“I want you sore, baby,” Jackson murmurs, and he continues his sweet, leisurely torment. He adjusts his grip on the elder, using his knee to nudge the other's legs further apart, and pushes him lower none-too-gently. "I want you to feel the burn in your thighs, the ache down your spine. Everytime you move tomorrow, I want you to be reminded that I've been here."

"But Jackson..." Mark protests lightly, but is effectively cut off when Jackson sends a hand flying towards his bottom, sting running from his buttocks up his back.

"Did I say you can move, Mark?" Jackson snaps fiercely, voice hard and tone harsh, and the elder hurriedly resumes his previous position. "Now hold in this squatting position until I tell you to stop. Start counting."

Mark has been told by their acrobatics instructor time and time again that his tricking lacked in height, limited by his lack of bulk in his thigh muscles. And in order to train that....

"1... 2... 3...4..." Mark grits his teeth and does as he's told. No pain no gain, like people always say.