he's fallen in love with her while she wasn't even here, and now he's actually getting to be with her.

How the hell has he gotten this lucky?

"Okay, come on," he says, laughing. "Get the rest of this off."

"God, you're impatient," says Joyce, but she doesn't want the extra clothes on any more than he does. There's going to be no graceful way to take off her panties and her garter belt while she's still sitting across him, so she rolls her hips one more time and then she shifts, slipping off the bed so that she can peel those things off, one thing at a time until she's standing there, naked as the day she was born. She blushes, softly.

"Everything you were hoping for?" she asks, leaning in to hook her fingers over the elastic of his boxers.

“Been waiting for this since I was seventeen,” he answers, but he’s laughing again. Christ, he doesn’t think he’s laughed this much in his entire life.

But it was always that way with Joyce.

She undresses the rest of the way and he feels struck dumb again, staring at her. At all her soft skin, the fall of her hair against her shoulder.

“Come here,” he answers.

They'd both been with other people in the interim, but Joyce thinks that, in a way, so has she. The way he looks at her, naked as she is, feels like it unlocks something in her, makes her face hot. She bites her lip over a smile, gives his underwear a pointed look.

"Take those off first."

Hopper doesn’t need to be told twice. He hooks his fingers in the waist of his boxers, then lifts his hips at the same time as he tugs them down. Maybe his body isn’t what it used to be, but Joyce’s look, her dark eyes, all that tells him it doesn’t matter the way he might think it does.

She wants him, too.

He’s hard and his cock hits his belly softly once he has his underwear off, but he’s still staring at her. “Come on,” he says again and holds a hand out toward her.

And then, just like that, they're naked in front of each other for the first time, and Joyce feels like a teenager again. She's sort of relieved that he's hard, that he looks at her and sees something worth wanting. He holds his hand out to her and she takes it, threading their fingers together.

"Please tell me that you've got a condom on you," she says, getting back onto the bed on her knees, her fingers still twisted with his. "We are both too old for newborns."

Hopper feels something rise up in him he hasn’t known for years, a giddy sort of anticipation he thought was gone. Left behind in the backseat of a car on a dark road.

It shouldn’t surprise him much that Joyce is the one bringing it back.

“I’ve got a condom,” he says, laughing, then he sits up. His free hand slides along her jaw, into her hair, and he pulls them together again, his lips parted in a deep kiss.

He kisses her deeply, like he really means it, and Joyce leans in, her face cradled by his hand. She's too old to feel self-conscious about being naked, and she finds, honestly, that she just wants to enjoy every single moment. She slips one hand between them, curling her fingers around his cock and stroking, experimentally. She wants to see what it does to him.

"Oh god," he breathes against Joyce's mouth when she touches him. He pulls her closer and his hand glides over her side, touching whatever skin is offered to him, before his palm slides over her breast again.

She's so beautiful. Her skin is soft and warm and Hopper kisses her throat, her collarbone, the top of one perfect breast. His tongue circles her nipple before he takes it between his teeth, biting softly, a shiver of heat running through him.

She likes that reaction, wants to hear it again. She rolls her wrist, stroking him again, smudging her thumb over the slick head of his cock. When his mouth slides over her nipple, the rhythm of her hand stutters because it's hard to concentrate on that while he's doing whatever he's doing with his teeth. Whatever it is, it sends a shock right down between her spread thighs. She pushes her free hand into his hair, tugging lightly.

"Harder," she prompts. "C'mon, Jim."

That's the thing about getting older, he's realized. Everyone knows what they like, everyone understands themselves a little better, and everyone is willing to ask for what they want. It makes him harder, if that's even possible, to hear Joyce say harder.

It's difficult to focus when she's touching him, but Hopper gets his arm around her back, her slight frame, and he lifts her, turns her, lays her back on the bed. His teeth close down harder on her nipple, but his mouth slides away a second later as he kisses the skin beneath her breast, then along the edge of her ribs.

