It's so easy to let himself get lost in this, to give up trying to think coherently and just let it feel good, just concentrate on how good Ned's lips feel against his and how oddly right all of it feels. There's self-doubt, certainly, and a heaping spoonful of self-consciousness and a fear of embarrassing himself, but there's one thing he doesn't doubt at all, and that's that the choice to do this with Ned was very much the right choice.
Even if he makes a fool of himself, even if he awkwardly fumbles in trying to position his hands or trips over his own feet when Ned nudges him back a bit -- which he does, but he quickly regains his balance again to lean up against the wall -- he knows Ned won't mock him for it. That's a sense of security he can't take for granted, and he finds that he likes being up against the wall, too; it adds an additional sense of security, being between Ned's body and the wall, and the kiss he responds with is even more enthusiastic than the one before it, full of delight and appreciation.
Finally, his other hand seems to have decided to tangle itself in Ned's hair, and that seems perfect, too. If he let his cynicism speak up, he'd be thinking that there was no way all of this could stay so perfect, that he'd be bound to fuck it all up eventually, but he's trying to ignore that little voice, and just concentrate on the kissing, which is something he knows he's, at the very least, passably decent at.
Ned can tells, from a dozen little nonverbal signs, that Ginsberg approves of the move, and so he stays where he is, their chests pressed flush together. Ginsberg's hand in his hair is gentle, but brushes against his scalp in just the right way to send a shiver all the way down his spine. It's not a bad feeling though, by any means.
He's glad to take things slowly, to let himself relax into this, warming up from their walk outside, bodies fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. Without noticing when he'd done it, Ned's pressed one of his legs between Ginsberg's, keeping him in place.
"I have to say, I'm really glad we're doing this again," Ned breaks the kiss to murmur. He seems to remember that Ginsberg liked having his ears touched, so he moves his mouth close, breath hot, just a dash of mischief in his tone. "I keep thinking about last time..."
It probably doesn't fit any definition of cool to smile as much as he does at Ned's comment, but then, Ned's already well aware of the fact that he's not cool, and since that seems to be just fine, he lets that silly grin break across his face. "Yeah, me too," he replies, not quite as quietly as Ned, because he can't seem to tone down his excitement enough to whisper, "I thought about it a lot. I thought you might not wanna do it again, so I'm glad you do, because otherwise, I'd've been thinking about it forever without getting to experience it again, and that would've been sad. For me, I mean."
Despite the fact that he's slightly more relaxed and less nervous about this whole thing now that they've done it once before, he's still not entirely capable of turning off the part of his mind that makes him babble. He runs his fingers through Ned's hair again, partially because he thinks Ned enjoys it, partially because he likes the feeling of his hair underneath his fingertips.
He should probably be embarrassed, too, at just how favorably he responds to having Ned's mouth that close to his ear, of having Ned's leg pressed between his, but embarrassment seems like a waste of time when he could simply roll his hips ever so slightly, pressing against Ned's leg a little more, wordlessly encouraging him to do more, even if he's not sure what more entails; he's just greedy for any possible touch.
The fact that Ned does want to do it again is all too obvious from the way that he kissing his way down Ginsberg's neck, undoing his tie and top button to kiss at the hollow of his throat. He notices the way Ginsberg is pressing against him, that he is starting to get aroused, and that is encouraging, for Ned. It reminds him all over again why he wanted this, how intoxicating it is, being wanted like that, being able to incite that kind of reaction.
Which is perhaps why he doesn't beat around the bush, this time, but runs a hand down Ginsberg's chest to rub at him through the fabric of his pants, with a little laugh. Not a mocking laugh, but a delighted one, soft and rather low in his throat. "I just want to make you feel really-" he punctuates this with a kiss, "really-" another kiss, "-good."
"You're already making me feel good," he says, because why shouldn't he admit it? It's plenty obvious as it is, and he's never seen the point in being particularly coy if being straightforward can result in more enjoyment. That straightforwardness has backfired pretty drastically before, but so far, being open and honest with Ned has been surprisingly effective. "But I wanna make you feel really good, too," he hastens to add, tilting his chin up so that Ned can press more kisses to his throat, which he finds he quite enjoys.
If Ned's going to be undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he figures he should return the favor, and he reaches for Ned's tie, finding it surprising how easy it is to undo it and tug it free from Ned's shirt; his hands seem capable of acting without conscious thought, because he'd have assumed he'd fumble pathetically at anything like that. "If there's, um..." he mumbles, a little less exuberantly than usual, which may be chalked up to the way he's blushing slightly, but he pushes through the embarrassment, kisses Ned again, and finishes his sentence with: "... anything you want to try, you know, that's different, or something, you should probably know that I'm willing to try anything once. Because I have no idea what I'm doing. I mean, I have a little more idea than I did the last time, but still."
