Ned's sounds are even more encouragement than his words could possibly be, because they mean that he's pleasing Ned so much that he's not able to speak. He'd never thought it could be so good to please someone else so much, but he's starting to realize that he has quite a taste for it, that every little jerk of Ned's hips and every time he digs his nails in even harder just inspire him to try to make it better, to make it perfect somehow.

"Ned, you're so... You're so fucking perfect," he manages, between thrusts, odd little stutter in his words, and although coming from anyone else it might sound far too dramatic and ridiculous, coming from him, there's no doubt that it's absolutely what he thinks. He bends his head down again to scatter kisses on Ned's collarbone and neck, whatever he can reach, breathing in how good he smells and how good his skin feels, completely aware that his pace has sped up quite a bit by now, but not possessing the ability to slow down.