Consequences

by Miss-shiva-adler

[sequel to courage] When everything is shattered it takes courage to speak up and make things right.

Title:Consequences
Rating: NC-17
Words: 11,292
Summary : When everything is shattered it takes courage to speak up and make things right.
Prompt: Courage part 2 prompt: Fix the thing! Mozart is heartbroken but comes to his senses and becomes angry. When his anger towards Salieri flares, Salieri is so ashamed of himself and apologises. You decide how they repair the damage and how far they go, but I need either a happy or a neutral ending.

Author's note: Okay I am utterly scared that this wouldn't live up to the first part. I really hope it does. Little reminder that this is a sequel, characters portrayed are fictional characters and that they are only based of Mozart l'opéra rock and not of the actual people.

The alarm went off, startling him awake. His eyes were wide open but they had yet to be completely alive. He slammed his hand upon the clock making the bleeping sound disappear immediately. Relieved at the sudden silence, he closed his eyelids again, feeling the heaviness of his limbs almost drawing him back to sleep. He didn't want to get out, his bed being too welcoming. If only he could call Franz to take the day off. He took his phone from under his pillow: zero messages. He shoved it back under his cushion. Today wasn't going to be a good day, he knew that already.

He turned himself upon his side, taking in the environment of his apartment. Clothes were scattered around everywhere and the door of his bedroom had been left open. He had tried to work on a new composition until 2 AM yesterday, but it had been in vain. He had scribbled notes and lyrics but nothing he particularly liked came up. After seeing the clock advancing more and more and nothing coming out, he had just given up. He went to bed without caring about the clutter he'd had left around and he'd have to clean up the next day. He raised himself and massaged his eyes more awake. Upon seeing the tips of his fingers smudged with powder he realised that yesterday he had forgotten to take off his makeup before meeting the comforting feeling of his bed. Well this was certainly not a first time he woke up with smudged makeup and it would certainly not be a last time either.

He pushed the covers from his body and got up, sauntering to the bathroom. He kicked a pile of clothes into the corner before entering. The singer went directly to the sink. A look in the mirror told him enough: that he was going to need to properly remove it all if wanted to look presentable. He took a cotton pad in hand and soaked it with the makeup remover. He removed the big shapeless patches of eyeshadow, after which he inspected his face further. His left hand went to his chin where the morning stubble had appeared. He picked up his electrical shaver and removed the surplus of facial hair. The skin was smooth again as he run his fingers over his cheeks. Everything seemed in order now, but he had to buy new hair dye soon, his roots were showing.

As he got more awake by the minute, he became more aware of his body, sticky because of dried sweat; he really needed a shower. Perhaps he had had a nightmare. Quickly he discarded his briefs and entered the cabin. He massaged the sore muscles of his neck as the jet of hot water sprayed upon his body. He stayed there a moment, his eyes closed, the pain in his muscles disappearing. He stepped away, searching for his shampoo bottle, which felt almost empty when he picked it up. He washed himself slowly, trying to enjoy while resting against the wall, the water still pouring down. The cold tiles made him wake up as goosebumps formed themselves upon his arms. He massaged his body awake and finally when the soreness was gone, he opened his eyes, closing down the water. He never liked the cold air, so he quickly grabbed a towel to dry off himself and his hair. On his way out, he picked up his briefs and threw them in the laundry basket next to the door.

He paused in front of his mirror. Well the shower had done wonders; he looked and felt so much better already. He went to his drawer and took out a pair of black transparent boxers. Today there was a small charity concert in the Nachtwerk and the rehearsal was starting before lunch. He'll have to change for the performance itself so he picked out plain dark trousers and a T-shirt from the drawer above. Easy clothes were always preferred because you never knew what kind of complicated and sweaty costumes they could make you wear on stage. He dressed himself, taking his sleeveless washed-off jeans jacket to complete his outfit. He looked in the mirror again, no that wouldn't do. He took out his jacket and switched his T-shirt with a grey one. Well that looked better instantly.

He went to the bathroom to dry his hair and get his minimal makeup done. He rearranged his copper star necklace around his neck. The last detail that he added was a plain star earring he took from his jewellery box. His scarf was still in good shape around his wrist, there was no need to change it. He searched for his phone between the covers and under his pillow, upon not finding it he cursed. Why did he always lose the verdammt thing ? He fumbled some more. Ah, his hand enclosed itself around the case; he put the device in his breast pocket.