"I can think of a couple things..." Ned murmurs. It's always been more his role to follow along with whatever his partner wanted, to adjust himself to fit in with whatever scenario they had in mind. With Ginsberg, though, it's different. He seems, despite their previous night together, still nervous about his lack of experience and unwilling to trust in his own ability to make decisions. In which case, Ned thinks, it might be easier if he is more proactive, more forthright than is his custom.
"I kind of want you to fuck me," Ned suggests, head already dizzy enough with arousal that his usual obscenity filters have gone off-line. He keeps rubbing at Ginsberg with the heel of his palm, wonders how wound up he can get Ginsberg while he's still mostly-dressed. There's something strangely erotic about that, for Ned; about having the connection and energy of sex with a bare minimum of skin-to-skin contact. When he was new to all this, when he'd still been even worse than he is now about people touching him, he had preferred things like this - getting off with most of his clothes on. It's not so hard for him, now, to touch and be touched, but he still remembers how good it can be, without taking off a thing.
"Because..." he goes on, after that moment of distraction, "...some guys, you know, they really prefer it one way or another. I'm not really picky, but I thought, you should probably try both before you- before you make any decisions."
He's not necessarily stammering because he's surprised by the suggestion, although there's some of that inherent in his hesitation, too. It's more that he's entirely distracted by Ned's hand, and really has no way of hiding the fact, or any desire to do so -- in fact, he presses into Ned's hand more, unabashedly letting a quiet moan interrupt his stammering and stuttering. It should be obvious, from the way he's reacting, that it won't be at all difficult to get him wound up. Even the slight rubbing Ned's doing now is enough to have him moaning, after all.
"I'd like to try that. But like I said, I really don't know what I'm doing, and I don't wanna fuck it up, so you'd have to, you know, be patient. But yes, I want to."
And not just out of a sense of wanting to find out which way he prefers it. He genuinely wants to please Ned, in whatever way he can, and this sounds like it'll please him. That's all he's looking for, and he tugs Ned down for another kiss, sloppy and a little too passionate.
It's a little while before Ned can get a word in; he kisses Ginsberg back with equal intensity, undoing half his buttons, then deciding it's more urgent they relocate to the bedroom first, then undress. With a playful tug at his shirt, Ned breaks away from Ginsberg, leads him down the hall towards his bedroom. It's different than the last time, because there is light filtering in through the curtains, because neither of them are stumbling or tipping over, but Ned thinks it's just as good.
Once they're in the room he starts to pull his clothes off with an obvious enthusiasm that rivals Ginsberg's, and he finally says what he had thought a minute or two earlier.
"I won't let you fuck it up." He knows how it goes, being afraid to ruin something. How terrifying it can be. But he doesn't want Ginsberg frightened. He wants him blissfully, inarticulately happy. "And y'know, practice makes perfect, so..." Ned hooks a finger in Ginsberg's belt loop, draws him close for another kiss, bending him back ever so slightly, the way he'd wanted to do when they were standing there in the museum, "...even if you feel like your first try doesn't go as well as you wanted it to, you've got an incentive to try again."
All he wants to do is get both of their clothes off, so he's happy to follow Ned when he tugs him towards the bedroom, and he's pleasantly surprised when he manages to walk down the hallway without falling over or making a fool of himself. As soon as they're in the bedroom, though, he's letting himself be divested of his clothes as quickly as possible, finding no shame in being shirtless around Ned -- in fact, he doesn't particularly feel ashamed about being fully naked around Ned, either; at least, he hadn't the last time they'd been together. Maybe it'll be different this time, but he fervently hopes not.
Once he gets Ned out of his shirt, he takes a break from kissing to respond to Ned's reassurances, nodding a little, the flush on his cheeks obvious, especially since it isn't at all dark in the room. He lets himself be bent backwards a little, still liking the feeling of being held by Ned in this way, of feeling both excited and strangely secure. "Okay, I just... okay. I want to make you happy. I trust you."
Saying that doesn't strike him as particularly impressive -- he's never been given any reason to distrust Ned -- but then, he doesn't know what this kind of intimacy should be like, really, and he's unfamiliar with how strange people can be about trust when it comes to this kind of thing. Regardless of what he should be saying, he's in the process of nudging Ned towards the bed, thinking that that's probably a good first step towards doing this whole thing right.
Ned's glad he has both Ginsberg's interest and his trust. He lets himself be nudged towards the bed, falling onto it with a contented laugh when the backs of his legs hit the edge. With a quick and not particularly dignified wriggle, he rids himself of the rest of his clothes, leaves them on a heap on the floor.
The only logical next step is to sit up again and help Ginsberg catch up. Ned's never had any particular anatomical fixations, but he has to admit that Ginsberg has a great ass; he gets in a not-so-subtle grope in the process of helping the other man out of his pants. He might not be drunk, he feels giddy and light-headed as he pulls Ginsberg down on top of him, arching up to meet him like a wave.
"I love your hair," he murmurs, running both hands through it, because apparently he's reached that particular state of mind where small endearments and compliments spill from his lips without ever checking in with his brain, first.
