When Klaus moves them, Obi-Wan goes, grateful and eager, and he wraps his arms around Klaus as he meets Klaus's thrusts up into his body. The night air is cool, even with the heat being provided both from the heater Klaus had brought and their bodies, and it dries some of the sweat on Obi-Wan's skin as he rides Klaus, moaning brazenly.

If there are any windows open below them, even a crack, they'll be heard. Obi-Wan doesn't care. He feels cracked open, Klaus's fingers digging into his chest and pulling apart his ribs and exposing all the places he's kept behind a plate of armour ever since he'd had to leave Satine behind on Mandalore all those years ago. The armour had only grown thicker and stronger since her death, but Klaus has broken it with ease. He doesn't care if anyone knows. Klaus's siblings, Anakin, they can think whatever they may, it makes no difference to how Obi-Wan feels.

He's missed this feeling, he realizes. A bit of defiance mingled with the intensity of real love. It's a beautiful thing.

Briefly, his hands cup Klaus's face, holding onto him, then his fingers drag down his throat, over his chest, bracing himself there as he moves with Klaus, rising and falling on his cock, his own bouncing between them.