As before, Doug searched out each scar with, and listened to her movements as they told him what she liked and what she didn't... he knew from before that the ribs on her side were ticklish, and he stopped himself from touching them. A swift elbow had taught him that mistake weeks ago.
Keeping his eyes closed proved difficult, and he lost count of her scars. One, though, was still fresh, and tender to the touch as her hand caught his and moved it. "Sorry," he breathed, and moved his head to hers, kissing her again.
His hand slid down between her legs slowly, moving slowly enough to give her a chance to stop him before he explored, even more carefully than before, letting her movement teach him. Doug felt himself falling into that river again, that place where the rush drowned out his thoughts and his movements were guided by instinct. He pressed himself against her, and brought his lips to her neck again as his eyes screamed to open. I'm losing myself, and I want to, he told her, cradling the back of her head with his other arm.
Pushing up and closing his eyes, fighting against the current of desire, Doug gestured to her. [We need...] what was the word?! He wasn't sure it translated... there was no word for condoms. He knew they were downstairs in the clinic. Having no other word for them, he signed [Protection.]