"Fuck!"

"Lovi?" Antonio appeared in the doorway of the living room, an apron around his waist and a butcher's knife in hand. In his defense, he was cooking dinner...not about to murder his boyfriend. He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I got a fucking paper cut." Lovi snapped, looking up from the pile of letters--of invitations--he had been sealing before. "In the worst possible spot. Ever."

"My mind is wandering, mi amor..."

"Shut the fuck up, pervert," the Italian muttered with an eye roll, but without his usual malice. "I was licking envelopes and I guess I licked it wrong because it hurts on my fucking tongue. I mean is that even possible?!"

"Ay, mi amor..." Toni smiled and wiped his hands on the apron, before he pulled him into a warm embrace. Lovi tensed up, but then sighed and buried his face into the other man's chest. Toni stroked his hair.

Lovi pulled away finally, and looked at his boyfriend. "I...should continue. The invitations aren't gonna do themselves, huh?"

Toni smiled. "Si, but I don't want you to be hurt..."

"I'm fine, dammit!"

"I can do the invitations for a bit, if you'd like." He kissed his forehead before grinning at him. "After all, it's my wedding too, si?"