That doubt in his own ability probably won't last long; the moment Ginsberg starts touching him Ned lets out a breathy yes, pushing back into his hand with undisguised gusto. Ned is already so keyed up that it doesn't take very long at all before everything starts to get blurred and hot and he can hear himself pleading Ginsberg to go faster. He has to hold onto something, reaches out and grips the other man's upper arm tightly as the orgasm rakes through him. It's intense, seems to go on and on until he is gasping for air like a drowning man, face screwed up into an expression that is almost - but not quite - like pain.

When it's done and his thighs are still shaking with the force of it, Ned presses his face against Ginsberg's chest as he catches his breath. He feels, without knowing quite why, suddenly unbearably vulnerable, moreso that any point leading up to this. It's one thing, to give pleasure, to take enjoyment in seeing how good he can make someone else feel. It's another entirely, letting himself be touched, letting someone push him over that edge. So he needs just a few seconds, to gather his scattered composure, piece enough of himself back together to be there in the moment again. Once he does, he kisses Ginsberg, fiercely.