But he needs his brain, needs to stay present for the time being. He can't quite lose himself yet. So, with a small internal check on himself, Ned clears his throat. "Okay, I'm going to walk you though this."
It's amazing just what a smile a simple statement like Ned liking his hair can put on his face, and he absolutely cannot control the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face when Ned says it. "I love your... everything," he says, and although it sounds completely over the top and inarticulate, he really means it. He can't think of any part of Ned that seems lacking in any way; as far as he's concerned, the other man is just about physically perfect.
As soon as he's pulled down on top of Ned, his hands are everywhere, just like they'd been the last time they'd done this, greedy to explore every part of Ned he possibly can, like he's trying to memorize his whole body. The way Ned arches up against him makes him shiver in response, makes him catch his breath a little and then let it out in a small laugh, a noise that's just as self-deprecating as it is excited. He knows he gets overly excited about most things, and this is probably one of those things, but he just can't stop himself. It's all so new and so overwhelming, he can barely think straight.
"Yeah," he says, in response to Ned's next statement, "Yeah, I'd really... I wanna do everything right, so you have to show me, because you definitely did it right, so you can probably teach me. I hope." He desperately doesn't want to be a failure, but what he'd said was true: he really does trust Ned. So he leans down for another kiss, and then kisses Ned's neck and collarbone, too, because why not? He'd like to kiss everywhere, if he could.
"I can teach you," Ned echoes, a touch breathless, and he is going to do that any second now. It's just that Ginsberg is warm and energetic and all over him, and it's hard to keep his mind on task when the other man seems so determined to touch him and kiss him, as if nothing else mattered to him right then. So Ned gives himself a moment to just enjoy it, lets his head fall to the side to give Ginsberg better access to his neck, humming appreciatively, low in his throat. One of his hands finds its way back into Ginsberg's hair, holding on gently.
"You're distracting me," he murmurs, and it's meant to be a half-complaint, but it comes out sounding thoroughly pleased. At some point he's closed his eyes, opens his heavy lids to see Ginsberg, red-cheeked and lovely (even with that bruise, which Ned would kiss but for fear that it would hurt).
At last he marshals his mind enough to reach out a long arm and fumble in the bedside table for the tube of lubricant. "It's not all that complicated," he assures, between open-mouthed kisses to any bit of Ginsberg he can reach. "But you're going to- I can't show you while you're doing tha-at..." Which he says ostensibly to get Ginsberg to stop doing 'that' (in this case, running a hand along his thigh and kissing the curve of his jaw). However, the way the last word is interrupted by a small gasp and a shudder that runs through Ned, he's got half a mind to tell Ginsberg to keep going for a little longer.
"Did you not want to be distracted?" he asks, and it's undoubtedly a mischievous question that really requires no answer, from the way he bends down to kiss Ned's jaw again, wanting to replicate that little gasp and shudder that makes him feel bizarrely proud of himself. The ability to evoke noises like that from another person, he's starting to realize, could easily be addictive -- there's nothing he wants more than to figure out just how many different noises Ned can make, all of them unique and delightful.
"I'll stop at some point, maybe, and then you can show me," he says, running his fingertips up Ned's thighs and across his hips and stomach, feeling the muscles and bones underneath the skin, mapping out everything and finding every bit of it better than the last bit he's touched. It's hard to convince himself to stop running his hands all over Ned, to stop leaning in for kisses everywhere, but eventually, the desire to please Ned even more wins out, and he stills the motions of his hands, planting one last kiss on Ned's neck -- a kiss that ends with a slight nibble, just to see what the response will be -- and sitting up a little to look at him.
"Okay. I'll be good now, and you can show me." He trails his hand across Ned's chest, just for the sake of continuing to touch him, but he's not quite as energetic and demanding about it as before, perhaps giving Ned the chance to breathe.
Ned needs that change to catch his breath; Ginsberg might not have much practice at this, but his instincts are good, and even Ned is surprised by how light-headed he feels, how out of breath and aroused just from those wandering, curious touches. When Ginsberg bit him - just a small amount - Ned bit down on his bottom lip but didn't quite suppress a noise of approval.
"Okay," Ned says, mostly to himself, gathering the scattered threads of his composure, "Okay. Right. Yes." He has to try twice to get the cap off the lube, because his hands aren't so steady at present. He meets Ginsberg's eyes, bright and dark and intent on him. Fighting down embarrassment, Ned says, "I'll show you first and then you can copy what I do." The lube is cold on his skin, and there's something so peculiarly erotic about demonstrating this to Ginsberg, about touching himself under that observant look. Ned has to shut his eyes against it, just for now, shifting his legs apart and pressing a finger into himself. His toes curl against the sheets but he manages to hold in the whimper that's fighting its way up his throat - that is, until he opens his eyes a sliver and sees Ginsberg watching him. After that, he hisses a quick fuck under his breath and starts to move his hand, slowly. "You should always- do this first, or it hurts a lot more."
