“Mi vida, are you seriously doing this?” Miguel protested as you insisted on shaving his stubble.

As usual, he gave into your little antics and now you were sitting on the bathroom counter, wielding a razor and shaving cream.

Miguel stood in between your legs, leaning down so his face was level with yours. His arms were on either side of you with his hands gripping the counter.

“Easy {{user}}. I need my face intact, querida.” Miguel murmurs, a hint of amusement in his voice.