Razor

The day had been crawling, Razor woke up already tense, shoulders sore from a night of bad sleep and worse thoughts. Visit day always did that to him. Made his head hurt, especially after Twitch wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

“Bet your pretty husband’s getting real friendly while you’re locked up,” Twitch had laughed earlier, pacing like a rat “Long time without you, huh? Bet someone’s keeping him warm.”

Razor didn’t even think, his fist connected hard snapping Twitch’s head sideways. Another hit for good measure. Guards rushed in before he could do more. Twitch shut up. Razor stood there breathing heavy, knuckles aching, that ugly thought lodged deep in his brain anyway.

He hates that part, the idea of some bastard thinking he could step in just because Razor’s behind bars. His teeth grind as he’s marched off, hands cuffed, waiting for the visit room to be cleared.

Intimate visit room smells like disinfectant and old sheets, abed bolted to the floor, guards doing their routine like always. Razor paces once, then plants himself, arms crossed, eyes locked on the door.

He hates the searches, hates that his husband has to go through it, hates that anyone gets to put hands on what’s his. Same reason his mother doesn’t visit much anymore. She’s busy, yeah, but Razor knows she hates being treated like a criminal just to see her son. He’ll make it up to her when he’s out.

The door finally opens. Razor’s whole body loosens and tightens at the same time. The second he sees his husband, that knot in his chest snaps loose. He closes the distance fast, hands already on him, pulling him in hard, mouth crashing against his without hesitation.

“Fuck,” Razor mutters against him, hands firm on his hips, then his back, like he needs to make sure he’s real. “I missed you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at him, eyes scanning, checking, no marks, no weird smells.

“You good?” he asks, voice rough. “Been eating? Sleeping?”

He exhales, forehead pressing briefly to his husband’s. Then that earlier thought creeps back in and his brows knit.

“Ain’t nobody been getting ideas, right?” Razor says, tone serious. “No idiots sniffing around thinking they got a chance cause I’m not there.”

He snorts, shaking his head, pulling him toward the bed anyway. “I swear, if I find out some asshole even tried, I’ll break his hands when I get out.”

He sits, drags his husband between his legs, hands heavy on his thighs. “You still mine,” he says flatly.

There’s a guard outside somewhere. A camera. Razor doesn’t care. He leans in again, voice low “Been thinking about this all week. About you.”

The door clicks shut behind them. Razor’s attention narrows to one thing only. “Come here.” he mutters.

Razor barely listened to the engine as the car rolled through familiar streets. The city looked the same, dirtier, maybe. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers flexing like he was already looking for someone to grab.

“Boss said you’re needed,” the guy driving muttered. “Business is heating up.”

Razor grunted. He didn’t care about the explanation. He knew why he was out, he was useful. The car slowed in front of his house and Razor was already opening the door before it stopped fully.

“Don’t wait,” he said, already stepping out.

The door wasn’t locked, that was the first thing that set him off.

Razor froze just inside the entrance, eyes narrowing. The house smelled right, clean, familiar. But then he heard laughter.

Kitchen, blue coveralls, tall figure leaning casually against the counter.

A fucking plumber. Big doberman, broad shoulders. The kind of smile Razor had seen a thousand times on guys who thought they were charming.

Razor stood there for a second, just staring in disbelief.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

The plumber turned just enough to notice him. Razor didn’t give him time to speak.

“Get out.”

The guy laughed nervously, said something about pipes, about a call. Razor was already on him, grabbing the front of the coveralls and shoving him toward the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

“I said get the fuck out of my house.”

He didn’t hit him, not because he didn’t want to. Because he’d just gotten out and prison, killing a plumber on day one wasn’t good optics.

He threw the guy out onto the porch and slammed the door shut behind him.

Razor turned slowly, eyes sweeping the room, his heart was still hammering, not just from anger but from that old fear prison had carved into him. The jokes, Twitch laughing, You’re gonna get cucked. Pretty boy won’t wait.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked toward his husband.

“What the fuck was that.”

“There was nothing wrong with the house,” Razor said, voice rising just enough to show the crack underneath “I built this place solid. There was no reason for some tall, blue-uniformed asshole to be standing in my kitchen smiling like a prostitute.”

He paced once, then stopped, pointing vaguely toward the door. “I walk in and see that and I start thinking maybe everyone in that shithole was right.”

His eyes locked back in, searching, trying to read something that prison had trained him to doubt.

“I just got out,” he said, slower now. “I didn’t even have time to surprise you and I’m already ready to go back inside.”

He forced himself to stay where he was, fists unclenching.

“Tell me why he was here,”

Then, quieter, almost embarrassed.

“They kept running their mouths in there. Every day. Saying you wouldn’t wait."

The house was quiet in a way Razor hated. Night had settled in already. The lights were low. He sat at the table alone, plate pushed away half-eaten. He knew exactly how this started.

He’d snapped earlier, raised his voice. The kind of tone that came when his boss wouldn’t shut the fuck up, barking orders, reminding him he was useful but replaceable.

And now this, silence.

No talking, no looks. It crawled under his skin worse than a punch. His fingers drummed on the table, claws clicking softly. His tail flicked once behind him, stiff, irritated.

This was the part he didn’t know how to handle. He could threaten a room into submission. He could scare people. But this? Being ignored by the one person who mattered?

It made his chest feel tight in a way he didn’t like.

He pushed back from the table and stood, pacing once before stopping himself. He didn’t want to look like that, not when the image of his father yelling, spitting words flashed unwanted in his head.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Razor muttered then cursed under his breath. He scrubbed a hand down his face, growling quietly, then turned toward the bedroom.

He stopped in the doorway, shoulders tense, posture awkward like he wasn’t sure how to stand without looking threatening.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower than usual. No answer.

His ears flattened just a little, his tail swayed behind him, slow and hesitant.

“Don’t do that,” Razor said, quieter now. “Don’t ignore me.”

He shifted his weight, arms crossing, then uncrossing. “I’ve had a long day. And yeah, I was an asshole. I know.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I hate yelling. You know that. Reminds me of shit I don’t want in my head.”

Another step forward.

“And now you’re not talking to me and it’s driving me insane,” he added, irritation bleeding through again, then softening just as fast. “I didn’t even get laid. Do you know how bad that is for my mood?”

His tail flicked harder this time, annoyed at himself more than anything.

Razor ran a hand over the back of his neck, voice dropping. “I didn’t get out just to fight with you. I wanted tonight. Wanted you"

He cleared his throat, glancing away briefly, then back. “I ate alone. That sucked.”

Silence still stretched between them. Razor huffed, shaking his head.

“Say something,” he muttered. “Yell back. Insult me. Anything"

He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, posture less aggressive now, more... unsure. His voice came out rough but honest.

“I don’t wanna be like him,” Razor said quietly. “I don’t wanna sound like that. And I sure as hell don’t wanna be shut out like I don’t matter.”

His eyes lifted again, intense but not angry. “I messed up. I get it.”

The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself, frustration mixing with something softer. His tail gave another small, involuntary wag.

“C’mon,” Razor muttered. “I’m trying here.”