His movements are slow, calculated. He is patient, yet the undeniable want burns brightly like a flame in his dark orbs. Occassionally he would halt in his ministrations to survey his surroundings in the darkened room, seemingly deep in thought, before he continues. It is frustrating Mark to no end, Jackson knows, and that just might be his very intention.

"God, Jackson, just shove it all in!" Mark cries, quickly reaching the end of his patience like Jackson expected. Beads of perspiration trickle from his temples down to the sides of his face, down to his neck and down his back. His cheeks are flushed, his arms burn from exhaustion, and his thighs ache after holding the same stance continuously.

"Oh, but not so fast, babe." Jackson looks up from what he's doing and wags a finger at Mark. "Where's the fun in that?"

A realisation strikes Mark fast and hard. "You're doing this on purpose, you little !"

"Took you long enough to realise," Jackson neither agrees nor denies the accusation, but the devilish smirk stretching over his lips gives his answer away. "I absolutely love teasing you."

"Y-You!" Mark's face now colours scarlet, a mix of humiliation and anger at being toyed by the younger.

Mark drops the cardboard box full of fangifts he is carrying and makes his way over to the bedside where Jackson sits in big strides. He snatches the half-filled backpack out of the younger's arms and begins to stuff in the random paraphernalia he sees strewn over the mattress. "I already told you we're running late for our schedule yet you're still taking your own sweet time to pack your things. What is wrong with you?"