It wouldn't occur to him to be anything but happy and pleased to take what instruction Ned's giving him, and he likes hearing Ned's voice, too, the way it catches a little. That reassures him that he's doing something right, that he's able to make Ned feel good, and that feeling is almost as arousing as the purely physical sensations from what they're doing. So when Ned tells him he can mix it up a little, he's quick to take the advice, interested to see what switching up his pace will do, what new and exciting noises Ned will make.
At the same time, and rather belatedly, perhaps, he remembers that he has a free hand, too, and remembers the way Ned had touched him when the roles were reversed. Ned hasn't instructed him to do it, but somehow, he doesn't think he'll oppose a little improvisation, so he reaches between their bodies, stroking Ned slowly at first, and then a little quicker to match the rhythms of his movements.
The way Ned runs his fingernails down his back makes him shiver, and press a little closer to Ned, if such a thing were even possible. There's no containing his own moans and whimpers, not at all, and he's glad and amazed that Ned can make him so good and he can do the same in return.
It's all too clear that Ned appreciates Ginsberg's initiative; he chokes on a moan, his toes curling, scrapes his fingernails against Ginsberg's back with a little less purpose and a little more sheer instinct. He tries to give a measured kind of approval but it comes out as mostly obscenities and repetitions of Ginsberg's name, pleas to keep doing that, to go faster.
Ned's breathing hard, now, lets his head fall back against the pillows and shuts his eyes. That look in Ginsberg's eyes was starting to get the best of him, and he wants to keep some thread of control over himself, to hold out as long as possible. But he can't shut out those delicious tiny noises Ginsberg's making, or the heat of him. He's moving to meet every thrust and stroke with a jerk of his hips, his little compliments and encouragements dissolving into mere sounds.
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.
That quickened pace suits Ned just fine; he loses himself in the rhythm of it, his sense of time and his surroundings becoming blurred and uneven. He should probably be focusing on not making enough noise to startle the neighbors, should be trying to hold out as long as he can for Ginsberg's sake. But it's all beyond him, now.
The orgasm springs upon him more suddenly than he'd expected it would, doesn't give him time to warn Ginsberg. One moment he's in control and the next he is breaking apart, clinging to Ginsberg, shaking under the force of it. There's something half-startled in the cry he hears spilling out of his own mouth.
He doesn't slow his pace to a stop purposefully, but it happens anyway as he feels Ned cling to him and shake like that, as he watches Ned's face and hears the noise that comes out of his mouth, something wonderful and completely inexplicable in all of that. He wonders, for a moment, if he's allowed to feel any pride at all that he'd been the one to make Ned feel that way, that it's him that's worthy of being clung to and shouted over. But at the moment, he's not thinking so clearly, anyway, not with his eyes intent upon Ned's face like that.
"W-what... what do I do now?" he asks, and he knows it's a dumb question, because he should be able to figure it out from here, shouldn't he? But he's gotten so used to Ned's instruction, somehow expected to be walked all the way through it, and all he seems capable of doing right now is staring reverently at Ned and running his hands up and down Ned's chest like he wants to touch every inch of free skin available. He's not even moving.
Ned's head is spinning with a delightful kind of vertigo. "You can k-keep going," he exhales, even though he's shuddering hard at every one of those light touches to his chest, the entire surface of his skin feeling hypersensitive to touch. But he doesn't care; he wants Ginsberg to keep moving. "I don't mind."
In an effort to encourage him, Ned shifts his hips back against Ginsberg's, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep in a whimper. It's almost too much to bear, too intense, but part of him kind of likes it. "Just do what you like," he says, and while the words themselves might sound passive or self-sacrificing, there's a heat and hunger behind them that Ned doubts Ginsberg will miss.
That's all he'd really wanted to hear; the words are encouragement enough without the way Ned shifts his hips, but he's not going to complain about that motion either, not when he's already so close to the edge himself that all of his muscles are tensed and twitching slightly. The hand that isn't stroking its way across Ned's chest reaches up to cup his cheek in an oddly gentle motion, a gesture that he's pretty sure is altogether too emotionally open, but that he wouldn't change for the world.
And he does want to keep going, so he begins to move again, trying to be a little less frantic now, seeing the way Ned's body responds to all of those touches, idly runs his thumb over Ned's lower lip after seeing Ned bite at it like that to hold in a sound. There's no holding in his own sounds, and there's no way he can come up with a coherent response to Ned's instruction to do as he likes, so he just lets himself concentrate on the intense sensations he can feel building inside of him.
When he comes, when those building sensations finally break and wash over him, it doesn't exactly take him by surprise, but it's so intense that he can't let out any noise at all, unlike the constant whimpers and moans he's been letting out through the rest of this. Instead, he's completely quiet, eyes firmly shut and mouth open in a silent cry, almost immediately collapsing onto Ned as soon as he feels like he can move again.
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.
As always, he's grateful that Ned is so willing to stay close, isn't bothered by how excessively cuddly he can be. Other people might be bothered, he thinks, by the way he clings, but he's never had the opportunity to find out. But here Ned is, pressing close, brushing his hair out of his face, and he's calling him beautiful. He doesn't normally think of himself as a lucky person, but at the moment, he feels pretty damn lucky.
