Jopper + 31 ('dont pretend with me!!')
Anon! I just realized I had a few more prompts left over, sitting in my asks! Sorry for the wait but here’s a silly, sexy little bit of drivel for you –
What if Hop didn’t go anywhere at the end of S3? Joyce and Hopper keep their date and start the night off right, skipping straight to the end before it's even begun.
Hopper parks the car in front of Joyce’s house, right on time for their date, and checks his reflection in the rental car rearview for the umpteenth time since he left the police station that afternoon. Smoothing his mustache, he examines week-old war wounds: blue-green bruises hidden behind scruff, and the gash above his eyebrow, which is quickly healing. Pressing the edges of his butterfly bandage back down, Hopper’s just thankful he doesn’t look too disheveled and if anything, looks even more badass now. The collar on the new, less cutting-edge dress shirt he got for this date won’t sit properly, and he fights with it one last time before giving up. Then, taking a deep breath, Hopper steps out of the car and heads toward the house.
Joyce called him earlier that afternoon to let him know that plans had changed. She asked, could he pick her up for dinner around five-thirty, instead of seven? Sure, he said, they wouldn’t need a reservation that early, so he’d cancel the other one when they got there. Yes, their night was about to be cut shorter than expected — hitting up Enzo’s for the early bird special with Hawkin’s senior crowd — but Hop doesn’t mind too much. They’d already postponed once before, since neither felt up to a date so soon after what happened at Starcourt. Regardless of the time, it’s still a date, and he’s more than happy to take what he can get considering how long it took to convince her to go on it. He doesn’t even bother knocking when he gets to the front door. It’s so routine, and the kids are always around, that the door’s practically open all the time anyway. Especially now, smack dab in the middle of summer. He walks inside, none-the-wiser as to what is waiting for him. The curtains are drawn, and only a sliver of late afternoon sun is peeking through, lighting the room like a hazy dream. Candles flicker on the coffee table, alongside a bottle of scotch, two glasses and a bucket of ice. Peggy Lee is playing low on the stereo console. “What are you doing?” Hopper asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth, eyes wide as he focuses in on his date. Joyce is curled up on the couch, waiting for him in the evening shade, wearing nothing but a very slinky, very sheer negligee in a devastating shade of blue. Cigarette smoke drifts and curls around her head like a halo in the sunbeams. Her usual mess of chestnut waves is piled high on her head, revealing the delicate curve of her neck. She’s wearing a shade of red lipstick that he’s never seen on her before. It looks like she’s almost ready for their date, but stopped short of getting fully dressed. Hopper can’t think. Or move, for that matter. He’s also pretty sure he already knows the answer to his question, but he wants Joyce to say it out loud — confirm to him that he wasn’t dreaming.“What does it look like I’m doing?” Joyce’s eyebrows shoot up, amused. She wants to hear him say it first. She puts out her cigarette and stands up to greet Hopper, slowly making her way over in bare feet to where he’s standing, frozen at the front door. Like a cat silently stalking its prey.He gulps.“Joyce,” he warns her, voice low. Does she really want to take it this fast?His tone gives her pause in her approach. She shrugs and glances down at herself and then back to him with a come-hither stare, and it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen her do. “The kids headed out for the afternoon,” she explains, “but they’ll be back by the time we get home from our date.” That last word slips off her tongue deliberately, with a smirk, watching for his reaction as he clues in.Hopper’s mouth drops slightly, dumbfounded by what is happening here. Sure, they’d hooked up before when they were both young and dumb, but it was never anything serious — not anything remotely like this, with so much on the line. He thought for sure he would have to wait a while longer before he got to see lingerie.She’s standing less than a foot away now, and he stares her down like he’s a snake charmer and she’s the cobra— though it feels more like she’s the one doing all the charming. Hopper’s eyes are drawn to her painted lips as they part; she’s working up the courage to say something.
It’s so unlike Joyce to be this forward, chasing after him, instead of the other way around. He’s never been more turned on in his life.
Hopper gets a whiff of her perfume then. Vanilla and spice and some fucking flower he’s probably never heard of, and it makes his heart race. Joyce leans in and tilts her head up towards him, close enough that they could kiss, and all the blood in his body heads south. She starts swaying softly to the music, and he follows her step, letting her take the lead. She wraps her hands up in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him tight to her body. His hands find her hips, and he’s instantly aching for her. “I just thought we could start the night off with dessert first,” she says, a shy grin teasing at the corner of her lips, “since we have the place to ourselves.”“Joyce,” he says her name again, but it was less of a warning this time and more of an attempt to get a grip on reality. This couldn’t really be happening. Could it? “Jim. Don’t pretend with me.” She teases, standing on her tip-toes to sink into him further. Her lips brush against his, and he moans. “We’re both adults,” she says, “We both know what we want. Murray’s right… it’s time to stop dancing around each other.”
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