"Of course. I want you there," Klaus murmurs, wrinkling his nose happily as Obi-Wan's teeth press into the meat of his thigh. It sends a zip of pleasure through him and he slides his fingers into Obi-Wan's hair, giving it a playful tug. "Is that where you want it, hm? On my thigh?"

He's wet between his legs, pulsing with arousal, but he doesn't feel in any rush. He enjoys their banter, and the slow burn build up of Obi-Wan's beard against his skin.

"I think I'd like you to pick the spot," he drawls out, and it's not because he wants it to be a mark of ownership. Despite not wanting to be tied down, he likes having evidence of who he loves on his skin, and Obi-Wan is art unlike anything else he's ever known.