He can still barely speak, but he smiles a little at Ned's comment, kissing him softly before responding. "I'll always be amazed at hearing that from someone like you," he half-mumbles, his eyes sliding shut for a moment despite his best efforts to keep them open.
"If I stay right here, I'm gonna fall asleep," he says, an attempting at a warning to Ned that, if he wants him to get up, he'll have to make him get up right away. He doesn't feel inclined to get himself up, though, not when he's feeling so sleepy and so comfortable, running one hand down Ned's arm.
"'s that such a bad thing?" Ned asks. Every muscle in his body feels warm and relaxed, and his thoughts are pleasantly blurred around the edges. Sure, it might be the middle of the afternoon, but why should that stop them? "...can take a nap and then do it again," he suggests, his inhibitions still delightfully absent.
He touches the tips of their noses together, a lazy, wide smile plastered all over his face, drapes himself around Ginsberg and lets out a contented sigh. He is, for that moment, deliriously, perfectly happy. He can't think of a single thing he could want that he doesn't have, right then.
He's pretty much mumbling now, but it gets the point across well enough. He scoots as close to Ned as he possibly can, his breathing slow and steady, liking that he can feel Ned's heartbeat, and finally lets his eyes drift closed. He's not intending to fall asleep as quickly as he does, but within several minutes, he's slipping off into a relaxed, contented sleep, snoring just a little, completely lost to the world.
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At the same time, and rather belatedly, perhaps, he remembers that he has a free hand, too, and remembers the way Ned had touched him when the roles were reversed. Ned hasn't instructed him to do it, but somehow, he doesn't think he'll oppose a little improvisation, so he reaches between their bodies, stroking Ned slowly at first, and then a little quicker to match the rhythms of his movements.
The way Ned runs his fingernails down his back makes him shiver, and press a little closer to Ned, if such a thing were even possible. There's no containing his own moans and whimpers, not at all, and he's glad and amazed that Ned can make him so good and he can do the same in return.
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Ned's breathing hard, now, lets his head fall back against the pillows and shuts his eyes. That look in Ginsberg's eyes was starting to get the best of him, and he wants to keep some thread of control over himself, to hold out as long as possible. But he can't shut out those delicious tiny noises Ginsberg's making, or the heat of him. He's moving to meet every thrust and stroke with a jerk of his hips, his little compliments and encouragements dissolving into mere sounds.
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"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.
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The orgasm springs upon him more suddenly than he'd expected it would, doesn't give him time to warn Ginsberg. One moment he's in control and the next he is breaking apart, clinging to Ginsberg, shaking under the force of it. There's something half-startled in the cry he hears spilling out of his own mouth.
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"W-what... what do I do now?" he asks, and he knows it's a dumb question, because he should be able to figure it out from here, shouldn't he? But he's gotten so used to Ned's instruction, somehow expected to be walked all the way through it, and all he seems capable of doing right now is staring reverently at Ned and running his hands up and down Ned's chest like he wants to touch every inch of free skin available. He's not even moving.
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In an effort to encourage him, Ned shifts his hips back against Ginsberg's, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep in a whimper. It's almost too much to bear, too intense, but part of him kind of likes it. "Just do what you like," he says, and while the words themselves might sound passive or self-sacrificing, there's a heat and hunger behind them that Ned doubts Ginsberg will miss.
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And he does want to keep going, so he begins to move again, trying to be a little less frantic now, seeing the way Ned's body responds to all of those touches, idly runs his thumb over Ned's lower lip after seeing Ned bite at it like that to hold in a sound. There's no holding in his own sounds, and there's no way he can come up with a coherent response to Ned's instruction to do as he likes, so he just lets himself concentrate on the intense sensations he can feel building inside of him.
When he comes, when those building sensations finally break and wash over him, it doesn't exactly take him by surprise, but it's so intense that he can't let out any noise at all, unlike the constant whimpers and moans he's been letting out through the rest of this. Instead, he's completely quiet, eyes firmly shut and mouth open in a silent cry, almost immediately collapsing onto Ned as soon as he feels like he can move again.
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"You are so beautiful," he murmurs.
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He can still barely speak, but he smiles a little at Ned's comment, kissing him softly before responding. "I'll always be amazed at hearing that from someone like you," he half-mumbles, his eyes sliding shut for a moment despite his best efforts to keep them open.
"If I stay right here, I'm gonna fall asleep," he says, an attempting at a warning to Ned that, if he wants him to get up, he'll have to make him get up right away. He doesn't feel inclined to get himself up, though, not when he's feeling so sleepy and so comfortable, running one hand down Ned's arm.
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He touches the tips of their noses together, a lazy, wide smile plastered all over his face, drapes himself around Ginsberg and lets out a contented sigh. He is, for that moment, deliriously, perfectly happy. He can't think of a single thing he could want that he doesn't have, right then.
Shall we call this a wrap, then~
He's pretty much mumbling now, but it gets the point across well enough. He scoots as close to Ned as he possibly can, his breathing slow and steady, liking that he can feel Ned's heartbeat, and finally lets his eyes drift closed. He's not intending to fall asleep as quickly as he does, but within several minutes, he's slipping off into a relaxed, contented sleep, snoring just a little, completely lost to the world.