Night Shift Privileges
summary: Steve’s stuck on the boring night shift at Starcourt, watching empty hallways on security cams, until you show up. A “late-night visit” turns into you on your knees, then riding him in his swivel chair, and finally bent over his desk in the one blind spot in the mall.
cw: smut, established relationship, public-ish/semi-exhibitionist, oral (m rec.), unprotected piv, creampie, praise
word count: 3.5k
mdni 18+
The mall is creepier at night.
All the neon is still glowing, the fountain’s shut off, those dumb promotional posters for summer sales are staring down at you, but everything’s quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps sound way too loud as you cut through the empty food court with a little paper bag of fries and a milkshake, headed for the tucked-away security office at the back hallway.
You scan for cameras out of habit now—because you’re dating the guy who watches them all night.
Steve’s light is on under the door when you get there. You don’t bother knocking. You just turn the handle and slip in like you own the place.
He’s in the chair, facing a wall of monitors, one leg kicked out, wearing that dorky mall security jacket over his T-shirt and jeans, headset half hanging around his neck. His hair looks annoyingly perfect for midnight—fluffy, swoopy, like he did it for you and then pretended he didn’t.
He glances over his shoulder and his whole face lights up.
“There’s my girl” he grins, ripping the headset off and spinning the chair toward you. “Hey, baby. What are you doing here? It’s late.”
You lift the bag and wiggle it. “I come bearing gifts.”
He makes a dramatic gasp, hand to his chest. “Oh, thank God. I was two seconds away from eating the emergency granola bar in the bottom drawer.”
You walk over, and he hooks an arm around your waist and drags you right into his lap, making you yelp and giggle as you straddle his thigh with the bag crinkling between you.
“Hi” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him.
His hand slides up your back under your jacket, warm and familiar. “Hi” he breathes against your mouth. He kisses you again, slower, thumb rubbing at the little strip of skin where your shirt rides up. “Missed you.”
“You saw me like six hours ago” you tease, brushing your nose against his.
“Yeah, and?” He squeezes your hips. “Six hours is a long time.”
You grin, rolling your eyes, but it makes your chest go all soft and fuzzy. You kiss him again, quick, then shove the bag at him.
“Before you start whining” you say, “eat your fries, Harrington.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rummages in the bag, pops a fry in his mouth, then hums. “God, I love you.”
“Is that you talking or the potatoes?”
“Both.” He nudges your cheek with his nose before turning his head to look at the screens. “Been so boring I thought I was gonna die. Same three janitors, same shut-off fountain, same creepy mannequin in JCPenney. You just saved my life.”
You twist a little to look, all the small security monitors showing various angles of the dark mall, the empty parking lot, the loading dock. The one pointed down at this hallway shows the closed door of his little cave.
“No cameras in here?” you ask, just to confirm, because you’ve definitely fooled around in this room before, but the reminder is nice.
“Nah” he says around a fry. “Last boss tried it, I threatened to quit. Told him if he wanted to watch me drink coffee and pick my nose all night, he could do the shift himself.”
You snort. “So romantic.”
He smirks and tips his head, looking at you like he’s already undressing you. “You want romance, sweetheart, you came to the wrong shift. This is the ‘fluorescent lighting and bad coffee’ time slot.”
You let your hands slide up his chest over the stupid uniform jacket. “Mmm, I don’t know” you murmur, shifting just enough that your weight settles more firmly over his thigh, your skirt riding higher. “I think I can work with this.”
His breath catches. Just a little, but you feel it.
His hands tighten on your hips. “Oh, yeah?” His voice dips, already gone hoarse. “What’re you doing?”
You shrug, all fake innocent as you rock forward, your core dragging over the muscle of his thigh. “Trying to help my hardworking boyfriend unwind.”
His eyes flick down to where your skirt’s hitched up, then back to your face, darker now. “You’re killing me” he mutters, fingers bruising at your waist.
You do it again, slower. You’re already warm, already wet from the way he’s looking at you, from the thrill of sneaking around in a place where you’re absolutely not supposed to be doing this.
“You got, what?” you murmur, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Three hours left?”
“Don’t remind me.” He swallows hard, eyes following the roll of your hips. You feel the shift under you when he starts to get hard, his cock pressing against his jeans beneath you. “You’re really gonna sit here and torture me for three hours, huh?”
“Maybe.” You lean in, mouth at his ear. “Unless you want me to do something else.”
You feel him shudder.
“Jesus, baby” he whispers. “You’re gonna make me get fired.”
“No one comes back here” you remind him, lips brushing his jaw. “And you literally just said there’s no cameras in here.”
