Yoongi wasn’t being literal before. At all. It was nothing more than a thinly veiled threat, Jungkook skating on thin ice the more he ran his mouth. But, well, he's also not above changing course if it means Jungkook between his legs, running his mouth in a different way. He hasn't had someone as hot as the kid in a long ass time, heat starting to drip down the length of Yoongi's spine while he watches Jungkook slink down. He drops to his knees a little too smoothly for this to be his first time, even with that lithe dancer's body. Not like that matters at all. All Yoongi cares about in this single moment is getting it good and giving it back just as good--because fuck it, he can want this. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. If his previous attempts at putting Jungkook in his place didn't work, then why the hell not.

Yoongi tilts his hips forward off the door, just enough to accommodate the hands undoing the zipper of his ripped jeans. Dark eyes follow the slow movement, and he's already imagining the warmth of that touch on his cock instead, hands nearly as big as his own, masculine and pretty as they size him up. A nice base. The light pressure already has him twitching in his underwear, cheap, off-brand boxers that offer little resistance, and Yoongi licks his bottom lip once, leaving behind a glossy finish underneath the dim, artificial light. The question almost tugs at him, almost the hint of a smile. Still a fucking brat even when at eye-level with his dick.

"Why don't you give me a reason to be," he remarks lowly, almost sounding bored. If Jungkook isn't going to put in the proper work for practice, then he'll do it here. The kid's supposed to be good at everything, isn't he?