Chapter Text
The sun hadn’t made it fully over the trees yet, but the sky was soft with that early gold — the kind that made the curtains glow and the world feel slow.
Joyce stirred under the blankets first, shifting in that half-asleep way, seeking warmth. Her hand found Hopper's chest, warm and firm, covered with fine hairs. She buried her fingers in them with a light touch. He always ran hot — one of the many unexpected comforts of having him beside her.
He was already awake.
"Morning," he rumbled, voice low and still rough with sleep.
“Mmm,” Joyce answered, not really words yet — just the sound of being safe, of not needing to get up. Her fingers idly traced the edge of his collarbone, the faded scar that curled just under it. Her leg hooked around his without asking.
Hopper turned slightly, pulling her closer with a lazy arm draped around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek — slow and unrushed.
“Are we alive?” she mumbled into his neck.
He chuckled, his beard brushing her skin. “Think so. Unless this is heaven, and heaven is just back problems and cold feet.”
Joyce smiled into his shoulder. “You love my cold feet.”
“I tolerate them,” he muttered, shifting so their noses brushed. His hand moved under the blanket, resting at the small of her back, then smoothing up her spine — slow, comforting. Familiar now.
She kissed him.
It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t desperate. Just a slow, married kind of kiss. The kind you give someone when there’s no need to say good morning, because your body already has.
Her hand came up to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing over the silver in his beard. He leaned into her, deepening the kiss only a little — enough to make her hum softly against his mouth.
When they pulled apart, Joyce rested her forehead against his. Her breath was warm and steady.
Joyce shifted beneath the blankets, her bare legs tangling with Hopper’s — warm, heavy, and grounding against her skin. Her T-shirt had ridden up, exposing the soft curve of her waist and the swell of her hips, his thigh pressing possessively against hers, sending a rush of heat blooming low in her belly. The subtle press of his muscle against her skin was a silent claim, a promise written on flesh.
Hopper lay on his side, facing her, one arm propping up his head, the other trailing down her back, fingers tracing lazy, intimate circles that sent shivers darting through her nerves. His touch was sure and knowing, forged through years of memorizing the language of her body — no words needed, just the gentle command of skin against skin.
She looked at him—at the rough, thick beard framing his strong jaw, at the wrinkle between his eyebrows when he concentrated, and at the dark, smoldering warmth in his eyes, which softened only for her.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, a mix of amusement and hunger.
Joyce smirked, biting her bottom lip. “I’m allowed. You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen before breakfast.”
Hopper’s lips twitched into a slow, crooked smile. “Flirting with me first thing in the morning? Bold move.”
“Oh, I’m full of bold moves,” she whispered, scooting closer until her hip pressed against his. “Especially when you’re this warm, this close.”
He shifted, hand sliding beneath her T-shirt, fingers exploring the soft hollow beneath her ribs, then tracing the curve of her waist, cupping her hip with possessive pressure. “You’re always this needy?”
Joyce laughed, breath catching as his thumb circled over the sensitive skin of her hip. “Only when you’re around.” She let out a quiet sigh as his fingers traced curved lines downward, tracing her navel and sliding even lower. She felt a pleasant shiver spread throughout her body as his fingertips glided skillfully and perfectly over her skin.
Hopper didn't even touch her the way he wanted to, but he could feel her tension.
His other hand slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, fingers slipping inside her slick heat, slow and sure. “Damn, Joyce. You’re soaked already.”
She gasped, eyes wide and dark. “What can I say? You have that effect on me.”
He bit his lip slightly, removing his hand and gently pulling her panties down, leaving them somewhere around her ankles. Hopper propped himself up on his elbow, settling himself more comfortably, and reached out his other hand toward her again, creeping closer to her without any barriers.
He returned, placing his fingertips on her wet clitoris, positioning his fingers on either side, pulling back slightly to expose it. Hopper's fingers began light, teasing movements, causing Joyce to arch toward his hand, spreading her legs wider for him.
She bit her lip, letting out a moan louder than the last. “Hop...”
He continued to caress her clitoris until she grabbed his hair with her hand, running her fingers through his soft locks, pulling him toward her and kissing him. Greedy, almost animalistic, he moaned sweetly, moving his hand lower.
Hopper's hand moved lower, his fingers moving over her folds, feeling the thick moisture that was increasing. He spread them with his fingertips, continuing to slide lower. His palm was pressed against her clitoris, and his finger teased her entrance slightly before sliding inside.
He slipped his fingers inside her, slow and sure, one then two.
She gasped, her breath catching like a whispered plea.
He pushed them slightly, then moved away, trying to feel his way around and find a particularly sensitive spot for women, as he knew from experience.
His fingers skillfully bent inside her, finding that perfect spot.
