[ Irving's eyes stay wide like dinner plates, the hazel-grey irises ringing around his dilated pupils in pale outlines like poorly erased pencil, but his gaze remains much more rapt than fearful, nearly awed by the man currently sitting on top of him, by the situation entire, heart and mind both racing so fast he can barely think or breathe.

Every grind and harsh, frictional reminder of his own erection is excruciating for him, but not unpleasantly, rather more like a deep, throbbing ache; the pounding of one's pulse beneath a dark and tender bruise, sensitive to the touch while being also basely satisfying to press down upon.

He tries to catch his breath, panting in slow, heavy, silent huffs, frozen beneath Cheol-gang for lack of knowing what to say, how to answer, maybe not even being capable of either were he to actually try. ]

Sir, truly, I... I can assure you I've no intentions of being a threat to you, as you say. [ Certainly not right now, not like this. ] I meant you no disrespect.