“Stars, Klaus,” Obi-Wan murmurs for how good it already feels. His hands curl over the edge of the table and he glances down, looking at Klaus there in the V of his thighs.

“Your knees,” he adds a moment later, knowing it can’t possibly comfortable, not on this floor. And while he remembers quite clearly, Klaus’s earlier request, he can’t convince himself that goes as far as bruising his knees on the cold kitchen floor. But then, perhaps he’s wrong.

One hand comes off the edge of the counter and tangles in the long hair, twisting slightly as he tugs.

“Your knees,” he says again, almost in a warning tone.