“Yeah, but if I start making noises—”
You kiss him, slow and deep, swallowing whatever he was about to say. He makes a soft sound as his hand slides around the back of your neck, holding you there while you lick into his mouth.
It’s easy to get lost in him. It always is. He tastes like salt and coffee and Steve and you want him so bad your bones ache.
You pull back a little, panting, and trace your thumb over his bottom lip.
“Let me take care of you” you murmur. “You look tired.”
He huffs out a laugh, eyes blown wide. “Okay, first of all, rude.”
“You do” you insist, but your tone is fond. “You’re all eye-baggie and grumpy.”
“Wow.” He squeezes your ass. “Come in here, insult me, and then climb all over me. Unreal.”
“You like it.”
His gaze drops to your mouth again. “Yeah” he admits quietly, thumb stroking your hip. “Yeah, I really do.”
You slide off his lap before he can say anything else, dropping to your knees between his legs, palms flattening on his thighs.
He blinks down at you, throat working. “Baby.”
“Relax” you say softly. “Keep an eye on your precious mall.”
“This is not what they meant by ‘monitor activity’” he mutters weakly.
You smirk and pop his belt open, fingers quick and practiced. “They should’ve thought about that before hiring you.”
“You mean before I started dating the hottest girl on the planet” he corrects, voice already going rougher as you tug his zipper down and free him from his jeans. “Jesus…”
He’s already half-hard, thick and warm in your hand as you pull him out, his boxers pushed down just enough. The sight of him always makes your mouth water a little, still, even after all this time.
His head falls back against the chair when you stroke him once, slow.
“Fuck, that feels good” he mumbles, knuckles white where he grips the armrests.
You lean in and lick a stripe from the base to the tip, slow and deliberate, tasting salt and the faint musk of him. He curses under his breath, hips jerking.
“Baby, fuck—”
You wrap your hand around the base and take just the tip into your mouth, tongue circling the slit. His breath stutters. You can see his chest rising and falling faster now, hear the little choked sounds he’s trying—and failing—to swallow down.
“That’s it” he rasps. “God, you’re so good at that.”
You hum, pleased, and the vibration makes him groan.
His fingers find your hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needs the anchor. You sink lower, taking more of him into your mouth, letting your lips stretch around him.
“Shit—” He shivers. “You’re gonna… baby, you’re gonna kill me, I swear.”
You bob your head slowly, hand moving in time at the base, lips wet and tight around him. Every time you hollow your cheeks he swears, voice getting more and more wrecked.
“Look so pretty” he pants, eyes blown as he looks down at you. “On your knees in my stupid little office… fuck, baby, that’s so hot.”
You glance up at him through your lashes and he just about breaks.
“Okay, no, wait—” he gasps, fingers tightening. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna come, and I haven’t even—fuck—touched you yet.”
You pull off with a wet pop and stroke him slow, pushing spit down your fist.
“Isn’t that kind of the point?” you tease, lips shiny.
He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “No. No way I’m blowing it in five minutes like a loser.” He leans down and cups your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “C’mere. Want you up here.”
You let him pull you up, stumbling a little as you get your feet under you. He grabs your waist and guides you back into his lap, but this time he shoves his jacket off his shoulders and lets it pool on the floor, hands already under your skirt.
He groans when he finds just your panties between his fingers and your heat.
“You came here like this?” he whispers, rubbing you through the thin cotton. “Little skirt and these tiny panties?”
A shiver runs through you. “Maybe.”
“You’re unreal” he mutters, pressing his forehead to your collarbone. His fingers slide the fabric aside and he finds you slick and ready. He swears, low and reverent. “Christ, you’re wet. Is that all for me, sweetheart?”
“All for you” you breathe, grinding down into his touch.
He kisses the side of your neck, sucking lightly. “Gonna ride me?” he murmurs. “Sit right here on my cock while I watch the cameras?”
The image makes your stomach flip. “Yeah” you whisper. “Want to.”
“Fuck” he groans. “Okay. Okay, yeah.”
He shifts under you, lifting his hips so he can push his jeans a little further down, giving you more access. You rise just enough to get your hand between you, guiding him to your entrance, your panties shoved aside.
“Still okay?” he asks, eyes serious for a second, even with his cock throbbing against you. “You know we can stop, right?”
You feel a rush of affection so strong it almost knocks you over.
“I’m okay” you promise, cupping his jaw. “Want you, Steve.”
That does something to him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his hands greedy on your hips as you sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch.
The stretch steals your breath every time. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, head tipping back as he fills you.
