[LEWD] No Pussy, No Problem

Freddy Fazbear's kitchen was always loud no matter the time of day. The commotion inside acted as background noise for the animatronics' performances; the crashing of silverware and beeping of ovens competed with the screams of happy children; the yelling of cooks and servers was loud enough to drown out any complaints from unhappy parents. Distracting at the best of times and downright impossible to ignore at the worst, the kitchen was especially audible at night. The silence of the night shift meant that the clanging of pots and pans echoed eerily down the halls, even getting carried all the way to the security office.

Unlike most nights, however, Mike wasn't listening to the sounds of a busy kitchen from his cramped office. Instead, he was stuck right in the midst of it.

"Hey Chica," Mike said, giving his tired forearms a much-needed break from kneading dough. "Can you remind me why I'm helping you with this?"

Chica perked her head up to look at Mike from across the room. "Sorry, Mike. What was that?" The animatronic had to speak up to be heard over the utensils and machinery of the kitchen. Unlike Mike, who had so far only managed to prepare three pizzas, Chica was in the middle of juggling a half-dozen at various stages of completion.

The security guard sighed and smacked his hands free of as much flour as he could. "Never mind," he said, half-shouting. Chica gave him a thumbs up in response before returning to her carefully measured sauce pouring. Mike grabbed the rolling pin that he already felt too-familiar with and got back to work.

A part of himself wondered what it was that had made him say yes when Chica came knocking on his door. With Foxy finally shipped off to get repaired and Bonnie stuck backstage after an unfortunate accident involving some parents with a little too much to drink, Freddy had swung by personally at the start of the night shift to let Mike know that the usual game was off for the night. Of course, that didn't mean that Mike wasn't keeping a close watch on the cameras and a trigger finger on the door panels just in case. However, the two remaining animatronics had kept their promise and left him mostly alone for the night.

When Chica showed up to the office, she was greeted the same as she was every time: with a door to the face. Her pleas to help prepare for several massive party bookings should have fell on deaf ears, but they didn't. Maybe it was because Mike's night was going far more boring than he was expecting. Sure, boring meant safe and he should be happy about it, but even as a child he'd always hated being bored. Considering how talkative and friendly Chica had been all night, it looked like she was bored as well without Bonnie to hang out with.

Dough rolled out and more-or-less pizza shaped, Mike ladled some sauce on top of it and sprinkled some cheese before stepping back to admire his work. It wasn't pretty, but it was prettier than his last attempt and that was enough to make Mike oddly proud. He walked across the kitchen to hand his finished product over to Chica, just in time for her to finish a pizza of her own. "Did somebody order a medium cheese pizza?"

"That would be me," Chica said, smiling warmly. She took the pizza from Mike's hands and slid it into the oven before clapping his shoulder. "Thanks, Mike."

Then again, Mike thought as he ambled back to his side of the kitchen, maybe he hadn't agreed just because he was bored. Maybe he'd agreed for the same reason he had kept coming back night after night. Deep down, he really liked Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. As a child he'd hated being bored, and nothing was more exciting to him than seeing the animatronics perform. Sure, they'd looked a bit different back then, but even now those genuine feelings of enjoyment resonated with him.

And his favorite had always been Chica.

Pizza number four was done in half the time it had taken the previous one, and it looked twice as pizza-y. Mike gave himself a mental pat on the back when he gave the pizza to Chica to stick into the oven.

"Maybe if this whole night guard thing doesn't work out I could give pizza chef a try," he joked.

Chica hummed back at him. "Maybe. 'Course, if you stayed working the night shift you could keep helping me out here in the kitchen."

Mike walked back to his slice of the kitchen with an exaggerated swagger. "I don't know," he called back over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want to put you out of work, after all."

The surprised laugh Chica gave in response felt like a personal victory to Mike, and when he peeked at her after arriving back to his station he saw her still chuckling and shaking her head.

The next pizza, a large with extra sausage, was accepted graciously, and rather than leave Mike empty-handed for it Chica decided to give him something in return.

A challenge.

"It's simple, Mike. You don't hafta make more pizzas than me or anything. You just need to make one that's better. A pizza so good that you really would put me outta work."

"Really, Chica?" Mike asked skeptically. "You expect me to accept something like that? I'm new at this and you're literally a cooking machine."

Chica snorted. "I'm workin' with a handicap here, Mike. I've got five times as many pizzas as you that I'm juggling." Chica leaned in close to Mike. "What's the matter? Are you chicken?"

