Ned can barely keep his eyes open, dizzy with overstimulation, but he does, just a sliver. He wants to watch Ginsberg's face, see every fleeting expression. When he comes at last Ned holds his breath, waits for him to finish and sink down on top of him in a boneless heap. One he has, Ned slips carefully out from under him, staying close, tangling their legs together. He presses his forehead to Ginsberg's, kissing him through the come down, brushing away the tufts and tiny curls of hair that have gotten stuck to his neck, his temple.

"You are so beautiful," he murmurs.