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The Shadow Dragon's headquarters had a lot of perks - more than the Templar archives that was for certain. It was a large expansive place, that Ashur when they'd moved in had taken in stride to outfit with as much useful space as possible (according to him). A healer's room, storage rooms, and plenty of places for people to crash were essential certainly. The multiple fireplaces came with the building and were a great touch, but the furniture was all brought in later. A large table for planning and paperwork, seating of various types spread out around the place for people to be comfortable and gather. Hookah, in the lounge, and a bar on the other side.
A gathering place, Ashur had called it when he'd introduced the idea of moving from a standard set of safe-houses to somewhere central that people could find them if they needed. Tarquin had been concerned about security, but they hadn't had any problems in the years they'd been here so it felt unfounded now.
In the early days, the bar hadn't been staffed. Stocked, occasionally, but more of a self-serve station than anything else. As more Shadows joined, however, there was more of a demand - so with the combined effort of Tarquin's bookkeeping skills, and Ashur's ability to endear himself onto anyone if he tried hard enough, they found someone who both fit the bill of a the Shadow Dragon and a bartender - a gentle hulk of a man named Hilum. He was universally considered a good addition, especially when it became clear that he also cooked.
Meals were served hot once a day, at dinner, with cold offerings available in all the hours that Hilum didn't work. He came in halfway through the afternoon to prep dinner, and worked late until the night serving drinks. Tarquin had, more than once, jokingly referred to Hilum as their human resources - single-highhandedly keeping up moral. Everyone else seemed to agree.
Evenings at headquarters had shifted, after Hilum started working the bar - more and more Shadows who weren't expected to be at The Shop, took to simply hanging out there in their spare time. The organization seemed more tight knit than ever, as people gathered and community was built gathered around either a hearth, or a bottle. Tarquin himself spent a fair bit of time there, if he could slip away from either his Archives or his Shadow Dragon's duties - and recently he'd been managing to drag Ashur over to the bar more often too. It had started technically before, they'd finally got their shit together, but Tarquin wouldn't deny it was easier to lure Ashur away from his important duties with a metaphorical hand on his dick.
Or… a literal one.
Hilum went home before midnight, but they didn't kick people out like the average bar so even with drinks no longer being poured there were always people lingering around the place well into the night. The benefit that the bar had though, after Hilum went home - was that he turned out the lights behind the bar. Generally, the shop was pretty dark. It helped set the mood of the place as calm, and easy going, with lights only in the most important areas. With the bar lights off, the primary source of light on this side of the shop was the fireplace - which also tended to be where most people gathered if they were going to to wander off into the other areas of headquarters now that the bar was shut own.
This meant, almost universally, that their attention would be on the fire or on each other. At the least, their attention would likely not be on their two leaders still curled into one another at the bar. There was a thrill to that, for Tarquin - a preference of his that he'd long known about but rarely been able to act on. It was a new thing for Ashur, but in their long discussions on the subject he'd made clear that he was into it. That he didn't need to be warned first.
So - some nights, nothing happened. Some nights Tarquin suggested they get a drink at the bar, and they'd linger long into the night with Ashur on edge waiting and Tarquin taking some joy in that anticipation. Most nights, however, he would do as he was right then. Ashur tucked in the furthest corner of the bar, Tarquin seated between him and the rest of the room, he'd settle his hand on Ashur's thigh. Their conversation, usually intimate but not substantial, might falter as Ashur jolted at the unexpected touch - but he knew the expectation was to pick it back up. Or else Tarquin might very well stop.
It was slow going from there. The anticipation was part of the fun.
Dragging his palm up and down Ashur's thigh, as the other was telling a story about how he swears there's a cafe somewhere in town completely run by cats, Tarquin twisted his hand slowly so on each upstroke his fingers danced closer, and closer, to the eagerly swelling length of Ashur under his robes. When Tarquin finally placed the heel of his hand over the man's length, the noise he let out was enough for a few heads to look their way. Ashur flushed, a beautiful dark pink that Tarquin was grateful that only he could see - but he didn't stop. His heel dug down deep, almost to the line of painful, before he backed off as Ashur bucked his hips up to follow. Pinching the man's thigh, Tarquin tipped his head. "Stay." He instructed calmly, waiting for Ashur to readjust and the nod a gentle consent to continue. "Now, you were saying?"
The man returned to his story, half-stuttering through an explanation of the clues he'd been seeing for weeks that led him to investigate this particular cafe. All the while, Tarquin was achingly slowly undoing the laces and fastenings of Ashur's robes. He was careful to ensure his fingers brushed Ashur's length as often as possible during the process, of removing the layers and then eventually - with just two fingers - feeding the man's cock out of his trousers and into the open air.
Ashur hissed, but it was a quiet hushed noise - the fire was far away, and the room was likely chilled to his heated flesh. Tarquin licked his lips as he admired the sight of Ashur like this. Two of Tarquin's fingers held his cock up and proud, and the thick length of it was ruddy and swollen already. The beady tip leaking even more of a mess onto Ashur's trousers, than it already had before Tarquin pulled it out. "So, how did you get inside?" Tarquin commented, as if the only thing he was focused on was Ashur's story. "I don't think any part of you could fit through the cat flap." The words were said with a teasing lilt, and accented with Tarquin sliding his two fingers up Ashur's cock. The man managed to stay quiet, but only barely - as he started up his story again, Tarquin started to stroke him.
It wouldn't be long from here, Tarquin knew from experience. Teasing Ashur as much as he had left the man unfairly on edge, and within a few minutes the man's story was tapering to an end and Tarquin's full fist was locked tight around his length. If he tuned his ears into it, Tarquin could just about hear the slick noise of skin on skin over the far away crackle on the fireplace. Having trailed his gaze over the room, Tarquin levelled it back at Ashur when the man stopped speaking. He could feel Ashur's muscles tensing, knew he was close - his hands tarted to slow. "How many cats did you find then?" He prompted, with a raised brow of challenge. Ashur keened quietly but when he opened his mouth to answer no words came out.
When he got no response, Tarquin pulled his hand off entirely. The noise Ashur let out was loud, and desperate - and this time there was no pretending people hadn't heard it. Quickly, Tarquin covered it up by letting his hand - damp with Ashur's precursor - rub over the man's back. "Well that's what you get for trying to laugh while you're drinking." He teased lightly, loud enough for people around them to hear. It took a few minutes, and Ashur coughing to cover up how his hands were shaking, but the din of gentle talking resumed soon enough and Tarquin let his hand drop to his own lap. He paused, and then reached out to press his thumb flat against Ashur's leaking slit. He dragged his grip down, stroking a few times until he felt the tensing of Ashur's muscles a second time, and then lashed tight around Ashur's base - halting any urgency
"How many cats." He prompted, meeting Ashur's gaze.
This time, the man forced out a beautifully breathless, "I counted 24. Cats. In the cafe."
His reward was instantaneous, Tarquin's hand resumed it's quick speed - stroking up, twisting at the tip and then back down. A movement perfected to pull Ashur over the edge quickly, and it worked. The man bit down so hard on his lip when he spilled that he drew blood, but didn't let out much noise at all. Tarquin caught most of the spillage in his palm, but he wiped it on Ashur's robes regardless. "That is a lot of cats." He chimed, and then after a moment leaned forward to steal a sweet kiss from Ashur - something tinged with more underneath. "Very good, Ash." He whispered quietly. "Now let's get you home, mhm?"
Tarquin helped Ashur right his own clothing, then stood - ignoring his own state of arousal - to curl his partner close and walk him home.
Yeah, all in all the bartender thing was a pretty solid addition. For moral.