Mark stiffens the second he feels Jackson's hand slither over and rest on his denim-clad knee.

"Jackson..." He shoots the younger a warning look, eyes narrowed, one which the other promptly ignores. Instead, Jackson curves his palm over the top of Mark's leg, as though to put to memory every contour of his muscles, and slides his hand down to his inner thigh.

"Stop." Mark growls under his breath. The warning look turns into a full-out glare. Still ignored. The hand begins to travel north.

On the pretense of whispering something endearingly sweet, Mark leans over from his seat and presses his lips to the younger's ear. "Jackson, we're at your parents' dining table."

He pulls away, just slightly to examine the look on Jackson's face, and punctuates his sentence with a strict frown.

"And so?" Jackson remains unperturbed.

Mark stares up at Jackson, completely bewildered.  "What do you mean 'so'?" Mark hisses, spitting venom. "Behave yourself!"

The only response he receives is said hand continuing its upscale trek, sliding past his crotch with the whisper of a touch before wriggling its way into his pocket. It comes out triumphant seconds later with an iPhone 6 and returns to its owner's lap.

Mark sends an under-the-table kick at the mobile phone thief in retaliation and returns a bright smile to said thief's parents' questioning look after Jackson lets out a muffled 'oomph' under his breath.

"But I just wanted to see your Clash of Clans high score!" Jackson later whines to the elder in the confines of his bedroom. "No one's ever said no to me before! You're mean, Mark."

Mark rolls his eyes. "Well, it's about time someone did."