He proceeded by going to the kitchen; he closed the door of the spare bedroom he had transformed into a music room while passing by. His living room was tidy at least. Grocery shopping was something he hadn't done for a while and upon opening the fridge he knew there wasn't much left: Half eaten vegetarian salad, cheese and butter, carrots, a few sauces, half emptied bottle of wine and last but not least, his brick of pearjuice. Coffee wasn't a morning beverage; he only used the bitter liquid to stay awake during a late evening. He took the brick out and filled a glass. Slowly, he brought it up to his lips, wondering if he had anything more edible left in his kitchendrawers. No, he checked yesterday, there was nothing but the remains of a pack of crackers he had used for his divorcee party...

no... not that Scheisse again not that feeling.

His stomach filled in disgust as he decided that the pearjuice didn't suit him anymore. He turned over his glass to empty it in the sink. He was reacting like a teenager, it wasn't the first time he got dumped, what even was his problem ? He shook his head. He'd just better go; at least being late wasn't going to happen.

He had decided to not drive to go to the Singspiel records' meeting point; he disliked leaving his vehicle behind without him being around. A last glance at the kitchen made him sigh. He should try to convince Franz to go buy a minimal of food supplies for him, at least until tomorrow. He took his boots out of the shoe rack and put them on. Since tomorrow was his day off, he'd go do some shopping then. Today with the concert and all he was unable to get anything done. A glance at himself in the mirror confirmed that everything seemed in order. From the little drawer in the wall he took sunglasses and a cap. He was taking the bus, it was wiser for him to be less obvious as to who he was. His eyes travelled across his face to his neck; no scarf was needed anymore to hide it; the mark; it had been gone for a few days now; as if it had never been there. He grimaced to repel the memory that was coming back. He had to go.

There weren't a lot of people on the bus, there never were. He didn't live that away from the centre of the capital but even on a Saturday there weren't a lot of passengers. He looked out of the window holding his shoulderbag on his in his lap. Feeling bored he watched the various houses and traffic passing by. It was a 25 minute bus ride and he'd be well on time. An older lady sat in front of him, he smiled at her. She nodded. Normally he would have tried striking a conversation but he didn't feel like it. He didn't feel like doing anything these days. The divorce had taken all his energy and in the end he was still on good terms with Constance. It's not like they had fought or anything that dramatic, they had just mutually agreed. Although everything was still quite awkward between them, he was just glad that it was sorted out. Even his relationship with Aloysia -who had grown protective over her sister when her own marriage had broken—hadn't changed for the worst.

The bus stopped and he got off. The sun was quite high and the temperature acceptable. He took in his surroundings. It wasn't the first time he had a concert at the Nachtwerk. But it was the first time all the tickets had been sold out in a matter of a day. He looked at the publicity boards where he and many others featured. The charity concert was to finance cancer research, and like every year a group of diverse artists were hired to perform that day. He had accepted immediately, not really thinking who'd join in too. He took small steps, a bit overcome by a feeling of disgust again. His principles and beliefs had always surpassed his possible broken relationships; he really wanted to help the Medical University of Wien. And he still worked with that Orsini Rosenberg, the pink small little vice-president of Singspiel records, so he could very well work with people he had taken a dislike to. Even though somehow an urge to kill woke up inside of him when thinking about that money looter.

He hated Orsini Rosenberg since the very first time they had met. In his early days at the company, the man had come into the studio insulting everyone using clever words with underlying meanings. It had smacked him down, his ego, his self-confidence, made him doubt about his own talent. But in the end he realised that the shark's only purpose was to get money and get him off the music scene, because the younger man had chosen 'too alternative and avant-garde melodies' for his songs. No, Orsini Rosenberg could die in a ditch and as long as Joseph Lorraine -who was the actual president of Singspiel records- accepted and kept his contract in the record company, he was safe. The fuchsia teddy bear had nothing to say about his presence and his music. So whenever they were in the same room, they ignored each other or he did his damn best to walk on every vice-president's nerve for fun and because it was deemed appropriate. Apart from Rosenberg he was obviously going to stay professional and get over any constricting feeling that could jeopardize his career.

He arrived at the concert hall -which was located extremely close to a train station- and chose to enter through the main door. There were no fans yet, it was too early, so he took off his sunglasses and cap, which he stuffed in his bag. He greeted some people from afar working on the triangular rails where the lights were being screwed into place. At the front but far away from the stage they were fixing up a new pole too. Franz Anton Hoffmeister, his manager, was talking vividly in a walkie-talkie and doing some huge gestures in direction of some light technicians. He approached and the man smiled widely before shutting down the device.

"Ah, Wolfgang, I was afraid you'd come late but you're just in time. Jackie has your costume; you'll all be wearing matching ones, gold and black for you. Dominic is already here so you can go to them first."

He nodded in thanks as the manager picked up the walkie-talkie, giving instructions to bring him coffee. The lodges were lined up backstage, the first one was the makeup stand. The visagist seemed just about to be done. They smiled at him when he appeared in the door archway.