Joyce isn't a big woman, even though she's probably the heaviest that she's ever been in her life -- but she thrills at the way he manhandles her a little, even if he's incredibly gentle about it. He bites her, and Joyce moans, her back arching. Things move differently than they did when she was younger and she covers both tits with her hands, squeezing gently as he works his way lower.

That’s such a great sound. Hopper wants nothing more than to just keep doing whatever he can to cause Joyce to sound like that. His teeth graze against her skin and then he bites down on her hip.

She’s so soft beneath his mouth, his hands, and his eyes flutter closed as he breathes against her skin.

“Christ, Joyce,” he murmurs as he slips lower, then presses her thighs apart with his palms.

The bite is good -- better than good, even -- and she loves that she doesn't have to ask him twice. She stays propped up on her elbows so that she can watch him as he works his way lower, his mouth against her skin. When he says her name like that, a shiver goes through the whole of her. His hands so big, rough and warm as he presses her thighs apart. She spreads her legs easily, knowing that there's nothing she'd ever want to hide from him.

He could live and die here, he thinks. Hopper has had great sex before, a lot of it even here in Darrow. Sometimes he thinks he might have loved Lucy, though not the way she deserved, and yet none of it compares to this. To her.

He shouldn’t compare, he’s just been in love with her for such a long time.

As Hopper settles on the bed, he keeps one hand on Joyce’s thigh, the other teasing her gently, touching her, feeling how warm she already is just beneath the cup of his palm.

She finds, in this moment, that she's more than content to let him touch her however he wants to, however feels good for both of them. One of his hands stays on her thigh, keeping her legs open, the fingers of the other curled against her, and Joyce rolls her hips slowly, pressing her cunt into his hand.

"Do you want me to ask nicely?" she teases, her head tipped ot one side, hair slipping across her eyes.

"I'm not in a rush," he answers with a grin, his mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh. "Do you know how long I've waited for you?"

He's not saying he's been celibate. He had even dated, had an actual girlfriend, but all the time, his heart had been somewhere else. In Hawkins. With Joyce.

"And I'm not sixteen anymore," he adds before he kisses her thigh, one finger gently teasing at her cunt before he slips it slowly inside of her. His thumb grazes her clit at the same time, then he bites gently at her leg. "I can last."

"I'm starting to get the idea," she says, a soft shy sliping out of her as he presses his finger into her, as he rubs his thumb over her clit. Suddenly, she can't help but forget what Murray had said, about wanting to know what Jim was like in the sack.

"Neither of us are sixteen anymore, Jim," she says, her breath catching when he bites her, just gently, with the edges of his teeth. "And I'm definitely putting how long you can last to the test. Don't worry."

He chuckles, rough and low, before he presses a little harder against her clit, using more pressure and then following it with a slow lick, the flat of his tongue pressed to her. She tastes fucking perfect.

Hopper groans, his eyes slipping closed, wondering how the hell this has all worked out so well after so damn long.

He'll last. For her. Licking again, he tugs her clit between his lip and glances up, looking for her gaze. Yeah, for her, he thinks he could stay here forever.

He goes to work with lips and tongue and Joyce's head tips back for a moment, a loud, rough moan spilling out of her. Of course he's good at this Of course. The good ones almost always are. She rolls her hips under the press of his mouth, lifting her head so that she can meet his eye.

"Just like that," she says, softly, encouraging. "Don't stop"

Hopper's not sure he's ever seen anything as beautiful as this, as her, her hips rolling, the arch of her back. He's just make a joke about how long he can last, but if she keeps that up, he doesn't know how true that'll end up being.

Shifting on the bed, he presses another finger inside of her, her cunt warm and wet, and he groans against her clit as he focuses on Joyce. Just her.

He has to put his best foot forward, after all.

He fingers are big, and Joyce feels the stretch as he pushes another into her. She groans softly, the sound warm and gutteral and she shifts, palming both tits, pushing them together, her thumbs rubbing over her nipples, teasing them harder. She loves that she doesn't feel self-conscious here, that she can just let go and lost in how good it all feels.