He grins back at Ned, genuinely delighted just to have Ned teasing him like that, not in an unpleasant or judgmental way, but a familiar one, like he can understand it (and he probably can, since Ginsberg can already recognize Ned as a fellow worrier.) "I know I worry too much. It's what I'm good at. It's a particular talent of mine."

He props himself up on his elbows to watch Ned divest himself of the rest of his clothes, unable to tear his eyes away from him, unable to imagine, at this moment, how anyone else could possibly look more perfect -- he's aware that if he said it out loud, Ned would chalk it up to more hyperbole, would be embarrassed by the compliment, most likely, but he's also aware that his appreciative gaze is probably saying enough as it is. And besides, hasn't he already said enough?

It's easy to get lost in the kissing, to focus on nothing but that, because there's no uncertainty there; he knows he's perfectly capable of kissing, and of being kissed, and feels very little awkwardness in it. Ned's question has him flustered all over again, though, and he just hopes the flustered reaction is at least somewhat endearing, because he's pretty sure he's going to keep having it this whole time. "I, um, I think I'd prefer to be on the receiving end of the..." He gestures vaguely, and then turns even redder, "Look, see, no idea what I'm doing. None at all! I can't even use your metaphor properly!" Still, he'd gotten the point across, he thinks.