Gilmore licked his lips as though he could taste the heat in the air, a metallic tang that felt like home even though it wasn't as familiar to him. Something inside him was elated, on fire, and he understood why his latter self was so enamoured.
A sound akin to a purr rumbled in Gilmore's chest when J'mon slid closer, allowing him to touch them, mapping their back and then indulgently moving over their backside, groping in a way that a day ago, an hour ago he would have been horrified at something so disrespectful. He envied his future self, but there was absolute wonder in the knowledge that he could have it, too. He could be adored by them, physically.
"Consider me wrapped around your fingers, my darling," he whispered. "Now. Forever." In this reality, in the other, if this was his destiny then he was incredibly blessed. "I am yours, J'mon Sa Ord." As a Marquesan. As a man. The thought of lingering in his heartache when his future lay in J'mon's arms and bed seemed foolish, and though it didn't immediately quell all of the pain it helped.
Gilmore made a quiet sound of protest when J'mon withdrew slightly, though the smile remained on his face, eager for what he might be about to learn.
He absolutely wasn't expecting what he did see.
His eyes widened, and felt as though they kept widening as he watched the scales form, watched them cover J'mon's arm, moaning softly at the brush of tongue over his lip, the two little forks being felt distinctly. Curling his fingers around J'mon's wrist he ran his thumb over the scales.
"What are you?" he asked, breathless, drinking J'mon in again, picking up all of the new, prominent details. "You're incredible."