"This is mine," He whispers aggressively. "All mine. Do you understand?" He eases a finger in and out as he gazes at Jackson, gauging his reaction, eyes burning.

"Y-yes," Jackson stutters. His eyes sting from unshed tears and his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen. He feels like he's suffocating, his chest tight and constricted from Mark's full weight pressing down on him.

"Say it," Mark hisses menacingly. "Say that it's mine."

"It's yours, Mark, all yours." Jackson rasps between short gasps. "I-I'm sorry."

"Sorry won't cut it the next time." Mark sneers. Jackson begins to see black spots in the peripherals of his vision. "Got it? You better not let me see Bam Bam anywhere near. Not just him, in fact, but any and everyone."

Jackson nods desperately, eyes conveying a silent plea, and Mark finally relents. He eases his knee off Jackson's stomach, untrapping the younger, and Jackson immediately rolls out of harm's way. Jackson talks in huge, lavish gulps of air he was deprived of and finally relaxes.

"Jesus Christ, Mark," Jackson curses the moment he's able to speak without feeling like dying, "Possessive much?"

Mark, jar of honey clutched tightly in his arms (Jackson thinks Mark rather resembles Winnie the Pooh, except more violent. Just call him Markiepooh then), turns to the younger with wide doe eyes and fingers in his mouth as he les on the sugary remnants stuck on his thumb. "What?"