[The reality is that Jim, now, lives as he always has: bachelor-esque, untidy, careless, definitely selfish. Without Eleven to be an example to, he's sunk back into Jim Hopper, non-dad, single-ish, alone. Sometimes Billy and Eddie tidy up the mess; sometimes Jim lets them, like he thinks they think he needs taking care of.
He doesn't. He doesn't. The cabin is untidy, but it's home. Jim's bed is made, his clothes are put away, and he's only undressed because he started pulling his shirt off the second Stephen said he'd come.
This is how he is when Stephen steps through, like a dream, like a remnant of some other Jim Hopper's life: shirtless, belt half-undone, and his cheeks splotchy red. He doesn't even bother with a hello. There's no time for it, between closing the short distance and taking Stephen by the back of the head to kiss him deep, hard - like he hasn't kissed him in months. ]
[ Stephen's palm finds Jim's neck (so much for no hands), fingers curling to press against the reassuring curve of his spine under skin as he meets him with matching fervor. Free hand spreading wide over his side, digging into the surface softness of him to root him firm at the waist - like there's any risk of him going anywhere - Stephen lets him hear the satisfaction of reunion, lets it spill from his throat and into Jim's mouth, warm and rich and resonant.
Still-damp skin to skin, he only pries himself out of the kiss when his head catches up with his hands. Even then he can't quite bring himself to move them. ]
You're gonna make me ooze on you.
[ Romance isn't dead. Even if Stephen's reluctance to tilt his face more than an inch away from Jim's means he can't see it, the sharp lift of his lop-sided smile can be heard if not felt in the words murmured against the other man's mouth. ]
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He doesn't. He doesn't. The cabin is untidy, but it's home. Jim's bed is made, his clothes are put away, and he's only undressed because he started pulling his shirt off the second Stephen said he'd come.
This is how he is when Stephen steps through, like a dream, like a remnant of some other Jim Hopper's life: shirtless, belt half-undone, and his cheeks splotchy red. He doesn't even bother with a hello. There's no time for it, between closing the short distance and taking Stephen by the back of the head to kiss him deep, hard - like he hasn't kissed him in months. ]
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Still-damp skin to skin, he only pries himself out of the kiss when his head catches up with his hands. Even then he can't quite bring himself to move them. ]
You're gonna make me ooze on you.
[ Romance isn't dead. Even if Stephen's reluctance to tilt his face more than an inch away from Jim's means he can't see it, the sharp lift of his lop-sided smile can be heard if not felt in the words murmured against the other man's mouth. ]