*Discontinued* No Longer

Cinnamon Peaches

Ambrose Jaxon White**

As he sat eating breakfast with Tom, Ambrose couldn't help sneaking glances. Already he appeared less depresssed, and his appetite was good. Ambrose had related all that had happened after Quirrel woke up as soon as Tom was alert, and it had done wonders for the black-haired man's disposition, his crimson eyes showing great relief at the news.

 Quirinus had been shocked to be alive, and didn't remember anything past the attack of the vampires. Quirrel was very grateful to Ambrose, viewing him as his savior, and though he only said he'd found Quirrel incapacitated (which technically is true, as while he was possessed he didn't have control of his body), the man insisted on thanking him incessantly.

The amount of relief he felt at learning Quirrel had a sister he could stay with was nearly embarrassing, but the man was just so annoying! As soon as he'd learned of her, he'd immediately apparated to her house, made sure she was okay taking her brother in, and returned to Tom.

Upon his return, he made breakfast, peach crumble oatmeal, berries, and sourdough toast with butter and cinnamon sugar. Don't judge, he'd been very busy and hadn't had much time to cook. 

When a drowsy Tom had entered the kitchen, with sleep rumpled hair and wearing light cotton pajamas, Ambrose had been stunned by how beautiful he was. Secretly, he adored the way Tom's eyes had stayed their unique and arresting shade of red, rather than reverting to the blue of his childhood.

The first thing he'd asked about had been whether Quirrel was okay, and Ambrose was surprised how totally transformed the man had become with relief. They ate in a companionable silence for the remainder of the meal, and Ambrose had the dishes wash themselves and automatically return to their proper places.

"Era, I don't think I've properly said thank you for what you've done for me yet," Tom said, looking deeply into his eyes, and Ambrose barely restrained a groan as he realized he'd yet again forgotten to communicate his change in name, "If you hadn't found me and pieced my soul back together, I'd still be that monster. I don't really know how to thank you for it."

"Tom, you don't have to thank me. But there is one thing I need to tell you," Ambrose said, fidgeting nervously. He'd never told anyone about his. . . differences before, and now that he was about to, he knew no proper way to do it.

"You can tell me anything. I promise I won't judge you for it," Tom said earnestly, "I've done terrible things, and you still accept me. There isn't anything you could say that would make me doubt you care about me, and that I care for you."

"Well," Ambrose cleared his throat, "I kind of, well, IdiedwhenIsavedQuirrelbutthenIcamebackandnowmynameisAmbroseandI'mplanningtopretendI'mEra'smagicaltwinbecauseEraisdead!" he got out in an indecipherable rush.

"What? You died, Era died, you're his twin? What the hell is going on?"

"I was trying to save Quirrel, his true internal structure was still damaged from the vampire attack, but I knew I had to fix him, so I called on too much power to do it. The magic poisoned my body, and I-It reached my heart, and then I-Well, I sort of died? I mean, Era died. But I have the ability to morph into different forms, and I guess since it wasn't my true form that physically died, I was able to make a new form that's shaped to be Era's magical twin to make it easier to establish my identity.

"So, my name is Ambrose Jaxon White, in full, and Era is dead, but I am in essence the same person as Era."

Tom held up a hand, obviously struggling mentally, and Ambrose held his breath, afraid he was about to be rejected once again, "I don't think I'm understanding this right. So, you died *nod*, but you didn't really die because as Era that wasn't your real body? *nod* Then what's your true form then?"

"I-" Ambrose faltered and looked down miserably before mumbling, "Is it terrible if I say I'm not ready for you to know yet?"

"Of course not!" Tom said reassuringly, but then tacked on, "Just so long as you promise you will someday, when you feel ready."

Throat suddenly paper dry, he swallowed and then swallowed again before saying in a small voice, "I promise."

"Good. Now that that part's settled, did you know when you died you'd be able to come back?"

"No, it's never happened before."

"And during the process, could you feel you were going to die?" Tom asked coaxingly.

Ambrose was so taken in by Tom's entrancing eyes that he answered honestly immediately, "Yes, but I needed to save Quirrel so that you wouldn't be hur-"

A very hard slap to his face cut off his words, and Tom screamed, "YOU BASTARD! YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU WERE GOING TO DIE SO THAT I WAS LESS DEPRESSED!?! DID YOU EVEN STOP TO CONSIDER THAT I LOVE YOU AND IT WOULD BE A THOUSAND TIMES MORE PAINFUL FOR YOU TO DIE! AND ON TOP OF THAT IT'S MY FAULT YOU DIED! I HATE YOU!"

Tom was in tears, and he began pounding hard on Ambrose's chest. He himself was completely stunned by the slap, and by that words that had been yelled at him. He wasn't used to being yelled at anymore, and it felt very different when it was someone who loved you than it was when someone who hated you did. The words had a far greater impact than any Vernon Dursley had ever thrown at him.

Picking dazedly up on the only thing he'd really caught from the tirade, he said in a discombobulated, somewhat vacant voice, "You- you love me?"

"OF COURSE I DO YOU MORON!" Tom scream/cried.

He was still using his fists to pound angrily on Ambrose's chest, and moved himself by great emotion, he pulled Tom to him and kissed him deeply. They kissed, somewhat ferociously at first, mouths slanting together in a battle for dominance. 

Tom's hands had stopped beating at him, and his hands came up and tangled into Ambrose's hair. His own arms were wrapped securely around Tom's waist, and as the black haired man melted into the embrace, Ambrose gently teased his tongue across the seam of his mate's lips.

They parted in invitation, and Ambrose plundered his mouth, nipping and sucking and kissing until he broke the kiss, panting with his need for air. There faces were close together, breathing in each other's air. Tom's mouth had tasted of sweet peaches and cinnamon, and Ambrose felt like he was on the peak of Mount Everest, air too thin to get a proper breath and completely dumbstruck by his first real kiss.

He'd shared kisses with Lucius, but they'd been small, chaste kisses, born of affection, then of love. They'd never been with such raw passion and fury, like the one with Tom had been, and Ambrose wished he could enjoy moments like that together, with all of his mate's.

"Are-" he panted, "Are you still angry with me, Tom?"

"Yes," Tom said, somewhat dazedly, his beautiful ruby eyes unfocused and dialated.

"Would it make things better," pant, "If I told you that I love you."

Tom's eyes sharpened, and looked penetratingly into Ambrose's, before he said, "No, because I already know you love me."

Then they kissed again, light chaste brushes of their lips, filled with love instead of the raging fire of before.

"I love you," Ambrose said again, kissing Tom's lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeated, following each pronouncement with a kiss on his nose, his temple his lips.

After a few minutes, Tom sighed, and said beleagueredly, "Alright, I forgive you, but if you ever do such an idiotic thing again, I'll kill you myself."

Ambrose beamed and spun Tom around, arms firmly holding his waist.