“Jesus, baby” he groans, eyes screwed shut. “You’re so tight. So fucking warm.”
You bottom out with a soft whine, hips pressed flush to his, your body humming.
It takes a second for both of you to breathe again. He rubs his thumbs into your skin, forehead pressing into your chest.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough.
“Yeah” you exhale, rolling your hips experimentally. Pleasure sparks up your spine. “God, you feel good.”
He laughs weakly. “You’re gonna kill me” he repeats, but there’s pride in it now. “Go on. Ride me, baby.”
You brace your hands on his shoulders and start to move. Slow at first, lifting up just an inch or two and sliding back down, feeling every drag of him inside you. His mouth falls open, eyes glued to the way your body moves over his.
“Fuck” he whispers. “Fuck, that’s it. You’re doing so good.”
The praise goes straight to your head. You pick up the pace, bouncing a little more in his lap, your skirt riding higher until it’s bunched around your hips. The chair squeaks rhythmically under you, the tiny office filling with the wet, obscene sounds of your bodies.
He can’t keep his hands still; they roam everywhere. One on your ass, squeezing, guiding your pace; one sliding up your spine under your shirt, fingers splayed between your shoulder blades. He leans in and sucks a mark just under your jaw, low where it won’t show, his breath hot against your skin.
“You look so pretty” he groans. “Taking me like that. My girl.”
You whine, clenching around him.
“Yeah?” he pants. “You like that? Like being my girl?”
“Y-yeah” you gasp, rolling your hips. “Yours, Steve. Always.”
He makes a noise that’s almost a growl, hands tightening. His hips start meeting yours, thrusts punching little gasps out of you as he fucks up into you from below.
“Gonna make me loud” you whisper, half laughing, half moaning.
“Let them hear” he mutters, thrusting harder. “Nobody’s here but the janitors anyway.”
You snort—but then he hits that perfect spot inside you and the laugh turns into a broken moan.
“Fuck” you gasp, clutching him harder. “Right there, right there—”
“I know” he grits out. Sweat beads at his temples. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
Your orgasm’s already curling low in your belly, the coil getting tighter with every bounce, every thrust. The drag of him, the heat, the sheer wrong-rightness of doing this at his job—it all has you spinning.
“Steve” you whimper. “I’m close.”
His eyes flick up to your face, soft and desperate. “Yeah? You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart?”
You nod, breathless.
“Good” he rasps. “Want you to. Want you to soak me, baby. Make a mess, c’mon, you can do it.”
The words push you over. Your thighs tremble as you slam down on him one more time, pleasure crashing through you in a hot, blinding wave. You clamp around him, crying out, clinging to him like you’ll float away if you let go.
He swears, holding you as you shake, murmuring nonsense into your hair. “That’s it, that’s it, I’ve got you, baby, so good, you’re so good…”
When you finally sag against him, boneless and panting, he’s breathing like he just ran laps around the mall.
“You okay?” he asks again, even as his cock still throbs inside you, still far from done.
You nod against his neck. “Mhm. So good.”
“Good” he mutters, kissing your temple. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.”
He wraps an arm around your waist and lifts you off him, making you whine at the loss. He adjusts, hurriedly tucking himself back in just enough that you’re not both fully exposed if someone walks in—old habit, paranoia—but his eyes are already on the desk.
“Up” he says, voice low. “Bend over.”
The command sends a fresh lick of heat through you. You stumble over to the desk, palms flattening on the cool surface, heart pounding.
He’s right behind you, hands greedy on your hips, shoving your skirt up completely. He drags your panties down your thighs, letting them dangle around your knees.
“God” he breathes, looking down. “Baby, you’re dripping.”
You flush, but his tone is so awed it makes your toes curl.
He slides his fingers through your slick folds, groaning. “This all from riding me?” he asks, pushing one finger into you, just barely. “You’re so fucking wet.”
“Steve” you whine, rocking back.
He pulls his hand away, making you whimper in protest, then you feel him line up behind you, the blunt head of his cock pushing against your entrance again.
“Shh” he soothes, big palms smoothing up your back. “I know. I’ve got you.”
He presses in in one slow, steady thrust, filling you from behind. The angle is different now, deeper, making you gasp and grip the edge of the desk.
Your cheek presses to the cold surface. Monitors flicker in front of you, grainy footage of empty halls and dark storefronts while your boyfriend fucks you in the only blind spot in the building.
He gives you a second to adjust, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips, then he starts to move.
The thrusts are sharper this time. Less teasing, more urgency, his control fraying from how worked up you’ve already made him. His hips slap against your ass, the desk creaking in protest.