There's no way he could bring himself to tear his eyes away from Ned now, and he only hopes that his gaze isn't too intent, too enthusiastic, because the last thing he wants to do is make Ned feel uncomfortable at a moment like this. He'd felt Ned do all of this to him the previous time they'd been together, of course, but he's never seen anyone do it to themselves, and his eyes are wide and fascinated as he watches, not even realizing that he's holding his breath.
When Ned finally presses a finger into himself, though, there's no way he can stifle the little whispered "Wow," that comes out of his own mouth, no matter how silly it sounds, and when Ned opens his eyes just a bit and looks at him, he has to take a deep, shaky breath, because he's suddenly more aroused from watching this than he'd been from all the kissing and touching they'd been doing before -- and he'd already been pretty damn aroused.
He's content to watch for some time, seeing the way Ned does it, caught up in the simple pleasure of the sight of it, running a hand across Ned's thigh, but his desire to try for himself surges up quickly, and he moves his hand from Ned's thigh to reach for the lube, too, imitating just what Ned had done. Tentatively, he nudges Ned's hand out of the way, looking at him as though asking for permission, before gently, very gently, as though he's afraid of hurting Ned terribly if he's not incredibly cautious, pressing a finger inside of him, still holding his breath.
Ned moves his hand out of the way, rests back on his elbows and parts his legs wider in tacit permission. When Ginsberg looks at him he gives a tiny nod. There's such care in his movements; Ned knows part of that comes from his lack of self-confidence and from his belief that he's going to mess this up somehow. But it's also, simultaneously, out of a desire not to hurt him, and Ned appreciates that consideration.
"You're doing good," he assures, consciously relaxes the muscles in that area as much as he can. "It feels nice. You can- move it, if you want. If you, um..." Ned reaches between his legs, nudges Ginsberg to twist his arm so it is palm-up, "If you want it to feel really nice, you can sort of hook your finger forward, like..." he demonstrates with his own hand. "And then kind of feel around- ah!" his sentence is cut off by a rather loud cry, and he arches his hips off the bed, hands twisting into the sheets at his sides. "Do that again," he says, and it's meant to be an instruction, but it comes out more like a plea.
He's so eager to follow instruction, so completely willing to do whatever Ned shows him, and he hopes that makes up for the fact that he really has no idea what he's doing. When Ned shows him what to do with his fingers, he imitates the motion, remembering that Ned had done something very similar to him, and just how good it had felt. He wants to be able to make Ned feel that good, too, and the best way to do it is by learning from Ned, who obviously knows exactly what he's doing.
And from the way the motion of his finger makes Ned arch his hips and cry out like that, his instructions have been good. There's no way he could possibly resist doing that again, even if he wanted to, from the desperate way that plea comes out of Ned's mouth, so he does, and then he does it again, wanting to get more of those intoxicating noises. His other hand can't seem to stay still, either, trails its way across Ned's stomach, and for once, he's not saying anything at all, because he's so very focused on this, on making Ned feel good.
Ned had been prepared, if he needed to, to play up his reactions to help Ginsberg gain his confidence. Not to fake anything, certainly, and not to lie if Ginsberg was doing something incorrectly or hurting him. But he'd half had it in his mind that he'd consciously be a touch louder with his moans, a little more generous with his movements. Turns out, that well-intentioned and generous impulse hadn't been necessary. With Ginsberg fingering him like that he twists his hands into the sheets and just holds on as if for dear life, mouth falling open and eyes screwed shut. He's not saying anything, but the sounds spilling from his lips - without any art or construction on his part - are very appreciative.
It's hard for him to channel his thoughts in the right direction, but he adds after a minute or so, "You c-can put... use a second finger. Even better." Very coherent, Ned.
He's not sure that this should be taking his breath away the way it seems to be taking Ned's breath away, because he's the one doing it, not the one having it done to him, but no matter whether it makes sense or not, he's having a hard time catching his breath, so intent on listening to those noises Ned's making and seeing the way he's gripping the sheets like that. "You're so..." he manages, but hell if he actually knows what he's trying to say -- it's complimentary, he knows that, but what the actual words are he has no clue -- so he just breaks off into reverent silence, focusing entirely on Ned instead.
Ned's instruction is eagerly received, and he does as Ned asks, adding a second finger, still moving very slowly, but the excitement obvious on his face, on the way he immediately starts attempting to replicate the motions he'd been doing before, with just the one finger. If that had been good, and Ned says this will be even better, he can only imagine what kind of reaction Ned will have to it, but he knows he's desperate to see it.
Ginsberg really is a fast learner; Ned's breath is coming in quick, harsh rasps, now. It's been a while since he's done this with anyone and he'd forgotten how intense it can get, lets himself get lost in it, moving his hips back against the small movements of Ginsberg's hands, wanting more, not remembering how to articulate that. When he feels himself a familiar tightening in the pit of his stomach he has to check himself, stutter out a quick, "Okay, okay, hold up."
