Gilmore hadn't received a straight answer, but he didn't need one. He wasn't being sent away, he knew that. He was being kept here in the warm glow, basking in the affection of J'mon, where every cell of his body felt as though it were tingling, brighter, more brilliant just for being here. Gilmore felt more brilliant just for being here.
He sat, looking up with adoration and desire darkening his eyes as they roamed over everything, settling on the movement of J'mon's fingers as they toyed with their fabric guilding. Gilmore knew he would never tire of this. He knew he would never not feel this way. Even in the tunic they looked ethereal. Gilmore itched to touch again, but he kept his hands patiently at his sides.
He licked his lips when they stretched, his hungry gaze falling on their thighs. Honestly, Gilmore would fully accept that he had died and that this was some wonderful reward in the afterlife, but he couldn't imagine what he had done to deserve it. Even alive, with his pulse beating hard in his ears and between his legs to tell him as much, he didn't know what had earnt him this.
Gilmore bit down on his lip as his fingers made contact with the smooth skin, sliding up beneath the hem of the tunic. It could stay on for the moment. The permission on it's own sent pleasure flooding through him, and that was definitely going to be an interesting thing to explore later. He was slow in this exploration, indulging, choosing a path around behind J'mon, cupping the curve of their backside in the palm of his hand.
He could hear his own breathing, harsh and hard, his other hand trembling as he slid it up beneath the tunic as well, up J'mon's thigh, higher than the first, over their belly. Everything was smooth. Gilmore was fuzzy enough for both of them. He was teasing himself, not allowing himself to touch and look as much as he wanted to, but his resolve was only so strong.
Giving J'mon's ass a gentle squeeze, Gilmore slid his hand around to join the other. He could just lift the tunic, look beneath, but that seemed both disrespectful and not as seductive as J'mon deserved. So he stood, sliding his hands up and taking the remaining fabric with them, their eyes locked as he did so. Once it was discarded, once J'mon was bared to him, Gilmore sat again, looking up, and finally let himself see.
He started at their chest, his eyes widening, his mouth going dry. He knew he was staring, but who would blame him? The decorations were fine, but the small swells on their chest were fascinating in a wonderful way, and his fingers lifted to stroke along the side, following the curve.
And then he looked down. He let out a breath. He didn't find himself particularly surprised, as though he had been expecting something a little different. It certainly did nothing to dampen his desire. His touch dropped, tracing down the line of J'mon's cock and then down between their legs, following the line. He was intimately unfamiliar with such things, but nothing could possibly discourage him at this point.
Leaning forward, Gilmore pressed a kiss to J'mons belly as his fingers moved lightly, slid back to their cock and carefully wrapped around it. "You'll have to teach me a thing or two," he said quietly, voice rough and barely recognisable as his own as he started to stroke them slowly, loosely. "Teach me what you like me to do to you."