Chapter Text
Sleep had just about won her over as the pink sky of dawn broke over the lonely cabin overlooking the Pacific.
Joyce tossed and turned, limbs twitching with lingering adrenaline, still coming down from the rush she'd been riding since she'd left California. Almost a week had gone by since she’d said goodbye to the kids with a vague excuse for her absence. Her mission was finally complete. She didn't have to panic anymore. Her body was still in fight or flight though, so she had forced herself to fall asleep with a mantra of sorts...
Hopper was alive. He was right next to her. Everything's okay. As okay as could be expected for them, anyway.
It was on the escape when things went to hell in a handbasket.
During the melee between prisoners, guards and demogorgons, Dmitri was shot – though none of them knew – and he'd been slowly bleeding out on their way to the hideout at the church. He managed to keep it together, pushing through the pain long enough to lead them through the Russian wilderness, but by the time they got him back to his home in the village, he was barely conscious.
Dmitri’s wife was stunned at the sight of him bleeding out on their kitchen floor, and Murray was… well, he was Murray. Hopper couldn't move – still in shock from the events of the last few days. Even if he tried to help, he didn’t know how to fix it, make it right. Joyce held onto Hopper, trying not to hide her face in his chest, trying to face the repercussions of their actions as they all watched Dmitri take his last breath. There was nothing more they could do for him except be there as it happened, as he made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure their safe escape.
Joyce didn’t want to say anything, but it seemed like they had some terrible luck with making new Russian friends.
The next morning, at the very last minute, Murray decided to stay to help Dmitri’s small family and sell off what was left of Yuri’s stash to the townsfolk and neighboring villages. That left Joyce and Hopper to find their own way home, alone.
Over the crackling lines of a long-long-distance call from an old soviet phone booth outside of Dimitri's apartment block, they called California, only to discover the Byers’ phone line was still tied up, oddly enough. But with the last of the rubles they could scrounge up, Joyce was able to connect with Karen, all the way back in Hawkins, who confirmed she’d heard from the kids before the line cut out. In that moment, the little bit of information she’d gleaned from the quick phone call had been a lifeline for Joyce, helping ease her worries.
After feeding Karen a silly alibi, she hung up, and in an effort not to rush anymore, decided they would take things slow and pick their way back home.
Their scheduled plane ride back to Nome was clearly out of the question, especially with the pilot dead and their funds missing in action. The KGB might as well be looking for them now, so they needed to fly under the radar. Suddenly, it felt like everyone was watching them. Their rough and tumble appearance certainly didn’t help any.
Hopper suggested they could catch a plane or charter a boat back to Alaska, and then jump on a ferry to get to Anchorage. Rent a vehicle to drive them back down the coast, through Canada, home to California. Slow and steady.
From where they stood now, at the edge of the world, Hawkins seemed a lifetime away.
After Dmitri was in the ground, the main priorities were food… shelter… sleep . The morning after that, Murray and Dimitri's wife saw them off at the harbor with a clean change of clothes, some spare American cash and a small supply of food. It didn't take long until they were enroute back to America across the Bering Strait. They were dropped off without much fanfare at the first small island with inhabitants they came across. At the one and only bar in town, a local welcomed them to his neck of the woods with open arms and a bottle of his best hooch, offering up his cabin to rent for the night.
At the foot of a decommissioned lighthouse, the old cabin was a one-room shack on the bluffs with an endless hazy blue view of the ocean. It came with all the bare essentials and not much else. But it was just a place to get a good night's sleep or two and make a plan to get to Anchorage in the coming days.
The sun was setting by the time they got to the cabin and settled in. As the warmth of the day left them, Joyce tidied up the place and made the bed, while Hopper made a fire in the wood stove. By the light of a few old oil lamps, they shared the moonshine, some rations Murray gave them from Yuri's stash, and a cigarette or two over promises to quit. It was only their first night on the road alone, and the pair didn't quite know what to do with themselves, so they sat in near-perfect silence, save for the occasional contented remark.
There was nothing they needed to say, nothing more to talk about. He didn't need to know what else had happened in Hawkins or California when he was gone, and she didn't want to know what happened to him in the prison. Not yet, anyway.
Sometime after midnight, they ended up sharing the only bed, Joyce in his tee-shirt, Hopper in his boxers. He looked at her across the blanket like he was the luckiest man alive. After surviving an explosion, torture by the KGB and a gulag, he was definitely in the running as far as Joyce was concerned.
Then out of nowhere, he kissed her again. Just like in front of the screens at the prison, he took her trembling breath away and made her realize why she’d fought so hard. For this exact moment. Hopper told her he was sorry -- it wasn't the right decision, but he thought it was at the time. Everything that happened after the keys turned… It was his fault. Not hers.
Joyce quieted him with her own kiss, passionate but meandering at the same time, wet with her tears. They fell asleep quickly, wrapped up in the comfort of each other, knowing the real-life nightmares were behind them now.
A few hours later, the pink sky was giving way to an endless blue. Songbirds chirped a cheery tune and flitted along the windowsill. The creek next door slowly started to wake with the sun. Ice jams melted, and water flowed down the meandering bluffs, out to the inlet and the vast blues and greens of the ocean beyond. There was still a fair amount of snow on the ground this far north in the islands, but spring’s first kiss was certainly in the salted air.
In between fitful sleep and blissful dreams, Joyce blinked blearily at her surroundings, giving a start when she didn't recognize them at first. The cabin looked different in the daylight and she'd forgotten where she was for a moment. Hopper must have sensed she was awake or felt the quickening of her heartbeat, for a chiseled arm reached out to pull her back in, beckoning her back to dreamland.
