"Pull over. Tear off those clothes! And get it over with already!"

Murray's words hung in the thick, summer air. His outburst had only lasted a few seconds, but it had the effect of a mini-explosion. Suddenly, the car was silent, with only the sound of the tires on the road breaking through the awkward quiet.

Hopper kept driving for a few miles, listening to Murray and Alexei snickering quietly in the backseat. He didn't need to speak Russian to understand they were twittering about him and Joyce like a couple of schoolboys.

Fuck this.

The words rang out in his head.

Murray's an asshole. A presumptuous asshole. What could possibly make him think I have sexual feelings for Joyce? It's bullshit.

In Hopper's mind, the logic was perfect. But other parts of him disagreed. He shifted in the driver's seat, trying to ease the sudden tightness in his jeans without drawing any attention to the growing problem. Thankfully, Joyce was staring defiantly out the opposite side of the car. Her messy hair fluttered in the warm breeze, and her mouth was pursed in an angry pout.

Too late, he realized he should've kept his eyes on the road. Like a film reel running too fast, images flashed in his mind:

Joyce's face wearing that sexy smirk. Wide, innocent eyes holding him still while her hands easily undid his belt. Her mouth. Her tongue. Her smooth skin under him as he…

Hopper shook his head. Trying to focus only on the road ahead. He was painfully hard, and with Angry Joyce next to him and Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber in the backseat, he couldn't even make an effective adjustment.

Another minute passed on the dark, tree lined road. Another round of muffled laughter echoed from the backseat.

Hopper glanced over at Joyce again. She turned, giving him a quick glance before looking away. Then, she turned back, meeting his eyes before letting her gaze fall to his lap. When their eyes met again, he knew he'd been outed. Even denim couldn't hide his arousal. Not when her eyes suddenly turned hungry, sending the rest of the blood in his brain straight to his aching cock.

"What the fuck?"

Murray's expletive broke the silence as Hopper suddenly pulled the convertible to the side of the road. Throwing open the door, he headed straight to the passenger side and pulled that door open.

Holding out his hand, he asked, "Joyce?"

She looked up at him, doe-eyed and fucking beautiful. Hopper didn't say anything else, but his eyes must've conveyed enough. She licked her lips and gave the smallest nod. He seized her hand and pulled her from the car.

"Where the hell are you going?"

Murray's question went unanswered as Hopper pulled Joyce into the woods. For a second, he considered whether coyotes, bears, or a serial killer should be on his radar. But he just couldn't care. Hopper kept walking, still holding Joyce's hand as she nearly ran to keep up with him on her much shorter legs.

When they were far enough away that the car was no longer visible, he surveyed the area. Fixing on a large outcropping of rock a few yards away, Hopper pulled Joyce to it. The moon was bright enough that it cast shadows across the ground, the trees becoming long, shadowy fingers pointing them toward the rocks.

Hopper stopped and turned to face Joyce. She was breathing heavily and her hair was wild around her face, but her eyes were focused on him.

She has "fuck me" eyes.

He'd read the phrase in a Harlequin novel he'd stolen from his mother's nightstand when he was thirteen. Hopper had never understood it until now. Joyce's eyes always gave her away. Anger. Sadness. Fear. It was always in her eyes. And now, her eyes said, "fuck me."

She came towards him and he crashed into her, fisting his hands into her hair and stooping low to kiss her already open mouth. She tasted like wintergreen gum and strawberry slurpee–the sum total of their food for the day. He probably tasted like cigarettes and slim jims, but she didn't seem to give one single fuck. Her hands gripped his neck and her tongue drew soft moans from the depths of him.

"Joyce…" He tried to speak, but she silenced him by kissing down his neck, pulling apart the buttons on his shirt to give her better access.

Hopper slid his hands under her t-shirt, nearly coming undone at the feeling of her soft skin under his rough hands. She easily untied the shirt from her waist and dropped it as he found her breasts, surprised at their fullness. But that was Joyce. Always another layer, another surprise underneath the baggy, shaggy, frazzled mom facade.

While he was focused on her breasts, Joyce quickly undid his belt and the button of his pants. Hopper trailed sloppy kisses to her collarbone as he did the same, pushing her jeans down as he pushed her gently toward the moonlit rocks. She gave a little squeak as her backside bumped the cool surface, but her surprise quickly turned to understanding. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, Joyce allowed him to lift her up and press her against the rock. She hooked her legs around his hips, and the rock gave her just enough support that she could lean back slightly. She pulled him down and kissed him hungrily as he finally freed himself from the torturous denim jeans. With one easy thrust he was finally buried inside her, and, for a moment, they were still.

Joyce pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes full of lust and love and open need. Hopper was sure his face gave him away, too. Murray was right. They'd both wanted this for a long time. He wanted to fuck her senseless. But he also knew there was so much more on the other side of it.

I love you. I've always loved you.

Hopper wanted to tell her, but the words were stuck, held back by the fear he tried to chase away with every vice available. So he moved against her instead, rocking his hips and thrilling at how she gasped and closed her eyes.

Someday, he wanted to lay her out on clean sheets and kiss every inch of her skin. He wanted to map her body with his hands, learn every soft curve, every mark and scar. To know her like no one else ever would. To appreciate her like no one ever had. But tonight, Murray and Alexei were waiting. So he settled for a satisfying fuck.

Watching her face, Hopper increased his pace, feeling her body tense and twitch as she dropped her head back and whimpered. She must've been wound as tight as he was in the car, because it wasn't long before she murmured, "Hop…I'm…"

He knew what she meant. He was, too. Hopper could feel the pressure building, that glorious ache making him thrust harder, chasing release. Joyce pulled closer to him, pressing against his chest as she carelessly kissed him, moving from his mouth to his neck and then back.

"Hop…" She clung to him, and his name came out like a cry, as though she was a little afraid of how hard this was going to hit.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against him as he finally came undone. Joyce clutched him just as tightly, riding it out like they were clinging to each other in a raging sea. Hopper came so hard he couldn't breathe, his body jerking and his legs threatening to give way.

Joyce followed, and as her body pulsed around him, she cried out, "Oh…fuck!"

It was possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. Opening his eyes, he looked at her. She was trembling, with her lips kiss-swollen and looking at him like she'd never known it could be this good.

"Hopper…"

God he loved hearing his name on her lips.

"Hopper?"

He just wanted to stay in the moment forever.

"Hopper!"

Her shrill tone broke his blissful daydream. He was back in the car again, and Joyce was looking at him like she wanted to punch him.

"You missed the turn!" She didn't say it, but her face clearly asked, "What the fuck?"

Hopper shook his head and mumbled, "Sorry."

What could he say? I was thinking about fucking you in the woods. Murray's right. I think it would be the best sex either of us has ever had?

Nope. He couldn't say that.

Turning the car around, Hopper mourned the interruption of such a perfect fantasy. His only hope was that, after all this Russian shit was over, he might finally have the courage to tell Joyce how right Murray was. But, for now, he adjusted his jeans again and vowed to think about his grandmother for the rest of the ride into Hawkins.

Let me know what you think. ;-)