"Ah maestro ! I was just done with Ann. You can sit down."

Ann, also known as Nancy Storace, turned herself to him as he put down his shoulderbag on the floor under a table. Her wide smile was radiant. Her curling brown hair looked absolutely stunning as Dominic had tackled her rebelling locks to make them all relatively straight so that they rested on her shoulders; her haircut still had the same volume as it had in its original state.

"Good day everyone," said the rising star of Vienna as he moved closer to the chair. Ann came over to kiss his cheek.

"Hello to you. Are you ready ? Because I am ! "

Wolfgang could only smile again; Ann had been the victim of vocal cord nodules a year back. It had made her unable to sing, which resulted into her half giving up her career as an artist. But miraculously, even with the serious complications, Nancy Storace had recovered; today was the first time she was going back to the stage. He laid a hand upon her shoulder and patted, looking into her green eyes. He was happy for her.

"I love seeing you in such perfect shape." He winked at her. "You will take all of their souls in a heartbeat."

The woman blushed slightly and nodded. She announced she was getting some coffee and that they'd see each other in a few minutes, before disappearing. With a sigh he sat down in the chair right before the visagist started to brush his hair gently. Dominic had been responsible for his makeup and hairdo ever since he had signed a contract in the Singspiel records. The visagist loved playing with his hair and makeup; creating an even more eccentric public image of the rising star of Vienna than before. Once in a discussion Dominic had expressed their admiration and love for the strong personality the younger man never failed to show through fashion and expressions. Somehow the visagist had found parts of themselves strongly identifying with Wolfgang which had helped the two to become friends.

Normally they would both start talking about the nonsense of life or strong subjects that drove them to have loud and agreeing conversations, but today the rising star of Vienna seemed gloomy so the visagist didn't try to engage in their usual small talk.

Wolfgang looked at the various products on the table while gentle hands started spraying his hair. Dominic came to stand in front of him, working fingers placing everything right. The visagist always knew by heart what to do, they rarely needed a photograph to help. A small glance at the mirror and he grinned as his hair was put up into the air, giving him a mohawk while some of his hair locks were framing his face. When he was younger he used to put up his hair like that all the time. And oh mein Gott he really needed to dye his hair and that as soon as possible because it was worse than what he had expected. Dominic sat in front of him, makeup pencil in hand. The tattooed hand softly took his chin and raised the younger man's head. The rising star of Vienna closed his eyes as the makeup was applied. When he opened them again he was transformed, dark smokey eyes and a faint pinkish red lipstick adorned his face. The blush upon his cheeks made him appear more alive than the last few days. He couldn't help himself and smiled at his reflection again. Dominic had magical hands. The musician got up from his chair, ready to go.

"Sugar," Dominic had only used that pet name once or twice since they knew each other. "Nobody is worth that you beat yourself up the way you do." The visagist smiled knowingly. "Whoever it is, if they are toxic you just remove them from your life. Life is already too complicated, you..." Dominic put a finger upon their chest, "are all that matters."

Silence... Wolfgang looked at the finger upon the visagist's chest, irritation inside of him rising. It wasn't like that, it wasn't about that. Why did everybody feel the need to tell him about toxic people ? Joseph, who had called yesterday had said something just alike.

"I am sorry Dominic." He bit his lip, annoyed. Why? Why did people just assume stuff ? Why were they all hovering around him as if he was a hurt animal ? Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone? "Just don't, okay?"

There was a silence where the visagist just pressed their lips together, visibly hurt by what Wolfgang had just said. The musician took the opportunity to storm off. He was going to get coffee hopefully and perhaps that would make him feel better. He entered the resting and restauration room. There was nobody, he grabbed a cheese and tomato sandwich to devour it. While eating he located the coffeepots, they were in a small group at the centre of the table. He took a plastic cup in hand and poured himself a fair amount of the liquid. He drained half of his cup. He was about to relax himself when a familiar voice resonated through the room. His body froze. He turned down an uncontrollable urge to open the window and jump out of it. Goosebumps were appearing all over his arms.

Salieri... that Arschloch.

If there had been a way to avoid the Italian today, he would have jumped directly on board with the idea, even if the idea had been to take the first bus to Salzburg. Because nowadays being in Salzburg would have been even more enjoyable than to be in the same room as that Italian Trottel.

He mechanically turned himself, his heart pounding, to see Salieri and Michael Kelly, a common friend of theirs -They had both worked on several projects with the Irish singer together- walking up to him.

"Hi Wolfgang, good to see you !"

Michael Kelly hugged, like was the custom; his blonde locks had already been styled and he was already wearing his costume. Wolfgang tried to smile at the Irish singer; they hadn't seen each other for over half a year. The Irish singer got to star in a miniseries from his own homecountry, a real classic apparently where he had taken on the role of a stuttering judge. The man had been more than excited about it.

