just_displaced | Open Post

"Yeah, you told me so, and I'm starting to believe y-you're... always right."

Because there hasn't been one thing Ned's suggested or done this whole evening that's been uncomfortable or downright terrible in any way. For a night that had started out so apocalyptically, it's certainly turning out well. As Ned moves his finger inside of him, he starts to relax a bit more, and this time, it's genuine relaxation as he adapts to the feeling, finding that it goes from being 'weird' to pleasant to downright pleasurable pretty fast. He closes his eyes, concentrates on the feelings and not on any of the thoughts or worries in his mind.

Finding an angle that works for him doesn't prove to be particularly difficult -- all it takes is Ned hooking his fingers like that, and his eyes are flying open, a surprised little noise coming out of his mouth. He knows he probably looks ridiculous, but that doesn't mean he's going to stop gasping in surprise and approval, or tilting his hips towards Ned, suggesting that he very much wants more of whatever it was that Ned had just done.

Ned chuckles at that, though the sound is muffled by the fact that his mouth is occupied in other matters. He likes Ginsberg's eagerness, likes that he's the one who is drawing those noises out of him, wants to hear more of them. Which is why he repeats the movement of his fingers, and again, relentlessly, wants to get him as hot and bothered as possible, because he can. His jaw is starting to ache, so he pulls off, panting hard and pressing a dozen messy kisses to Ginsberg's stomach and hips.

"God, you sound so good," he gasps, and for the first time since they started this, his voice breaks with desire. Ned's fairly certain Ginsberg's ready, and it's a good thing; he's not certain he could wait much longer. He pulls his fingers free and fumbles for the lubricant, slicks himself up with hands that are shaking faintly with anticipation. He positions himself and pauses, warns in a voice that's unraveling at the edges with need, "This might sting a little at first, but it goes away, and I'm gonna go slow for you, okay?"

But it's not quite right, yet, doesn't feel right until Ned reaches forward, hooks a hand behind Ginsberg's neck and draws him up into a deep kiss. Only then does Ned start to push in, cautiously, by small increments.

He's still so appreciative of the warnings Ned's giving him, of the way he keeps talking to him the whole time, letting him know that whatever he's feeling is normal, and even more amazingly, that he sounds good to Ned. Maybe the knowledge that Ned appreciates his vocalizations inspires him to make more noise, or maybe it's simply the fact that Ned's fingers feel amazing, and he can't quite seem to get enough. When Ned pulls away from him, just for that slightest moment to prepare himself, he just feels desperate for more touch.

He eagerly lets himself be drawn up into that kiss, prolonging it for as long as he can, trying to get his body as close to Ned's as possible, trying to relax entirely so that Ned can push into him. There's worry, for a moment, that this can't possibly work, that something will go wrong, that he'll make a complete fool of himself, but as soon as he feels Ned pushing into him so slowly, the worries begin to quiet themselves, because all he can concentrate on is the feelings. Ned was right: it does sting a little, but the gentleness and slowness with which Ned is taking it means that he adapts to it quickly, that it starts to feel good and right.

"Wow," he breathes, wrapping him arms around Ned, putting his hands on his back, still trying to hold him as close as possible, greedy for every inch of bare skin he can possibly get. "That's... I don't know what... just don't stop doing that, okay?"

"I won't," he reassures, and he loves the way Ginsberg's clinging to him, drawing him so close, tying their two bodies together in a tight knot. Once he's in all the way he keeps still, breathing slowly and letting Ginsberg adjust around him. Ned can feel every tiny shift and twitch of his muscles, and he worries for a moment that he didn't prepare Ginsberg enough, couldn't have, because he feels so tight. But he's hearing no complaints, so he lets out a slow breath and smiles.

He draws back his hips a fraction and pushes back in, can't hold back a low groan, head falling forward to rest against Ginsberg's shoulder. He repeats the motion, slow and shallow thrusts, reaches between their bodies to wrap his hand around Ginsberg's cock and stroke him in time, coaxingly. Ned presses his mouth against the curve of the other man's neck, doesn't quite manage to muffle the small whimper of enjoyment that spills from his lips.

