It may have seemed like a strange and unbelievable thing for Gilmore. Difficult to comprehend for one who had only lived such a short time. But J'mon remembered the Calamity. They had been young then, but they remembered it. And in the centuries since they had claimed a number of companions. Dragons, humans, elves, strange and beautiful beings from far-flung realms. They'd had time to figure out exactly what it was they wanted - and, more importantly, what didn't suit their nature. Gilmore simply fit. Even if the most mundane terms - the way his head tucked in against their neck and his arms slipped around them - he fit. It was one of the rarest things to find.
J'mon chuckled softly, warm breath passing over Gilmore's neck and shoulder. "You were in shock, I think, from the battle," they answered, "Harried. Still healing. And I do not believe that you realized who I was at first. Just another dragon come to fight the Cinder King. But we spoke while your friends were regrouping and figuring out what it was they would do next. You were very charming, I recall. I saw your runes and I swore to you that moment that I would keep you safe, as one of mine. A secret I will take with me to the next life." They did their best to paint the picture for him, to bring him forward to a moment he had not yet lived. It was burned into J'mon's mind, though. For so many reasons.
"You were in awe of the palace," they continued. "You said that you had seen it once when you were much younger and never dreamed you would ever step foot inside it. Then we spent three days in bed together. And I told you then as I will tell you now, that I have never known another man as beautiful or talented or full of wonders as you are." They stroked their fingers through his hair, toying with the tight curls and letting them bounce back as they playfully tugged on one. "You are worthy because you are mine. In the past, I have made the mistake of claiming those who were not. The folly of infatuation, I suppose. It blinds us, it makes us vulnerable to deception and heartache; to those who would only take and never give in return. But the first night I had you, you were already devoted. And I knew."
Their hands continued to roam over his shoulders and back, still drawing idle swoops and swirls across his skin. "It is a difficult thing," the said, expression growing a bit distant for a moment, "for a dragon to love another dragon. We are not made for it. We are too proud, too territorial. The competition for space alone has led to many early deaths, even among mates. I saw mine just a few months ago, and it will be a hundred years before I see him again. This is how we are with one another. What I need, and what you have given me, is a companion. Comfort. Trust. Perhaps even love. It is not about being useful, it about being chosen. Though perhaps it is a little about being able to show off the second most powerful being in Ank'harel, next to myself."