“Fuck” he grunts. “You feel so good from this angle, baby. Taking me so deep.”
You moan, unabashedly loud now. “Oh my god, Steve—”
He leans over you, chest to your back, one hand flattening over your stomach to pull you up into him, the other sliding up to curl around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, thumb under your jaw, tilting your head so he can murmur right into your ear.
“Listen to you” he pants. “So loud for me. You like this, huh? Getting fucked over my desk?”
“Yes” you gasp. “Yes, yes—”
His grip on your waist tightens. “You’re gonna get me fired” he says again, but he’s laughing, breathless and wrecked. “Can’t even think straight when you’re here.”
“You were bored” you manage, voice breaking when he slams particularly hard into you.
“I was bored” he agrees. “Now I’m losing my mind.”
He reaches down between your legs and finds your clit, rubbing quick circles. You jolt like he shocked you.
“Steve, I just—”
“I know” he rasps. “You can do it again, baby. Give me another.”
Your legs are jelly, but his arm around your middle is iron, holding you up as he hammers into you. The combo of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his fingers on your clit has you spiraling fast, the aftershocks of your first orgasm blending right into the build of your second.
The little office is all harsh light and ugly beige walls and the soft, filthy sounds of skin on skin and your ragged breathing. His hair’s probably a mess, his shirt half untucked, but you can’t see him—you just feel him, everywhere, inside and around you and in the way he keeps whispering, “That’s it, baby, that’s my girl, taking me so well…”
You crack.
Your second orgasm comes on quicker, sharper. You cry out, voice high and broken, clenching around him so hard he chokes on a moan.
“Holy shit” he gasps. “Fuck, I can feel you—fuck, baby, I’m—”
His thrusts stutter. He buries himself deep, grinding into you as he comes, groaning into your shoulder. You feel him pulse inside you, warmth spreading, and it makes you whimper, body shaking with the last of your release.
For a moment, the only sound is the hum of the monitors and your combined panting.
Then Steve laughs weakly, still draped over you, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck.
“I’m never gonna be able to look at this desk the same way again” he mutters.
You snort into the wood. “You think I am?”
He squeezes your waist, then carefully pulls out, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. He reaches down automatically, one hand cupping between your thighs, trying to keep the mess from going everywhere.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, even as he’s still catching his breath. “You okay?”
You nod, still bent over, cheeks flushed. “Mhm. Just… legs are a little dead.”
“Yeah, I did kinda go hard there” he admits, gently helping you back upright. He grabs a stack of napkins from the desk—because of course he has napkins in here—and cleans you up as best he can, being surprisingly careful for someone who just railed you against office furniture.
When you’re as decent as you’re going to get, he tugs your panties back up and smooths your skirt down, fingers lingering at the hem.
He looks up at you then, eyes softer now, warm and adoring.
“You good?” he asks again, quieter. “Not too much?”
You smile, cupping his face. “I’m perfect.”
“Yeah, you are” he says automatically, leaning into your touch.
You roll your eyes. “Cheeseball.”
“You love it.”
You do. God help you, you really do.
He tucks himself back into his jeans properly, yanking his zipper up with a wince like he’s still a little oversensitive, then drops back into his chair with a groan.
“Okay” he sighs. “I’m definitely gonna fall asleep on the job now. You wore me out.”
You hop up to sit on the edge of the desk he just fucked you against, swinging your legs. “You seemed pretty awake a minute ago” you tease.
He points at you. “That was adrenaline. And the power of your magical, uh—” he waves vaguely at your hips—“sex witchcraft.”
You laugh, tossing a napkin at his face. “You’re so dumb.”
He grins, catching your ankle and tugging you closer so he can rest his chin on your knee, looking up at you with those big brown eyes.
“Yeah” he says easily. “But I’m yours.”
You feel your heart squeeze, all over again.
“Yeah” you murmur, threading your fingers into his mussed hair. “You are.”
He turns back to the monitors with one hand still on your leg, thumb stroking absent circles into your skin.
“Think you can stick around for the rest of my shift?” he asks, casual but hopeful. “I promise not to traumatize you with any more desk activities.”
You snort. “We’ll see about that.”
His mouth curves. “Later, then” he says, shooting you a sideways look, full of heat and affection. “When the sun comes up and I’m officially off the clock.”
You squeeze his shoulder, smiling. “It’s a date, Harrington.”
a/n: so I watched Cold Storage last night and… yeah, it inspired this 😌 this is 1000% the kind of thing that would go down if bf!steve was stuck working the security night shift at starcourt. you cannot convince me otherwise lol.
♥️ lani
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