"That was painful," Mike said deadpan. "I'll accept, I guess. What does the winner get?"

Chica feigned tapping her beak in thought. "Hmm. I wonder. How's about this: The loser has to do any one thing that the winner says. How about that?"

Mike arched an eyebrow. "You're on."

With that, Mike returned and made his preparations, His mind drifted to what he could ask of her as he kneaded his dough. No more worrying about Chica during the night shift was an attractive idea. As much fun as he was having, the reality of Chica being a murderous animatronic weighed on the back of his mind. Sure, none of them even tried all that hard anymore because Mike had been there for so long -- Bonnie and Chica only occasionally wandered his way nowadays and once he'd even been caught by Freddy a few minutes before his shift ended only to have the bear let him go because it was "... too much trouble to try and force you into a suit before six." -- but getting to disregard the right hall entirely for the first half of the week sounded great.

Unbidden, Mike's eyes drifted over to the animatronic plaguing his thoughts. Chica was working with as much efficiency as always. There was a certain amount of grace to every move she made, and as the chicken strutted from oven to oven Mike couldn't help but stare at her. His eyes traced up her legs, past her stomach, pausing momentarily at the very slight curvature present under her bib before arriving at her face.

Mike coughed and turned back to his dough. Alright, maybe Chica hadn't been his favorite for entirely pure reasons.

Uncomfortable memories from middle school aside, Mike was prepared give it his all on the pizza he was working on. Rolling it out to as perfect a circle as he could, the guard concentrated on creating a pizza that would really knock Chica's costumed feet off. And maybe, when he won, he could decide on what he could order her to do. After all, her visiting him a couple times every night wasn't so bad now that he thought about it...

By the time Mike was satisfied with his pizza he'd gone through enough dough to make three of them. Chica, meanwhile, had made a dozen. Proud of what was in his eyes a perfect pie, Mike walked up and smirked at Chica. "Here you go, Chica. The greatest pizza you've ever seen."

Chica looked up at Mike. "Ah, perfect timing." Maintaining eye contact, the animatronic reached behind her and pulled out her own finished product. "I whipped this bad boy up on the side while making the others." Both pizzas went into the oven at the same time, and mere minutes later they were both done.

It was Mike's overwhelming defeat.

"Well, my pupil. It was a good effort, but the master still has some tricks up her sleeves," Chica said sagely, patting Mike on the back.

"...don't even have sleeves," Mike grumbled to himself. Chica tried to hold back some chuckles. "So, what do you want me to do?"

"How about I tell ya after we're done?" Mike nodded and went to walk back across the kitchen, only to get stopped by a large hand on his shoulder. "Ah, ah, ah. Why don't you work here next to me? We've only got a few pizzas to go before we're finished, and you've gotten the hang of making 'em so now we don't hafta worry about you getting in the way anymore."

"Yeah, sure. Rub it in.".

The two worked side-by-side in unison. Every so often their hands would touch, or Chica would playfully bump her hips into Mike's side, or Mike would find himself hypnotized by the sound of Chica happily humming a song as she worked. Every time the guard would get flustered and shake his head to try to get back to work.

Chica's voiced stirred Mike from some shameful daydreams. "Wow Mike. You sure are packing a lot of sausage, huh?"

Heat flared in Mike's cheeks. "Wh-what?"

Chica nudged Mike's wrist, causing him to look down and blanch. As much as he liked sausage on pizzas, the amount he'd absentmindedly put onto the pizza in front of him was absolutely heart attack inducing. Mike shot Chica an embarrassed smile and worked on salvaging as much sausage as he could.

A few minutes later Mike was lost in fantasy again, and once more Chica interrupted it.

"Hey. Gimme some of your white sauce."

Mike kept most of his composure this time as he handed Chica the jar of sauce next to him. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

The animatronic next to him looked up, confusion evident on her face. "Whaddya mean, Mike?"

Mike took a deep breath and exhaled. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Both cooks found a steady rhythm to work in after that. It wasn't much longer before they were finished, leaving Mike feeling satisfied at a job well done for the first time in his tenure at Freddy Fazbear's. He dusted his hands off on his pants, creating a large cloud of flour in the process, and made to bid Chica a good night. A hand grabbing his wrist stopped him in his tracks.

