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He was exhausted, this Joyce knew for sure when he dragged his hulking body through the front door and immediately stumbled onto the couch with a deep sigh, still wearing his heavy winter coat and boots still on. Joyce had waited up, always filled with a nagging fear that prohibited sleep when he informed her that he’d be working late. What if he never came back? What would she do? How could she tell the boys and Jane?
But he was alive, and damn near snoring with his body half on the couch - his feet touching the floor as not to muddy the brand-new piece of furniture. She had become very protective of it once he convinced her that there was plenty of money, thank you very much, and her old couch was lumpy and old anyway, so live a little bit, Joycie. It really was a nice couch, a sectional that hugged the corners of their living room in an L-shape and could accommodate their large family, even when Jonathan and Nancy came to visit from school.
“Jim, it’s midnight… what happened?” she inquired fearfully, taking a seat near his head so she could reach out and stroke his thinning, dark-blonde hair.
“Someone started a fire at the old Hawkins Lab. Not a big one, but we were tied up there for hours with the government big-shots who still want to keep things quiet about what went on. It was just some goddamn runaway kids from the city who wanted to play house and had no idea about the place. I don’t even know how they got in, but those dumb little fuckers managed somehow.”
“Sounds horrible; were they hurt?” Jim’s head was in her lap and she was tracing an idle forefinger up and down the bridge of his nose as her other hand still played at his hair.
“That feels good for some reason… no, no one was hurt. Though I could’ve strangled the pair of them with my bare hands. Just a pair of lovesick kids with their noses bent out of shape about curfews and not being able to see each other socially.”
Joyce smirked and hummed in contemplation. “Sounds familiar.”
Jim frowned up at her. “Jane may have a curfew, but I don’t stop her from seeing the Wheeler kid. Stupid parenting like that is how we get runaways.”
Joyce shook her head. “I meant us, silly. My dad was always such an ogre about you.”
He shrugged in response, and then shot her a shit-eating grin, his eyes shining with mischief. “You mean he was right about me.” Joyce gave a little shriek as Jim growled and flipped onto his stomach and crawled over her, peppering her forehead, cheeks and neck with kisses.
“Couldn’t keep my hands off of you from the moment you cornered me under the bleachers. You were like a drug… your dad was right to worry,” he murmured between slow, passionate kisses that were just slightly sloppy. Joyce felt a pleasant tingle between her legs at the flood of memories, and the delicious sensation of Jim’s beard and greedy lips against her sensitive skin definitely helped.
“Mmm… you were incorrigible, that’s for sure,” she gasped as his icy hands slid up the front of her sleep-shirt, resting against her naked breasts and coaxing her nipples into firm little points. She squirmed as he waxed poetic about how warm she felt.
“Jesus, how are you so cold? Did you forget to wear the glo--” Jim smothered her lecture with his mouth over hers, licking into her with precision as he continued to tease at her breasts.
“Yes. I. Did. What are you going to do about it?” he taunted, pushing her shirt over her head and throwing it to the side. His mouth replaced his hands, lavishing her breasts with kisses as he trailed his hands down her abdomen, bringing them to rest at the waistband of her sleep shorts.
“Oh, I can think of a few things. You’re going to be in some much trouble, Chief. ” Joyce almost snickered when the words fell from her mouth. She had always fantasized about calling him by his title in bed, but for some reason, had always been a bit hesitant and shy. What if he thought it was corny? What if every other woman he had ever been with since returning to Hawkins had already thought to call him that, and he would think she was unoriginal - or worse - think about them when he should be thinking about her. What if he--
“Say that again,” he growled, looking up from her breasts to hit her with an intense, heavy-lidded gaze. He appeared flushed, and absolutely drunk on her, and Joyce realized that perhaps her fears had been misplaced, somewhat. She shifted beneath him, feeling something rock-hard pressing against her thigh.
“Is that the remote?” she asked, knowing full well it wasn’t. He gave her another low growl, close to her ear so the sound sent tremors up and down her spine, and electricity to her center, and shook his head, grinding himself insistently against her thigh.
“Say. It. Again.”
Joyce pressed her lips together to suppress a wicked grin as she glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “You’re going to be in so much trouble,” she cooed.
“Not that,” he muttered lowly, his expression nearly predatory as he leaned low, stopping short of brushing his lips against hers, nipping at her lower lip when she stuck it out in a contemplative pout. “What did you call me?” he brought one hand down to slide up one leg of her shorts, coming to rest on her aching mound. He let out a little gasp at the discovery that she was currently sans panties.
“Oh, I forget - jog my memory?” she teased, before throwing her head back and moaning as his forefinger dipped into her folds and travelled upwards to stroke at her clit. “H-hop…”
“Try again.” His fingers probed into her soaked depths, pumping slowly as she began to rock her hips. “God, you’re wet… say it again.”
“Chief.”
Her utterance caused him to snap. He released her to quickly unbuckle, unbutton and unzip, shoving his khaki trousers down past his hips. Joyce whimpered as he removed her shorts and positioned himself between her legs, teasing at her slit with the tip of his cock. She thanked whatever higher power that the house was empty for the night, and that the blanket they were lying on could easily be washed, before wrapping one leg around his waist and pulling him against her.
Ordinarily, Jim liked to take his time during love-making. They had been apart for decades and now they had all the time in the world, he liked to say. It was not so this time; he thrust into her with hard, erratic strokes, one hand coming up to cup her right breast, squeezing lightly as he moved and grunted against her, wild with need. Joyce slipped her other leg around his waist and lifted her hips, increasing the depth of his thrusts as she climbed closer and closer to the precipice.
“The top cop thing really gets you - ah! Fuck, Hopper, I’m gonna come.” Joyce shuddered and cried out against his neck, biting down as the world crashed around her. He continued moving against her, placing one hand between them to work at her clit as his thrusts lost all sense of rhythm and pace. She knew, as she approached her second climax of the evening, that he was close too.
“Come with me, Chief,” she urged against his ear, tightening herself around the steely length of him. “I’m so close…”
She didn’t quite reach the second peak before he emptied himself inside of her with a shuddering gasp, but he brought her off once more with his fingers, waiting until she cried out his name before collapsing at her side. She chuckled at his caught his breath and stared at her.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he murmured, tracing the love bite on her collarbone. She snorted and swatted his hand away.
“You should be, you animal,” she teased, rolling over so she could burrow her face against his chest.