He lets go of the sheets, brings a hand up to Ginsberg's hair to pull him down into a kiss, passionate with an edge of desperation to it. "Gimme the-" he can't seem to remember how to speak properly right now, so he just sits up and grabs the lube himself. After he puts a generous amount onto his palm, he coats Ginsberg's cock with it by stroking it with quick, almost brusque movements. Ned knows some of his impatience must be coming across, and some small, still-rational corner of his mind hopes Ginsberg doesn't mind.
"You know what t-to do, right?" he asks, wrapping one leg around Ginsberg's back, lining his cock up with his entrance and then smiling at him, bright and dizzy. "Just go slow at first, okay?"
As soon as Ned tells him to hold up, he stops what he's doing, lets himself get tugged down for that kiss, can't help but tilt his hips forward and moan low in his throat at the feeling of Ned's hand on him. "Y-yeah, I think I can figure it out," he says, in response to Ned's question, his answer breathless and excited and just as eager as Ned seems to be.
Despite his enthusiasm, despite how turned on he is -- evident from the flush on his face and the quickened breathing, from the way he's trembling slightly as every bit of contact he has with Ned, no matter how minor -- it doesn't seem difficult to go slowly, partly because he doesn't want to hurt Ned, partly because he wants to relish every little bit of it, feel every intoxicating moment of pressing into Ned.
And just that simple, slow movement of burying himself deep inside of Ned is enough to make him gasp and let out a jumbled, nonsensical torrent of swearing, his head dipping forward for a moment and his hair falling into his eyes, one hand on Ned's chest to brace himself. It's better than he'd imagined, and for a long moment, he doesn't move at all, but when he finally does, mindful of Ned's instructions, it's slow and gentle.
Ned can't help but smile at that stream of obscenities, reaches up to brush the hair out of Ginsberg's eyes, because he wants to see them, wants to be able to look at him as they are sharing this. He knows it's sappy, knows it's not exactly the ideal of masculinity that everyone seems to buy into. But that emotional connection, that interplay between the two of them, is almost more important to him than any of the rest of it.
"Perfect," he murmurs, covers Ginsberg's hand with his own and keeps it pressed to the center of his chest. "You're doing perfect." His heart is beating quickly in his chest, and he shifts his hips to meet Ginsberg's once he starts to move. Ned's characteristic honesty manifests itself again when he gasps, "'s been so long since I've-" but the rest of that sentence is cut off by a whimper, low in his throat.
"What's-" he's trying to keep talking, to give Ginsberg the reassurance he expects he needs that it's nothing to worry about, that he's not messing things up the way he was afraid to, "-what's the verdict? Pretty, uh. Pretty good both ways, right?"
Wow, he hadn't quite expected to be so lost for words, but then, why shouldn't he be? This is the first time he's doing this, and he couldn't possibly have imagined how good any of this would feel -- and he'd spent a lot of time thinking about it and imagining it. He's happy to meet Ned's eyes, not at all concerned about it being sappy, because the fact that he's connecting to Ned in some way, the fact that Ned really seems to care about him, that matters in a way he'd have no way of articulating.
"Pretty good both ways," he breathes out, finally picking up the pace a little, not disguising or feeling at all embarrassed by his ragged breathing, his little moans and whimpers, by the way he's clutching Ned's chest like he wants to be as close to him as possible. He leans down for a kiss, a not-particularly-coordinated one, a bit sloppy, but full of enthusiasm nevertheless, trying desperately to express just how good Ned feels, how perfect all of it is.
Ned kisses back eagerly, running his hands up and down Ginsberg's back, feeling the shift of muscles under his skin, keeping him close. He lets out a little hum of encouragement when Ginsberg speeds up, pressing one heel into the bed and lifting his hips, trying to take Ginsberg even deeper. "-'s good. You can try- mixing it up a bit. Fast then slow, that- that kind of thing." There are odd breaks in his sentence, but Ned is happy to be talking Ginsberg through things, glad that he's willing to listen to advice, vague as it may be. He's been with people before who couldn't stand it if he talked while they were having sex, and some people who didn't like it if he made any noise at all. But Ginsberg isn't like that.
Experimentally, lightly, Ned runs his fingernails over the skin of Ginsberg's back, seeing what kind of reaction it will elicit. It's impossible to predict these things based on personality, in Ned's experience. Nothing for it but to test the waters, to keep his eyes and ears open and shape himself in whatever way he can to fit the mold of what it seems Ginsberg likes.
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.
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Even if he makes a fool of himself, even if he awkwardly fumbles in trying to position his hands or trips over his own feet when Ned nudges him back a bit -- which he does, but he quickly regains his balance again to lean up against the wall -- he knows Ned won't mock him for it. That's a sense of security he can't take for granted, and he finds that he likes being up against the wall, too; it adds an additional sense of security, being between Ned's body and the wall, and the kiss he responds with is even more enthusiastic than the one before it, full of delight and appreciation.