"Let me know-" he manages, though his voice is choked and husky, "If I'm- ah- if you want me to slow down. Fuck!"

"You don't need to slow down. Y-you... just... do whatever feels right."

Because it's all so new to him, it all feels overwhelmingly good, and if he's clinging to Ned just a little too tightly, he's not consciously aware of it. It's not that he's digging his nails into Ned's skin, really, so much as that his arms are wrapped around Ned firmly, holding him close. When Ned rests his head against his shoulder, he instinctively tilts his head down and buries his face in Ned's hair for a moment, planting several little kisses there, scattered and imprecise, more an expression of overflowing excitement and energy than anything directed.

"I can't believe I haven't... I should have been doing this all the time."

Because now he knows what he's been missing, and it's going to be hard to go back to not doing it in the future, if this is his only chance of being with Ned in this way. Secretly, he hopes it won't be, but that's a thought for another time, a time when he's not tilting his hips up to meet Ned's slow, shallow thrusts, to meet the coaxing motions of his hand. It's amazing to him how instinctive his body's response is, like his body knows exactly what he's doing, even if his brain has no earthly idea.

Ned doesn't say anything in response to that, just laughs, breathlessly. He's certainly glad for the evidence that Ginsberg's enjoying himself both verbal and otherwise. Ned knows that it's only going to get better from here. He pauses, shifts Ginsberg's legs a fraction wider so that he can push even deeper. This tears a short groan out of Ned, and he can't seem to stop himself from making sound, all expletives and sharp inhalations and a stream of tiny compliments, how amazing Ginsberg feels, how perfect his skin is, how warm he is, how he's doing great.

The feeling of Ginsberg's nails pressing against his back doesn't bother Ned; he takes them as encouragement to keep going. Ned tries a few slightly different angles, waiting to hear what will elicit the best reaction and then sticking to that spot, relentlessly, drawing out the length of his thrusts, surging against the other man in a steady rhythm that makes the bed creak obscenely, but he doesn't care in the slightest.

When Ned finds a particular angle that draws a breathless cry out of Ginsberg, he's about to tell Ned not to change angles at all, but Ned's already one step ahead of him, already focusing on that perfect angle, each thrust feeling better than the last, until he's not sure he can even see straight anymore. The noises Ned is making are coupled with his own to create quite a combination of sounds, all of which are loud and sound completely shameless. There's a moment where he wonders whether the neighbors will overhear, and what they'll think, but it's hard to worry about what anyone thinks when all he can hear is the rush of blood in his own ears and the things Ned's saying to him, things nobody else has ever said before.

He knows that perhaps he's too close to the edge too fast, that he should be able to hold out longer, but he doesn't think he can really be blamed for being so aroused his first time ever, especially not when Ned had already used his very talented mouth and hands, so he just buries his face in Ned's shoulder and tries to hold out for as long as he can, although the erratic way he's breathing and the noises he just can't tamp down should be evidence enough of how much he's enjoying himself.

Ned's own head is spinning with a strange, wonderful kind of vertigo, but he can tell that Ginsberg must be close. There's no mistaking that expression, the frantic quality to his breathing, and Ned can't get enough of it. Which is why, when Ginsberg buries his face against Ned's shoulder, Ned sets a hand on his chest, not exactly pushing him back against the bed, but suggesting.

"C'mon... I wanna see your face, please." With that he increases the speed of his thrusts, pumping Ginsberg's cock with quick, sure strokes, "Open your eyes and look at me." Ned wants to make eye contact, if just for a moment. He needs that feeling of connection, that intimacy. Thinks it's important, particularly because this is Ginsberg's first time, because he was so nervous and unsure and worried. Ned wants to see him stripped of all of that, wants him to see that there's nothing to be ashamed of, here.