Her breath hitched — then fractured entirely — as he pressed just right, that exact spot deep inside her blooming with a pressure so intense. “ Oh fuck.. right there,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Don’t fucking stop, Hopper.”
He obeyed, starting to stimulate her G-spot with his fingers, then picking up a rhythm that made her arch her back and clasp her fingers around the back of his head, throwing her head back onto the pillow. His broad palm rubbed quickly and hard just above her clitoris, smooth and swollen with desire.
The friction drove her crazy, and her growing arousal intensified with each movement.
The room was filled with her moans, the squelching sounds of his skilled fingers working on her, and it seemed that her body had never made such wet, messy, squelching sounds, which were comparable only to porn. Or so it seemed to her.
His lips trailed hot, teasing kisses down her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending sparks of pleasure shuddering through her.
“Hopper,” she moaned, voice breaking, breath uneven.
His mouth claimed hers again, teeth nipping lightly, tongue pressing and swirling.
His hands moved at a rapid pace as they devoured each other. He was almost certain she was close, judging by the way she contracted around his fingers, squeezing them.
Her hips bucked uncontrollably, riding his hand as waves of pleasure crashed through her. The delicious ache tightened inside, coiling until it snapped, shattering her senses. Her thighs clenched tightly around his wrist, but he didn’t let up — his fingers still moving with that same relentless, knowing rhythm, drawing every last ripple from her until she was boneless and aching.
It started as a deep, internal clenching, a desperate, rhythmic pulse around his fingers as her climax first seized her. But then, it shifted. The sensation transformed from a sharp, contained peak into something broader, deeper, more profound. It was a hot, liquid uncoiling from a place within her she never felt—a deep, satin-walled reservoir she didn't know she possessed.
The pressure wasn't just pleasurable; it was immense. It was a fullness that became a flood. A wave of intense, almost scorching heat gathered at her core, not just spreading through her veins, but rushing outward. There was a distinct, internal release, a letting go so complete it felt like her very soul was sighing out through her skin.
And then it happened.
A hot, gushing surge of liquid released from her, not in a timid trickle, but in a confident, silken rush. It spilled over Hopper’s working hand, soaking the sheets beneath them with a sound that was unmistakably, intimately wet. The feeling was one of utter, breathtaking relief—a physical and emotional unburdening so intense it brought a shocked, silent sob to her throat.
It wasn't a single event, but a series of waves. Each pulse of her climax was accompanied by another warm, coursing release, each one lessening the delicious pressure, leaving behind a trembling, boneless emptiness. The slick heat of it painted her inner thighs and his, a tangible, fragrant proof of the pleasure he had wrung from her.
She didn’t realize what was happening at first.
Her climax crested so hard, so fast, that her body seized — muscles clenching, nerves burning — and then something broke loose inside her, a release that felt almost violent in its urgency. Heat flushed across her chest, her thighs, her cheeks.
Through the haze, she was aware of Hopper’s gruff, awe-filled groan against her neck, his fingers stilling but remaining inside her, a grounding presence as her body convulsed around him.
“Oh my god—” she choked out, pushing up slightly on her elbows, eyes wide as she stared down at the mess, breath caught in her throat.
But before panic could root itself in her chest, she heard it — that low, husky rumble of a laugh. His laugh.
“Yeah,” Hopper breathed, voice rough and full of something dark and satisfied. “You just fucking squirted.”
She blinked at him, still trying to piece together what her body had just done. “Wait… what?” Her voice cracked. “Are you—serious?”
His hand was still on her thigh, palm hot against her trembling skin. He looked smug. Wrecked. Reverent.
“Dead serious.” He leaned in close, brushing his nose against hers, his breath warm.
“I’ve dreamed about you coming like that for years. Didn’t think I’d ever get to see it for real. But damn, Joyce—” his eyes dropped to the slick skin between her thighs, the soaked sheets, his soaked hand “—you did it. All over me.”
Her face went scarlet.
She groaned, covering her face with her hands, cheeks flushed. “Jesus, Hop…”
He chuckled low in his throat, “Guess we broke new ground.”
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her hair, torn between crawling under the covers or out the damn window. “I didn’t even know that could happen. I mean… not to me.”
But he was already kissing her — soft and proud and a little smug, like he’d just unlocked some secret map to her soul. “Don’t you dare be embarrassed,” he murmured against her mouth. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
And despite herself — despite the mess, despite the shock — she felt it. The pride. The release. The wild, unexpected freedom in letting go that completely.
She let out a breathless laugh, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “You’re seriously proud of yourself right now, aren’t you?”
“Proud?” He leaned back on one elbow, licking his fingers with exaggerated slowness, eyes still dark and heated. “Honey, I’m honored.”
She tossed a pillow at him. He caught it mid-air, laughing, but didn’t take his eyes off her.