The truth was, Terrence was afraid of losing her, too. Hadn't realized it until he'd had a brush with it earlier today, because he'd been riding high on the feeling that what life had thrown at them had only made them stronger. She had never torn him apart, she had marked every bit of his skin as hers, a sentiment that went right down to his bones. He loved being able to feel where her hands and mouth had been when he moved, even when he was fully clothed, loved that he could barely go a full minute without her appearing, even briefly, in his thoughts.
No, if there had ever been a doubt in his mind, there certainly wasn't going to be one after tonight. He hadn't even scratched the surface of what he was willing to do to ensure that he was hers, she was his, and they were them.
He had never tried to tell her quite that much without using words - usually, the sentiment of what he told her with his body was fairly simple, but this was rather complex - but he was sure as hell going to try. He'd been exhausted when he'd arrived home, but he had more than enough energy now that her touch had sparked their usual fire deep inside him.
His eyes met hers as he kissed her back, and a growl rose in his throat from somewhere deep inside him, deeper reserves of heat and strength than he'd even known he had. But that was how it worked: whenever the world got even remotely close to breaking him (or was it that he'd gotten close to breaking himself?), she tore down even deeper walls, made him go even further, for much, much better purposes.
He did exactly as she asked, more violent and somehow more loving than he could ever remember being. His hands tore at her skin, leaving none of it unmarked, he devoured her mouth until he could taste blood, though he wasn't sure whose it was. He wanted her to feel his touch and desire for her with every fiber of her being, even if he couldn't get the rest of his meaning across.
As he tore her trousers off, the cloth tearing in an extremely satisfactory way under his hands, he heard the crackle and low roar of fire springing to life somewhere nearby, and knew that he was responsible. He didn't have anywhere near the magical energy left to burn down her flat, but he probably wouldn't have paid any attention to it even if he had. He shifted beneath her to get her trousers off, then pressed her back against the couch, mouth and hands covering and ripping into her skin with a ferocity that was not unlike the way he tore into prey with his hyena jaws, but without the intent to kill.
"Mine," he breathed against her throat, really more of a growl or a groan than a word, but it was there. He wasn't ever quiet, but he hardly ever said anything aloud when they were together, except for her name. But this time - even though he had thought he was reassuring her that he was hers - it slipped out before he'd realized he was going to speak.