"Hold on, Mike," Chica said sweetly. "I won our little bet, remember? Aren't you curious what I'm gonna order you to do?" Mike had a few ideas, most of which he'd never say out loud in a children's restaurant, but he swallowed them all down when Chica tugged him into her grasp.

Chica's finger meandered up Mike's chest. "I want..." The finger traced up past Mike's lips to press against the tip of his nose. "You..." Chica pulled Mike closer, until Mike could hear the gentle hisses of air that escaped from Chica's hydraulics with every movement. "To..."

Mike gulped.

"Help me clean up!" Chica finished brightly, throwing both arms into the air.

Mike was dumbfounded. "What? That's it?"

"Of course it is," Chica replied.

"I-I would've done that if you had just asked. You didn't need to order me. Besides, what was all..." Mike gestured wildly, his hands at as much a loss for words as his mouth was. "All that?" Mike finished lamely.

Chica shrugged. "I dunno. Dragging it out for suspense?"

Now that he was looking at it, the kitchen really was a mess. Mike grimaced at the sight of cutlery lying in piles, numerous pots and pans stacked almost to the ceiling, and small puddles of spilled sauce lying on nearly every surface, but he put on a brave face and got to work. The pizzas were put away in a fridge, the flour was wiped up, and the kitchenware was washed. A comfortable silence blanketed man and animatronic, the soft sounds of running water and clinking utensils providing a pleasant contrast to the earlier cacophony of a hectic kitchen.

"Hey, Mike."

The guard in question hummed questioningly, eyes focused on some dried sauce which was stubbornly sticking to wooden spoon in his hands.

"Thanks again for the help."

Mike looked up and flashed a small grin Chica’s direction. The animatronic had her arms full of kitchenware and she wasbustling from cupboard to cupboard putting them all away in their proper places. "It wasn't any problem Chica, believe me. I'd rather be in here doing something than sitting on my ass in the office counting ceiling tiles for the fourth time tonight."

"That boring, huh?"

"Yeah, but this was pretty fun. It was nice to cook some of the signature Fazbear pizzas rather than eat them for once."

Chica spoke up, her muffled voice floating out of the cabinet her head was buried in. “You eat the pizzas from here, huh? What, do ya grab a slice on the way out aftah work or somethin’?”

"Nah," Mike rolled his shoulders. "Not anymore, at least. I used to all the time when I was a kid, though."

Chica straightened up, fumbling some of the kitchenware in her hands. "You used to come here as a kid?"

Mike blinked at the strangely excited tone of Chica's voice. "Err, yeah. A lot of children my age did." Mike scratched his nose, suddenly embarrassed. "Well, maybe not quite as often as me. I was here every weekend."

A gleam became apparent in Chica’s eyes. "If you were here that often then you must've had a favorite, right?"

"I-I mean, I guess. Maybe? It's been a while so I'm not sure."

Chica was not deterred. "I'm sure if you give it some thought you could remember.

"Well, all of you guys were really cool, like Foxy with his pirate shtick or the way Freddy would-"

A cough and a crash of metal interrupted Mike’s rambling response before it could even begin as Chica unceremoniously dumped everything left in her arms into a single cabinet. Mike winced and nervously bit his lower lip at the heavy weight of Chica’s expectant gaze.

Mike opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, shook his head, steeled his nerves, and then took the plunge. "It was you."

It was a quiet response, almost a whisper, but Chica nonetheless reacted loudly enough to make up for it. Her surprised squeal of excitement was still echoing in Mike's ears when Chica leapt across the room to stand in front of Mike. Bouncing on her toes and so excited that she couldn't quite figure out what to do with her hands, Chica bombarded Mike with questions. "Was I really your favorite?" was followed by "How long ago did you come here? Maybe I remember you!", then "Really? Me? Not Bonnie or Freddy?" and an avalanche of other questions.

Chica poked and prodded at Mike for the rest of the clean-up after that. Although the way she bounced from topic to topic left Mike feeling dizzy at first, he soon fell into Chica’s pace. Reminiscing about the past was obvious. It turned out Chica did, in fact, remember Mike – more specifically, one of Mike’s birthday parties there which had ended disastrously and yet had left everybody smiling in the end.

Of course, Mike remembered more than Chica did. After all, every day he’d gone to Freddy’s was a great one, but for Chica it had just been Friday. After being reminded of some of their old performances, it turned out that Chica still had a few of the files for them stored in her electronic brain. A few rousing renditions of Fazbear classics – to which Chica strictly enforced audience participation – was enough to leave Mike feeling a bit rattled.