Finally, his other hand seems to have decided to tangle itself in Ned's hair, and that seems perfect, too. If he let his cynicism speak up, he'd be thinking that there was no way all of this could stay so perfect, that he'd be bound to fuck it all up eventually, but he's trying to ignore that little voice, and just concentrate on the kissing, which is something he knows he's, at the very least, passably decent at.
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He's glad to take things slowly, to let himself relax into this, warming up from their walk outside, bodies fitted together like pieces of a puzzle. Without noticing when he'd done it, Ned's pressed one of his legs between Ginsberg's, keeping him in place.
"I have to say, I'm really glad we're doing this again," Ned breaks the kiss to murmur. He seems to remember that Ginsberg liked having his ears touched, so he moves his mouth close, breath hot, just a dash of mischief in his tone. "I keep thinking about last time..."
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Despite the fact that he's slightly more relaxed and less nervous about this whole thing now that they've done it once before, he's still not entirely capable of turning off the part of his mind that makes him babble. He runs his fingers through Ned's hair again, partially because he thinks Ned enjoys it, partially because he likes the feeling of his hair underneath his fingertips.
He should probably be embarrassed, too, at just how favorably he responds to having Ned's mouth that close to his ear, of having Ned's leg pressed between his, but embarrassment seems like a waste of time when he could simply roll his hips ever so slightly, pressing against Ned's leg a little more, wordlessly encouraging him to do more, even if he's not sure what more entails; he's just greedy for any possible touch.
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Which is perhaps why he doesn't beat around the bush, this time, but runs a hand down Ginsberg's chest to rub at him through the fabric of his pants, with a little laugh. Not a mocking laugh, but a delighted one, soft and rather low in his throat. "I just want to make you feel really-" he punctuates this with a kiss, "really-" another kiss, "-good."
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If Ned's going to be undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, he figures he should return the favor, and he reaches for Ned's tie, finding it surprising how easy it is to undo it and tug it free from Ned's shirt; his hands seem capable of acting without conscious thought, because he'd have assumed he'd fumble pathetically at anything like that. "If there's, um..." he mumbles, a little less exuberantly than usual, which may be chalked up to the way he's blushing slightly, but he pushes through the embarrassment, kisses Ned again, and finishes his sentence with: "... anything you want to try, you know, that's different, or something, you should probably know that I'm willing to try anything once. Because I have no idea what I'm doing. I mean, I have a little more idea than I did the last time, but still."
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"I kind of want you to fuck me," Ned suggests, head already dizzy enough with arousal that his usual obscenity filters have gone off-line. He keeps rubbing at Ginsberg with the heel of his palm, wonders how wound up he can get Ginsberg while he's still mostly-dressed. There's something strangely erotic about that, for Ned; about having the connection and energy of sex with a bare minimum of skin-to-skin contact. When he was new to all this, when he'd still been even worse than he is now about people touching him, he had preferred things like this - getting off with most of his clothes on. It's not so hard for him, now, to touch and be touched, but he still remembers how good it can be, without taking off a thing.
"Because..." he goes on, after that moment of distraction, "...some guys, you know, they really prefer it one way or another. I'm not really picky, but I thought, you should probably try both before you- before you make any decisions."
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He's not necessarily stammering because he's surprised by the suggestion, although there's some of that inherent in his hesitation, too. It's more that he's entirely distracted by Ned's hand, and really has no way of hiding the fact, or any desire to do so -- in fact, he presses into Ned's hand more, unabashedly letting a quiet moan interrupt his stammering and stuttering. It should be obvious, from the way he's reacting, that it won't be at all difficult to get him wound up. Even the slight rubbing Ned's doing now is enough to have him moaning, after all.
"I'd like to try that. But like I said, I really don't know what I'm doing, and I don't wanna fuck it up, so you'd have to, you know, be patient. But yes, I want to."
And not just out of a sense of wanting to find out which way he prefers it. He genuinely wants to please Ned, in whatever way he can, and this sounds like it'll please him. That's all he's looking for, and he tugs Ned down for another kiss, sloppy and a little too passionate.
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Once they're in the room he starts to pull his clothes off with an obvious enthusiasm that rivals Ginsberg's, and he finally says what he had thought a minute or two earlier.
"I won't let you fuck it up." He knows how it goes, being afraid to ruin something. How terrifying it can be. But he doesn't want Ginsberg frightened. He wants him blissfully, inarticulately happy. "And y'know, practice makes perfect, so..." Ned hooks a finger in Ginsberg's belt loop, draws him close for another kiss, bending him back ever so slightly, the way he'd wanted to do when they were standing there in the museum, "...even if you feel like your first try doesn't go as well as you wanted it to, you've got an incentive to try again."
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Once he gets Ned out of his shirt, he takes a break from kissing to respond to Ned's reassurances, nodding a little, the flush on his cheeks obvious, especially since it isn't at all dark in the room. He lets himself be bent backwards a little, still liking the feeling of being held by Ned in this way, of feeling both excited and strangely secure. "Okay, I just... okay. I want to make you happy. I trust you."
