Work Text:
Your cheek comes to rest against Hopper's chest, your arms loop around his neck, your body touches his all the way down. His thigh slightly parting yours adds just the tiniest hint of impropriety, but his hands sit respectfully at your waist. As you start to sway slowly to the music, his fingers splay across your back instead, pressing you closer still.
He smells so good, top notes of laundry detergent from his perfectly pressed shirt giving way to the more familiar scents that always mean Jim to you: fading cologne, the fresh damp aroma of the woods, a hint of tobacco. The same fragrance that fills your nostrils when you press your face into his neck when he's above you, inside you, and you're gasping for breath through waves of pleasure.
His body feels solid against yours, a wall of protection. When you're in his arms, you know nothing could ever hurt you; he's your place of safety. And yet for all that he can be tough, that he stands strong against danger, he's also capable of being so gentle. His tender caresses, the finesse with which he handles your body, the way he holds you in your sleep - never too tight but close enough to make you feel cherished.
His voice is low as he hums along to the music, sometimes singing a few words, and you feel the rumble of it vibrating through his chest under your cheek. You think of him singing in the shower and smile against his shirt. Then you think of him murmuring to you in bed, when he's drawing pleasure from your body, telling you how good you feel, how good you make him feel, whispering dirty words and sweet nothings.
Maybe Hopper's thinking along the same lines, because he draws you even closer, wrapping his arms around you as you continue to move minutely to the music. He drops his head to kiss the top of yours, and you shift slightly, tilting your face up to look at him.
"How long is this song?" He asks, his lips barely moving as the faint whisper of his question reaches your ears alone.
"Not much longer." You reply, unable to suppress a smile. "Bored?"
He leans down and plants the softest kiss on your lips before answering. "Itching to get you out of that dress."
You blush, biting your lip a little as you try not to laugh, "There might be a tiny problem with that, Chief."
Hopper takes his eyes off yours just long enough to glance around at the circle of friends and family gathered around the dance floor, at the five tiered cake waiting to be cut, and at the clock that says you're both hours from freedom.
Then he grins down at you, "Until later, then, Mrs Hopper." And he kisses you once again as the song comes to an end.