Ned can't help but smile at that stream of obscenities, reaches up to brush the hair out of Ginsberg's eyes, because he wants to see them, wants to be able to look at him as they are sharing this. He knows it's sappy, knows it's not exactly the ideal of masculinity that everyone seems to buy into. But that emotional connection, that interplay between the two of them, is almost more important to him than any of the rest of it.

"Perfect," he murmurs, covers Ginsberg's hand with his own and keeps it pressed to the center of his chest. "You're doing perfect." His heart is beating quickly in his chest, and he shifts his hips to meet Ginsberg's once he starts to move. Ned's characteristic honesty manifests itself again when he gasps, "'s been so long since I've-" but the rest of that sentence is cut off by a whimper, low in his throat.

"What's-" he's trying to keep talking, to give Ginsberg the reassurance he expects he needs that it's nothing to worry about, that he's not messing things up the way he was afraid to, "-what's the verdict? Pretty, uh. Pretty good both ways, right?"