It was then that Chica asked the question.

“So what woulda you had me do if you’d won our bet?”

Still mentally off-balanced – physically as well, what with how Chica had slung an arm over his shoulder and bumped him around – Mike’s answer slipped out before he could stop it.

“Probably something perverted, I guess.”

Mike slapped a hand over his mouth, but the damage had already been done. Face burning, he turned to face Chica only to see her looking back at him confused.

“Perverted?”

Mike cleared his throat. “Ahh, yeah. Maybe.”

Chica tiled her head to one side. “Sorry to break it to ya, Mike, but I got no clue what that means.”

“Like, you know…” Mike refused to meet Chica’s eyes. “Sorta like sex, I guess…”

Chica’s only response was a baffled cluck.

Never before had Mike wanted the ground to swallow him up as much as he did at that moment. “You know what, just forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

Chica put her hands on Mike’s shoulders. “Nuh-uh. If it mattered enough for you to think about havin’ me do it, then it matters enough for you to explain.”

“Oh my god, I am not having this conversation.”

Chica shook Mike’s shoulders. “Explain to me what sex is, Mike!”

One conversation which was far too long in Mike’s opinion – that opinion being “anything more than zero words” – and Chica sitting in a chair in contemplation while Mike stood next to her with his head in his hands. Giving an animatronic “The Talk” was the most embarrassing and uncomfortable experience he’d had since getting it himself from his parents some years prior.

“So…” Chica spoke up from next to Mike. Mike angled his head towards her to show that he was listening even as he continued cradling his head. “People do the sex when they like each other and cuz it feels good, right?”

“… and to make kids, but basically. Yeah,” Mike muttered back to her.

Chica nodded. “Alright, then. Hey Mike, let’s have sex.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, ‘Hey Mike, let’s-‘”

Mike frantically waved his hands. “No, no, I heard you! But Chica, that’s not really something we should do.”

“Aww, c’mon Mike. Don’t be a spoilsport. It’ll make you happy, and anything that makes you happy makes me happy too!”

“But-“

“Hush you, no buts.” Chica stood up, cradled Mike’s head in her hands, and gave him a peck on the cheek. Then she gently led him to one of the kitchen’s many tables, which she leaned back against before pulling Mike in between her legs and embracing him. “I still dunno much about this,” she whispered in his ears, “so you just do whatever you want. Trust your instincts and do it if it feels good, alright?”

That broke the last of Mike’s willpower.

The guard reached up with a slightly trembling hand to caress Chica’s cheek. When the animatronic leaned into it he closed the short distance between their faces to plant a kiss on her beak. Mike was something of a romantic at heart. Sure, they could get right into the main event, but he wanted to do it properly, and that meant building up to it a bit. If that also meant that it gave Mike a chance to calm his nerves, then all the better.

Chica’s beak was surprisingly warm and pliant against his lips. He’d never mistake it for a pair of lips, but that was fine. It felt like Chica, and that was good enough for him. When Mike parted his lips and let his tongue brush against Chica’s beak he found that it tasted like her, too, with vague hints of garlic and tomato.

The hand cradling Chica’s cheek trailed down to her back, where it played with the knot keeping her bib in place. Mike’s other hand, meanwhile, came up to squeeze Chica’s. The animatronic responded in kind, gently squeezing his hand back before intertwining her fingers with his.

Mike pulled back from the kiss and opened his eyes, unsure of when he’d closed them. Chica was staring back at him with lidded eyes.

“Ya know, Mike,” she said softly, “I think I get why people like this sorta stuff.”

Now feeling a touch more confident, Mike leaned in for another kiss. Chica participated more actively this time, taking cues from Mike and parting her beak. Mike’s tongue slipped inside, where it met with Chica’s. The animatronic’s tongue was flat and much larger than his, but much less dexterous, so the two busied themselves with a playful battle in Chica’s mouth.

The hand playing with Chica’s bib grew more insistent, and his fingers tugged and picked at the knot holding it in place until it finally came loose and fluttered to the floor. Mike kept kissing Chica for a little while longer, letting her wrestle his tongue back into his own mouth, before disconnecting. A bridge of saliva connected their mouths, and Mike got his first look at Chica’s chest.