At this point, he'd be willing to do just about anything Ned suggested, because Ned's the one making him feel so good, Ned's the one talking to him and touching him and giving him an experience he had begun to think he'd never have. So when Ned puts a hand on his chest and gently pushes him back towards the bed, he lets himself fall back against the bed, no longer burying his face in Ned's shoulder, even if he feels a little shy.

When he opens his eyes, they're wide and almost startled with how good all of this feels, but he locks his gaze with Ned's, not looking away from him, mouth slightly open, breathing hard. It all seems to hit him at once, and he doesn't close his eyes again when the orgasm washes over him, but he does call out Ned's name, surprised at how hard his whole body is trembling, at how loud he's being, at how he just wants to watch Ned forever as all of these sensations sweep over him and leave him weak-kneed and shaky.

Ned stays with him through the orgasm, doesn't take his eyes off him or stop moving. He's close, too, but he holds off, because he doesn't want to miss a second of this. It's more important to him in that moment to watch Ginsberg, to listen to him and feel the shudders pass through his body, than to pay attention to his body's own requests. It's wonderful, to hear Ginsberg say his name like that, to hear the notes of surprise and delight in his gasps for air.

Once he can feel Ginsberg twitching with the aftershocks he stills his thrusts, pulling out with a muffled whimper. Ned flops onto the bed beside him, their bodies pressed close, and starts kissing him through the come down, messy and affectionate.

There's completely undisguised, open emotion on his face as he kisses Ned back, hands roaming all over Ned's body, convinced that if he fails to touch a single square inch of it, he won't have experienced everything he possibly can. He looks somewhere between enraptured and grateful, and even though he's practically collapsed onto the bed and breathing hard from their exertions, there's still that happy, delighted energy rushing through him that makes him let out a little laugh of amazement.

"Is that... what it's always like?"

Because if it is, he has a lot of lost time to make up for. He presses closer to Ned, returning those kisses, just as affectionately and warmly, hands gliding across Ned's skin and not stopping in one particular place or another. He can't possibly say all the things he wants to say, but he tries to communicate it with his kisses, with his desire to make Ned feel good, too.

Ned grins, delighted by the sound of that laugh, by the light of sheer joy in Ginsberg's eyes. Much, much better than seeing them filled with worry or uncertainty, and he did that.

"Depends who you're doing it with," Ned says, leaning into those kisses and touches, shivering now and then, his skin sensitive and flushed. He's torn between different desires: he wants to talk with Ginsberg and revel in his happiness and wonder, but he also wants to get off. So much so that his dignity is somewhat starting to slip by the wayside; when Ginsberg presses close to him he bites his bottom lip against a groan, hips arcing forward of their own volition.

"Told you I knew what I was d-doing," he says, words broken by a stutter and a gasp when Ginsberg kisses a particularly sensitive spot on his neck.

"And you obviously know what you're doing," he replies, but his words are mostly muffled into Ned's neck as he kisses that sensitive spot again, liking the reaction he gets out of Ned just from something as simple as a lingering kiss. He wants nothing more than to make Ned happy, now, and he's relaxed enough that he doesn't feel at all shy about sliding his hand down Ned's body and taking his cock in hand, beginning to stroke. Ned had been arching his hips towards him, after all, and he's pretty sure that although he's never touched anyone like this before, it can't be too difficult to figure out.

All the same, he keeps his face buried in Ned's neck, because he's too embarrassed to look Ned in the eye, just in case he's doing something wrong, in case he's not capable of pleasing Ned the way Ned had pleased him. For all of his relaxation, how good and heavy-limbed his body feels, he knows that he still has the potential to be nervous and awkward. The sheer enjoyment and happiness overwhelms most of the worry, though, and the desire to get more of those little gasps out of Ned spurs him on.

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.

It's almost overwhelming, because he's never imagined being able to do that to someone, even if he's thought about it before, imagined what it would be like to make someone else feel so good, wanted to have the opportunity to do so. Now he's done it, and it's even better than he'd thought it would be, enough so that he has to pull away from Ned's shoulder for a moment just to look at his face, to imprint the vision of that expression and those gasps in his mind forever.

