"Like this," he gasps, because he doesn't think he has the strength to hold off much longer. Klaus's hand is on him, his mouth, the heat of his tongue, and Obi-Wan almost feels like sobbing, the pleasure overwhelming, like nothing he's ever felt before. He's aching with heat, with the desire for release, but he doesn't want this to end either. This is the kind of night he wishes could go on and on.
And it can, he realizes. There is no pressing reason for either of them to leave. He'll stay, he'll help Klaus move his bed back into his room, they can sleep. He doesn't need to go anywhere.
It's a gift, being here with Klaus. For so long Obi-Wan has been the perfect Jedi; a general in war, a Jedi Master, a fighter, a teacher, an example to others. The Negotiator. But here he can be simply Obi-Wan. He can be speechless if he's rendered so and no one expects him to be otherwise.
"Please, Klaus," he begs, rocking back against his mouth, then into the circle of his fist. "This is perfect. You're perfect." And anything else he might say is lost in a low moan, heat building inside of him until it rushes over him in a wave of pleasure and he comes, spilling onto Klaus's hand.
no subject
And it can, he realizes. There is no pressing reason for either of them to leave. He'll stay, he'll help Klaus move his bed back into his room, they can sleep. He doesn't need to go anywhere.
It's a gift, being here with Klaus. For so long Obi-Wan has been the perfect Jedi; a general in war, a Jedi Master, a fighter, a teacher, an example to others. The Negotiator. But here he can be simply Obi-Wan. He can be speechless if he's rendered so and no one expects him to be otherwise.
"Please, Klaus," he begs, rocking back against his mouth, then into the circle of his fist. "This is perfect. You're perfect." And anything else he might say is lost in a low moan, heat building inside of him until it rushes over him in a wave of pleasure and he comes, spilling onto Klaus's hand.