It was barren, of course. Entirely featureless except for the slight curves built into it to suggest femininity. Mike couldn’t find it in himself to be too disappointed, however. His heart pounded as he reached with both hands to grope and squeeze Chica’s chest, palms cupping the small slopes and fingers stroking the soft, tiny feathers which coated Chica’s entire suit.

Chica hummed happily, catching Mike off-guard. “Does this feel nice?” he asked.

Chica hummed again, this time in the affirmative. “It’s kinda nice, yeah. Not in the physical sense, it doesn’t feel different from getting touched on the arm, but I really like the intimacy. No one’s ever touched me like this before.”

It was a bit discouraging to hear that touching Chica’s “breasts” didn’t feel any different for her than touching her elsewhere. Considering a part of him had hoped that she had extra sensors in there to make it pleasurable, Mike also felt a bit foolish.

Disregarding all of that, the guard continued playing with Chica’s chest. Mike’s hand dropped down to Chica’s hips where they brushed against her suit, fingers lightly dancing up her sides, across her belly, and occasionally dipping down to the seam where her torso met her pelvis.

A few more lengthy make-outs sessions later and Mike was starting to get dizzy. Chica was a fast study. In an attempt to cool himself off, Mike pressed his lips against Chica’s cheek before dragging them down to her chest, planting little kisses here and there along the way. He nuzzled into her chest when he got there, lazily placing kisses everywhere within reach. Chica affectionately ran her fingers through his scalp, and with his ear pressed against her suit Mike could hear her fans kicking themselves into high gear.

Once he felt suitably cooled down, Mike continued his journey downwards until he was kneeling in front of Chica. One arm nudged Chica’s legs wider, while the other came up to rub Chica’s pelvis.

The downy feathers here were even softer than the feathers covering the rest of Chica’s body. They were so soft, in fact, that Mike lost himself in the sensation of them running through his fingers. Mike’s palm massaged Chica’s smooth pelvis, and he sighed.

“I guess it was too much to ask for you to have a vagina, huh?”

Chica tilted her head and looked down at Mike. “What’s a buhgina?”

Mike chuckled and then leaned forward. Even though there wasn’t anything there, it still felt right to give her a couple of kisses. Mike did so and then grimaced, pulling away with some wet feathers stuck to his lips. Chica clucked down at him, a little bit amused, and helped him pick them free. Then it was finally time.

Mike stood back up, suddenly nervous again and fumbling with his belt buckle. Once he finally got it free he dropped his pants to mid-thigh. His erection hadn’t gotten the news that it should be nervous, as it was straining hard against his underwear. Mike fingered the elastic waistband of his underwear. This was it. After this there was no going back.

He yanked down his underwear.

Chica’s only response was to gasp. “Wow. You’re like that because of me?” Mike nodded. “Can- can I touch it?” Mike nodded again, prompting Chica to reach down and grasp Mike’s erection. Although the guard was by no means small, Chica’s large hand dwarfed it entirely. She pumped it a few times, and when that drew a hiss of pleasure from Mike she dropped it like it was red-hot. “I’m sorry, did that hurt?”

“N-No,” Mike said, shaking his head. “It felt good.”

Chica unsteadily grabbed Mike’s cock again, pumping her fist some more. It glided smoothly up and down his length, lubricated by the steady stream of precum leaking from the tip. Chica was a natural, twisting her wrist with every stroke down and squeezing with every stroke up. Her other hand came up behind Mike, pulling him in closer and rubbing his back encouragingly.

“Does that feel nice, Mike?” Mike didn’t respond, too busy gritting his teeth and focusing on the pleasure. Chica pumped her fist faster, thumb rubbing against Mike’s sensitive head. Mike jerked his hips forward and groaned lightly, prompting Chica to smile. “There we go,” she whispered. “That’s it. Be more honest with me. After all, this is all to make you feel really good.”

Mike put both of his hands on Chica’s shoulders for leverage and humped her fist, screwing his eyes shut and resting his forehead on Chica’s chest. Chica stopped moving her hand, letting Mike go at his own pace.

Mike sped up his thrusts, prompting Chica’s hand to get even tighter. Then he slowed down, feeling himself already approaching the edge and not wanting it to end yet. For the next few minutes he alternated between the two, sometimes even drawing his hips back entirely and letting his throbbing and bouncing cock calm down and stop spurting precum.