And when Ned presses his face to his chest, he presses his own face into Ned's hair again, scattering kisses on top of his head, trying to communicate something, though even he's not sure what it is. As soon as Ned kisses him, he's reciprocating, warmly and just as fiercely, wanting to cling onto him, absurdly afraid that now that they're done, Ned's going to make him leave right away.

"I... thank you," he says, and he knows how stupid it sounds. It's not nearly enough to express what he wants to, but it'll just have to suffice.

Ned leaves their foreheads pressed together, but now he's smiling too widely to keep kissing Ginsberg, his whole body buzzing and humming with satiation. "Thank you," he replies, running a hand up and down Ginsberg's arm, just wanting to keep touching him, keep contact. He shuts his eyes a moment and lets out a long, happy sigh, inches closer to Ginsberg, even though the two of them are too hot and a little sweaty and maybe he wants some distance just now. Distance is the very last thing that Ned wants.

"Don't go anywhere," he murmurs, and it's probably rude of him to be so dictatorial, but in his post-coital glow, Ned's possessiveness and desire not to be alone outweighs his impulse not to be demanding.

He doesn't want distance at all -- far from it, he wants to be as humanly close to Ned as possible, and he's glad to see that Ned isn't pushing him away. When Ned says don't go anywhere, the smile that breaks onto his face is one that he might be ashamed of, in another situation, so full of happiness and excitement that it could be embarrassing, if Ned weren't being so kind to him.

So he moves a bit closer, too, lets their bodies touch in as many places as possible, stroking his fingers across Ned's cheek with that same, silly, reverent look in his eyes. "I won't go anywhere. I mean, I'd go if you wanted me to, but I don't want to go. I just want to stay here."

The proclivity to babble seems to have returned, but Ned hasn't seemed to mind so far. Ginsberg's hand moves from Ned's cheek to brush some of Ned's hair back off of his forehead, and smile at him.

The babbling doesn't bother him at all, but it's pretty clear that Ned is fighting off a wave of fatigue, blinking in increasingly slow intervals, a faint smile on his face. Most times and most places he isn't fond of having his face touched, but right now it isn't so bad at all.

"Good. Stay."

It's not a large bed, but there's room for the two of them, particularly when they are twined this close. Ned yawns, says in a bleary sort of way, "Sorry I'm one of those guys who can't keep his eyes open after." He notices Ginsberg moving his hair from his face, says, "'s nice." Then, seeming to return to his previous thought, he adds, "...know it's rude to go to sleep right after..."

"You can go to sleep," he says, and as he says it, he feels a rush of tiredness come over him, too, one that leaves him blinking back his own exhaustion. "I think I will, too. If you don't mind."

He doesn't think Ned will mind, but he feels compelled to offer Ned one more out in case he really wants him to leave and doesn't know how to phrase it. He'd like to stay, though, would like to sleep next to Ned, pressed up this close against him, in a kind of intimacy that he's never really had with anyone else. There's enough space, after all -- Ned may be tall, but Ginsberg certainly isn't, and pressed this close, they can both lie here in sleep companionship.

Maybe that's why he finally lets his eyes drift shut, thinking that, if Ned really wants to kick him out, he'll do so regardless of whether his eyes are open or not.

Ned wakes up later than he's accustomed to do. There are many reasons for that: the booze, the excitement, the fact that he's curled around a very warm and still-sleeping Ginsberg. He opens his eyes but doesn't move, afraid that in doing so he might wake the other man. They've shifted in their sleep so that Ginsberg's back is pressed to his chest, Ned's arm held close to his chest. It feels rather lovely, and he stays there for as long as he can.

When he does pull away he does it as carefully as possible, trying not to jostle Ginsberg too badly. He grabs a piece of paper from somewhere and scrawls a quick note, nothing more or less than Good morning! It's silly, really, and there's no need to do it, but Ned lets himself follow that impulse. He leaves it on the bedside table while he heads off for a shower.