Saying that doesn't strike him as particularly impressive -- he's never been given any reason to distrust Ned -- but then, he doesn't know what this kind of intimacy should be like, really, and he's unfamiliar with how strange people can be about trust when it comes to this kind of thing. Regardless of what he should be saying, he's in the process of nudging Ned towards the bed, thinking that that's probably a good first step towards doing this whole thing right.
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The only logical next step is to sit up again and help Ginsberg catch up. Ned's never had any particular anatomical fixations, but he has to admit that Ginsberg has a great ass; he gets in a not-so-subtle grope in the process of helping the other man out of his pants. He might not be drunk, he feels giddy and light-headed as he pulls Ginsberg down on top of him, arching up to meet him like a wave.
"I love your hair," he murmurs, running both hands through it, because apparently he's reached that particular state of mind where small endearments and compliments spill from his lips without ever checking in with his brain, first.
But he needs his brain, needs to stay present for the time being. He can't quite lose himself yet. So, with a small internal check on himself, Ned clears his throat. "Okay, I'm going to walk you though this."
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As soon as he's pulled down on top of Ned, his hands are everywhere, just like they'd been the last time they'd done this, greedy to explore every part of Ned he possibly can, like he's trying to memorize his whole body. The way Ned arches up against him makes him shiver in response, makes him catch his breath a little and then let it out in a small laugh, a noise that's just as self-deprecating as it is excited. He knows he gets overly excited about most things, and this is probably one of those things, but he just can't stop himself. It's all so new and so overwhelming, he can barely think straight.
"Yeah," he says, in response to Ned's next statement, "Yeah, I'd really... I wanna do everything right, so you have to show me, because you definitely did it right, so you can probably teach me. I hope." He desperately doesn't want to be a failure, but what he'd said was true: he really does trust Ned. So he leans down for another kiss, and then kisses Ned's neck and collarbone, too, because why not? He'd like to kiss everywhere, if he could.
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"You're distracting me," he murmurs, and it's meant to be a half-complaint, but it comes out sounding thoroughly pleased. At some point he's closed his eyes, opens his heavy lids to see Ginsberg, red-cheeked and lovely (even with that bruise, which Ned would kiss but for fear that it would hurt).
At last he marshals his mind enough to reach out a long arm and fumble in the bedside table for the tube of lubricant. "It's not all that complicated," he assures, between open-mouthed kisses to any bit of Ginsberg he can reach. "But you're going to- I can't show you while you're doing tha-at..." Which he says ostensibly to get Ginsberg to stop doing 'that' (in this case, running a hand along his thigh and kissing the curve of his jaw). However, the way the last word is interrupted by a small gasp and a shudder that runs through Ned, he's got half a mind to tell Ginsberg to keep going for a little longer.
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"I'll stop at some point, maybe, and then you can show me," he says, running his fingertips up Ned's thighs and across his hips and stomach, feeling the muscles and bones underneath the skin, mapping out everything and finding every bit of it better than the last bit he's touched. It's hard to convince himself to stop running his hands all over Ned, to stop leaning in for kisses everywhere, but eventually, the desire to please Ned even more wins out, and he stills the motions of his hands, planting one last kiss on Ned's neck -- a kiss that ends with a slight nibble, just to see what the response will be -- and sitting up a little to look at him.
"Okay. I'll be good now, and you can show me." He trails his hand across Ned's chest, just for the sake of continuing to touch him, but he's not quite as energetic and demanding about it as before, perhaps giving Ned the chance to breathe.
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"Okay," Ned says, mostly to himself, gathering the scattered threads of his composure, "Okay. Right. Yes." He has to try twice to get the cap off the lube, because his hands aren't so steady at present. He meets Ginsberg's eyes, bright and dark and intent on him. Fighting down embarrassment, Ned says, "I'll show you first and then you can copy what I do." The lube is cold on his skin, and there's something so peculiarly erotic about demonstrating this to Ginsberg, about touching himself under that observant look. Ned has to shut his eyes against it, just for now, shifting his legs apart and pressing a finger into himself. His toes curl against the sheets but he manages to hold in the whimper that's fighting its way up his throat - that is, until he opens his eyes a sliver and sees Ginsberg watching him. After that, he hisses a quick fuck under his breath and starts to move his hand, slowly. "You should always- do this first, or it hurts a lot more."
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When Ned finally presses a finger into himself, though, there's no way he can stifle the little whispered "Wow," that comes out of his own mouth, no matter how silly it sounds, and when Ned opens his eyes just a bit and looks at him, he has to take a deep, shaky breath, because he's suddenly more aroused from watching this than he'd been from all the kissing and touching they'd been doing before -- and he'd already been pretty damn aroused.