She could tell Hopper was still deep asleep though, because of the slow, steady breaths, punctuated by the occasional whimper he released every now and then. But although he might've been asleep, one part of him was definitely up and awake. Pressing into the small of her back.
It'd been so long since she'd been with someone and she knew that was the case for him too. When they left things last summer, it had already been months, almost a year for her. Now she could feel the energy coming off him and in the last thirty six hours since the rescue it only had intensified. It was practically electric.
Free from his prison, Hopper was feral now -- untamed and uncaged. Even in his sleep, she could tell that he wanted her badly. There was no doubt in her mind what they were leading up to. The question was, who would be the first to make a move?
Joyce tried her best not to stir; she didn't want to disturb him if he was in a deep sleep. But she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't want to wake him up, roll on top and let the pent-up everything out. She'd work up the nerve to tell him she loved him and didn't want to lose him again. That she wanted him, this, and a family too. God, it felt like she'd been waiting forever to get to this point where she felt confident enough to say these things to him. Patience was a virtue but neither of them had ever really been that virtuous to begin with.
It was hard to ignore the warmth spreading between her thighs now; the throbbing pulse low in her belly and the near-constant ache inside her. It'd been so, so long, and he was all she wanted that whole time.
His morning wood pushed against the top of her ass now. He was rock hard, and if she wiggled just right, he'd be between her thighs, halfway to heaven. But there was still something in the way, only one last layer keeping them apart.
Joyce bit back an impatient whine and resisted the urge to press against him. She tried to remind herself that it was too soon. He'd been through something traumatic, and even though their relationship had taken on some new and fast developments in the last twenty four hours, they would still have to take things slow in the bedroom department if they were going to do this right...
Despite her lust growing inside, Joyce felt the weight of sleep pull her back, and all it took was one tiny wiggle as she snuggled deeper into Hopper's embrace and her eyes fluttered shut. At the same time she nestled into the crook of his elbow, he seemed to wake, and pulled her hips into him in one swift movement. It was a forceful motion. Possessive. The outline of his cock slipped down between her thighs and rested taut against her mound. She reacted to the sensation instinctively, instantly pulsing her hips; it's what she wanted.
He slowly thrust against her, evidently wanting the same.
Nuzzling her neck, he was still breathing steadily, though heavy now. Lips brushed against the soft skin behind her ear as his hand found hers against the mattress where fingers intertwined. She wrapped the weight of him around her tiny frame. Bringing him closer, tighter.
Hopper was still sleeping... Or was he? He let out another soft whimper and she couldn't really tell. But she could feel his heartbeat in his chest pressed against her back, pacing hers.
"It's okay, Jim," she whispered, mumbling the words against the back of his hand, letting her lips brush softly against his fingers.
She was half awake but fully aware of what was about to happen, and she wanted him to be awake for it too.
He grunted his reply and then moaned, his cock straining against her damp cotton panties. Joyce matched his moan and rubbed herself against him, feeling like they were seventeen again, fooling around in their friend’s basement after a party. It didn't take long before she decided she wanted something more than just second base. As if he heard her thoughts, his hand moved up her hip and around to pull his underwear down and then hers too, the elastic snapping with his fervent tug.
Hopper wasted no time then. He slipped inside of her easily; didn't even need directions. Hopper's thick cock was so hard she could feel his pulse inside her as he pushed himself to the hilt. Then he stilled, and Joyce briefly wondered if he'd fallen back asleep again… until he slowly started moving inside of her. Achingly slow. He knew it had been a while for her too.
Her body was on fire and she savored the feeling of having him inside her, wrapped up in him, protected again. When her walls stopped fluttering around his girth, she gently gave the go-ahead with her hips, guiding him even deeper. That was all the invitation Hopper needed. He began to thrust, slow at first, but picked up the pace as her warm wetness spread between her thighs.
Hopper grunted against the throbbing, slick rhythm they shared. It was a needful sound. Wanting. Visceral. Hands roamed up under the tee-shirt to cup her bare breasts, where he squeezed and pinched at taut nipples to make her swivel her hips against him even more. His whimpers had turned to grunts and even long, lustful moans, and he kissed the nape of her neck. Joyce helped him along, moaning herself and writhing against him, knowing he was close and that they'd need to get this first one out of the way for him if she wanted a chance at her own climax. There was no need to rush anyway. It wasn't a race anymore.
Buried deep within the next few pumps, Hopper held Joyce closer still. He pressed his big hands against her, under her belly button, as he emptied himself inside her. She squeezed herself around him, milking every last drop he could give, and had to resist the urge to touch herself. It would be explosive the next time he touched her, which wouldn't be long from now. Once he got a good night's rest, and her too – oh boy, there was going to be a marathon.
She had been kidding herself before.
There was no right way to go about it. Too much had happened between them over the last few years for it not to go down like this.
Hopper left a long lingering kiss on the top of her head, breathing her in completely. Then he sighed and murmured her name and fell back into his deep sleep.
In between early morning dreams, Joyce didn't worry anymore about life or death, or consequences. They might've shared a past, unimaginable trauma, but she knew now that there was never any promise of a future. All they really had was right now. Then and there.
Somehow, it made her calm for the first time in a long while. Being in his arms. Feeling him breathing. He was okay. They were okay. Right now that was all that mattered.
Eight months ago, she was so sure she'd lost him forever. And now, here they were – living proof of miracles and surviving nightmares.
Joyce took a deep, slow breath and settled back into her pillow. Brushing her hair out of her face, she kissed his arm with him still inside her, perfect and messy and tangled up in each other as the embers in the fireplace died and a new day began.