He wakes up largely because it suddenly feels several degrees colder in the bed, and the reason for that is obvious as soon as he opens up his eyes and rolls over, finding that Ned is no longer in the bed. There's a second where he wonders whether Ned has just left entirely, but then he hears the shower running, and relaxes back into the mattress slightly. Ned hasn't left. Ned hasn't decided he's sick of him -- so far, at least.

Throughout the night, he knows, he'd been very cuddly, and there's another moment where he worries that perhaps he'd been too cuddly, but Ned would have shoved him aside if he had been, wouldn't he? Finally, he stops lolling around on the bed and sits up, which is when he notices the note on the bedside table. It puts another huge smile on his face, although there's no one to see it.

Fumbling under the bed, he comes up with his underwear and undershirt, and tosses them on, then heads towards the kitchen with the intention of making coffee for the both of them. That's the right thing to do, isn't it? Were he feeling more bold, he might surprise Ned in the shower, but he still feels somewhat shy, so coffee it is.

When Ned gets out of the shower, he comes into his bedroom expecting to see Ginsberg still asleep, but finds the bed empty. Judging by the smell of coffee filtering through the air, he has an idea what he might be up to. Ned smiles, likes having someone in the apartment in the morning, gets dressed quickly and heads out to the tiny kitchen to join him.

There's something quite cute about Ginsberg standing there in his undershirt and boxers. Ned is beaming when he slouches his way in, hands in his pockets, Digby trotting in a few paces behind him to curl up on a pillow in a corner of the kitchen that is clearly his.

"Hi," Ned says, and there's a touch of awkwardness to it, but also friendliness and humor. "I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Hi," he says, having explored Ned's kitchen well enough, at least, to make coffee and find coffee cups. He pours them both a cup of coffee, suddenly feeling a little underdressed, considering that Ned's got real clothes on now. Trying not to let any sense of awkwardness show, he holds Ned's cup out to him.

"I don't know how you like your coffee," he apologizes preemptively, "I mean, I don't really know a lot about you, actually. I'd like to. Know more, I mean. And yeah, you woke me up. Well, not exactly. I didn't wake up until I noticed you were gone, because I got cold. I guess I got used to you being there. But it's okay, it was time to get up anyway. Maybe I should go put some pants on."

It seems that the chattering tendency is still alive and well, even before he's had his morning coffee.

Ned listens to Ginsberg chattering, smile never diminishing, waiting for him to pause for a breath. When he does stop, Ned says, "Black's fine. As for pants, you can if you want to, but I don't think there's any particular hurry, unless you've got someplace you have to be."

Sipping at his mug, he eyes Ginsberg with appreciation. He's more awake, after his shower, and pleasant little memories from the night before are drifting through his head like a particularly dirty movie. Ned's glad he stayed the night, glad he's here this morning to have coffee and ramble at him in that nervous way of his. "I'd like to know more about you, too."

Because if Ginsberg had wanted this to be a one-off thing, Ned would be alright with that. Not happy, but... used to it. Resigned. The fact that he doesn't seem inclined in that direction, that he's not ashamed of himself or angry or condescending the next morning, are all marks in his favor.

"Breakfast?"

"I don't need to be anywhere, I'm not in any hurry."

Which, apparently, has him deciding that that doesn't mean he needs to put pants on, either. Ned doesn't seem to be complaining, in any case, and there's something oddly comfortable about being in the kitchen with Ned, casual like this, drinking their coffee and talking to each other. He doesn't know how he'd imagined it, but he'd somehow always thought that, after a night like that, he'd be asked to leave. For Ned not to kick him out, and for Ned to offer him breakfast, that puts a smile on his face.

"Yeah, breakfast sounds great. Thanks. And truthfully, you already know a lot about me. You've probably noticed that I have the tendency to share more than I should."

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