It was after one such moment that Chica acted. She grabbed Mike’s dick and used it to gently pull him in closer. “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?” Her hand stroked Mike’s shaft tortuously slowly, intentionally stimulating him enough to keep him on the edge but not enough to get him off.

Mike gulped and nodded. Chica nodded as well and let go of Mike’s cock. Then she sat on the table she was leaning against. Chica wiggled her hips to get comfortable and then wrapped her legs around Mike and pulled him closer. The chicken smiled at his startled yelp and grabbed his cock once more, only to press the underside of it against her pelvis.

“If you’re going to cum, why don’t you do it properly?”

Mike obliged. Neither willing nor able to draw it out for much longer, Mike started thrusting furiously against Chica’s barren crotch. Chica’s hand remained in its place, cradling him against her and rubbing her palm against the top of his member. Her free hand came up to his head to gently cradle it, and she pulled it closer to hers so that she could coo soft words of encouragement into his ear.

“That’s it, Mike.”

“Keep going.”

“It feels good, right?”

“Don’t you want to cum for me?”

“Just relax and let it all go. Don’t hold anything back.”

Mike went into overdrive with clenched fists and grit teeth, thrusting as fast and as hard as he could against Chica. The friction against the underside of his cock felt incredible, and the harder he pressed against Chica’s pelvis the better it felt. His cock swelled, and his sack tightened, and a familiar tension started to grow in his stomach. Unlike before, Mike didn’t slow down.

This time Chica recognized the signs. She rocked her hips against Mike’s and her legs embraced him even tighter, while the soft, encouraging words whispered into his ear were replaced by small gasps. Chica wrapped her hand around Mike’s cock, allowing Mike to hump her fist once more. Her grip tightened, then softened, then tightened, over and over again, all to push Mike closer to his breaking point. Her wrist moved like a piston, pumping up and down faster and faster to jerk him to completion. Every one of Mike’s thrusts were met halfway, the bottom of Chica’s hand smacking against his crotch.

This was enough to push Mike over the edge, and he pressed his lips against Chica’s beak one last time. He groaned throatily into her mouth as he came, sporadically rolling his hips against her fist and shooting hot ropes of his seed against her crotch. Chica sighed into his mouth. Every throb of Mike’s cock was met with a squeeze, and her hand continued to lazily jerk Mike through his orgasm.
Chica’s milking continued even after Mike slumped against her panting. His cum oozed out of his tip and over her fingers in a sticky web. Mike winced, feeling Chica’s slick fingers pinch the base of his softening cock and slide upwards, rubbing against his sensitive head and wringing every last drop of cum out of his shaft and onto her.

Neither spoke for a while after that. Mike was too busy recuperating from the strongest orgasm of his life and Chica was basking in the satisfaction of a job well done.

Once Mike unscrambled his brains he shakily got up and stepped back to admire his handiwork. Long ropes of his cum painted Chica’s crotch and stomach and stretched between her fingers. Before he could stop her, Chica hopped off the table, picked her bib off the floor, and used it to wipe the cum off her. Then she put her bib back on, heedless of the semen staining its fabric.

“What?” she said, puzzled at Mike’s expression. “I get this cleaned every Thursday, it’ll only be dirty for today.”

Mike couldn’t even find it in himself to argue. Instead, he pulled his pants back up, buckled his belt, and pushed Chica over towards a sink.

“Wash your hands, at least. I’ll put away the rest of the stuff we used to make the pizzas.”

“Thanks, Mike!” Chica said brightly. Soon the only sound in the kitchen was once more the clinking of silverware and a running tap. Chica hummed one of the songs she sang earlier, and Mike’s foot tapped along as he walked around the room putting things away.

When they finally finished it was almost 6 AM. Chica gave Mike a grateful pat on the back before he could walk out. “You really were a big help, Mike. I prolly coulda finished all the pizzas by myself, but havin’ good company is priceless.”

“Like I said, it was no problem.”

Mike tried to wave goodbye but Chica stopped him once more. She glanced conspiratorially at the closed kitchen doors before leaning close to Mike’s head and whispering. “Ya know, we could do more ‘a that sex stuff during your shift if you want. I can talk to the others and they’ll stop bugging you about sticking to the proper dress code.”

Chica slipped out right after that, giving Mike a quick swat on the ass and a wink as she went. Mike was still rooted in place as the end of his shift came and went. The guard held back a sniffle. Somehow, he felt so happy that he could cry.