He's content to watch for some time, seeing the way Ned does it, caught up in the simple pleasure of the sight of it, running a hand across Ned's thigh, but his desire to try for himself surges up quickly, and he moves his hand from Ned's thigh to reach for the lube, too, imitating just what Ned had done. Tentatively, he nudges Ned's hand out of the way, looking at him as though asking for permission, before gently, very gently, as though he's afraid of hurting Ned terribly if he's not incredibly cautious, pressing a finger inside of him, still holding his breath.
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"You're doing good," he assures, consciously relaxes the muscles in that area as much as he can. "It feels nice. You can- move it, if you want. If you, um..." Ned reaches between his legs, nudges Ginsberg to twist his arm so it is palm-up, "If you want it to feel really nice, you can sort of hook your finger forward, like..." he demonstrates with his own hand. "And then kind of feel around- ah!" his sentence is cut off by a rather loud cry, and he arches his hips off the bed, hands twisting into the sheets at his sides. "Do that again," he says, and it's meant to be an instruction, but it comes out more like a plea.
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And from the way the motion of his finger makes Ned arch his hips and cry out like that, his instructions have been good. There's no way he could possibly resist doing that again, even if he wanted to, from the desperate way that plea comes out of Ned's mouth, so he does, and then he does it again, wanting to get more of those intoxicating noises. His other hand can't seem to stay still, either, trails its way across Ned's stomach, and for once, he's not saying anything at all, because he's so very focused on this, on making Ned feel good.
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It's hard for him to channel his thoughts in the right direction, but he adds after a minute or so, "You c-can put... use a second finger. Even better." Very coherent, Ned.
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Ned's instruction is eagerly received, and he does as Ned asks, adding a second finger, still moving very slowly, but the excitement obvious on his face, on the way he immediately starts attempting to replicate the motions he'd been doing before, with just the one finger. If that had been good, and Ned says this will be even better, he can only imagine what kind of reaction Ned will have to it, but he knows he's desperate to see it.
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He lets go of the sheets, brings a hand up to Ginsberg's hair to pull him down into a kiss, passionate with an edge of desperation to it. "Gimme the-" he can't seem to remember how to speak properly right now, so he just sits up and grabs the lube himself. After he puts a generous amount onto his palm, he coats Ginsberg's cock with it by stroking it with quick, almost brusque movements. Ned knows some of his impatience must be coming across, and some small, still-rational corner of his mind hopes Ginsberg doesn't mind.
"You know what t-to do, right?" he asks, wrapping one leg around Ginsberg's back, lining his cock up with his entrance and then smiling at him, bright and dizzy. "Just go slow at first, okay?"
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Despite his enthusiasm, despite how turned on he is -- evident from the flush on his face and the quickened breathing, from the way he's trembling slightly as every bit of contact he has with Ned, no matter how minor -- it doesn't seem difficult to go slowly, partly because he doesn't want to hurt Ned, partly because he wants to relish every little bit of it, feel every intoxicating moment of pressing into Ned.
And just that simple, slow movement of burying himself deep inside of Ned is enough to make him gasp and let out a jumbled, nonsensical torrent of swearing, his head dipping forward for a moment and his hair falling into his eyes, one hand on Ned's chest to brace himself. It's better than he'd imagined, and for a long moment, he doesn't move at all, but when he finally does, mindful of Ned's instructions, it's slow and gentle.
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"Perfect," he murmurs, covers Ginsberg's hand with his own and keeps it pressed to the center of his chest. "You're doing perfect." His heart is beating quickly in his chest, and he shifts his hips to meet Ginsberg's once he starts to move. Ned's characteristic honesty manifests itself again when he gasps, "'s been so long since I've-" but the rest of that sentence is cut off by a whimper, low in his throat.
"What's-" he's trying to keep talking, to give Ginsberg the reassurance he expects he needs that it's nothing to worry about, that he's not messing things up the way he was afraid to, "-what's the verdict? Pretty, uh. Pretty good both ways, right?"
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Wow, he hadn't quite expected to be so lost for words, but then, why shouldn't he be? This is the first time he's doing this, and he couldn't possibly have imagined how good any of this would feel -- and he'd spent a lot of time thinking about it and imagining it. He's happy to meet Ned's eyes, not at all concerned about it being sappy, because the fact that he's connecting to Ned in some way, the fact that Ned really seems to care about him, that matters in a way he'd have no way of articulating.
"Pretty good both ways," he breathes out, finally picking up the pace a little, not disguising or feeling at all embarrassed by his ragged breathing, his little moans and whimpers, by the way he's clutching Ned's chest like he wants to be as close to him as possible. He leans down for a kiss, a not-particularly-coordinated one, a bit sloppy, but full of enthusiasm nevertheless, trying desperately to express just how good Ned feels, how perfect all of it is.
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Experimentally, lightly, Ned runs his fingernails over the skin of Ginsberg's back, seeing what kind of reaction it will elicit. It's impossible to predict these things based on personality, in Ned's experience. Nothing for it but to test the waters, to keep his eyes and ears open and shape himself in whatever way he can to fit the mold of what it seems Ginsberg likes.
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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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Shall we call this a wrap, then~