"Good to see you too. Since when are you back?" inquired the rising star of Vienna. He tried to stay calm when Salieri walked up to him to greet him just as the Irish singer had done. His muscles were extremely tense and his heart was still racing. The Italian musician leaned in and laid his cheek upon the Austrian musician's. The arms encircled him and pressed them both together slightly.

"Yesterday." The Irish accent wasn't as present as Salieri's while talking German but you could perfectly hear that it had been a while since the man had used the Austrian language. "I thought of calling but I knew we were meeting today so I didn't think of it being so important to call you in the immediate state of my arrival."

It was only brief but it felt like a burn, the bearded cheek detached itself from his flesh. His blood pounded in his head. He balled his fists. The Italian smiled. He felt like emptying the cup of coffee in the older man's face. He took a few steps away from him and the urge to just punch Salieri's face was all the more present in the Austrian musician's heart.

"No grudge," He turned himself to the Irish musician; his limbs feeling heavy. He had to get out because he felt like exploding, "I mean, it's not like you are leaving in the next few months." He was just going to ignore, ignore everything, just as he had done.

"Well in that case we should all get drinks afterwards, just like the old times. If of course we're not all energy drained," said the Italian Arschloch, amused.

The smile that appeared on the Austrian's lips was a fake one. He didn't react, it wasn't worth a reaction, anything the Italian would say wasn't worth a reaction. Michael rejoiced at the proposition: "Yes, we should do that."

Just as the sentence ended, Francisca Gottlieb peeked from the door frame saying that they should all come on stage because the sound check was going to start. They left the room, Michael and Salieri leading the way. Francisca started to talk to the rising star of Vienna. He tried to joke and look marvelled. But he didn't care. He wanted to be anywhere but here, his chest felt constricted, heavy, and he was starting to have a headache already.

They arrived on stage where the last two artists of the day were already discussing positions and talking with Franz. Ann turned herself to them, waving while Valentin Adamberger kept talking with his booming voice. They formed a group around Wolfgang's manager who was joined by a sound checker and the representative of the MUV. They discussed what should happen. He only half listened, wondering when it would be over. First there was a thanking speech, after which they would all be introduced to the public. The actual concert would kick off with them all signing the song they had all recorded together for the cancer association. The follow up was : Ann with Michael, Salieri together with Valentin and Francisca, himself and Ann, Valentin and Michael singing a cover of a well known song, Francisca and himself, Salieri alone, and then was the duet... that Scheiß-duet...

'Leben zum bersten', It was the reason why they had worked together, the reason why they had met. He had only been an unknown musician back then; people had enjoyed his music long before he had signed a contract, for so long he had played in bars and clubs, until one evening he got noticed. A young and beautiful woman had come up to him after an acoustic version of his favourite ballad. She had asked him two questions, one: what music was to him, two: what he wanted other people to think of him. He had replied knowingly : "Music is my life and my life is music, I pay no attention whatever to anybody's praise or blame. I simply follow my own feelings." She had grinned and given her number.

Before he knew it a whirlwind had replaced everything. In less than a month he found himself singing and making music with no one else but Antonio Salieri. Their voices matched to perfection, their sounds creating beautiful melodies; they were making people dream and hope. In less than four months he had gotten noticed by the Viennese public, in less than eight months he could afford a new apartment with Constance, in less than a year he had found himself a new life and passion.

And now, with all what had happened, his divorce, his divorce party, he had to do that Scheiß-duet as if everything was like before, as if nothing had changed since the last time they had performed it. He glanced at the Italian who was pointing something out on the paper. He didn't care, he just erased it all. As if... as if it had been nothing... His chest felt so narrow and his temperature was rising with the feeling of irritation making its way through his body; making his hands tingle. Next was a song with Ann and Michael and to finish they were singing the song of the cancer research association.

"Okay, can we just get over with it ?"

Everyone looked up at him. The rising star of Vienna felt his face going hot and exasperation growing even more as they looked at him with fisheyes.

"I mean most of the time we do it on the natural flow" he tried to sound more relaxed. It worked as the Irish singer started smiling at him. "Impatient to go on scene as always, Wolfgang." Joked Francisca.

He beamed at her, nodding. Fake, everything was untrue and fake. The Italian Arschloch burned the side of his face with his eyes, it looked like he was getting signals that something was off. May he jump off a bridge; the rising star of Vienna wouldn't even care a single bit.

Franz gave two last instructions and they all took their positions. The representative started with introducing them, they all went up and sung the song and went off. Microphones were adjusted, lights rearranged. He tried to keep his head cool. Everything was going well. The singing was almost never interrupted, only to make a few changes of positions of light and sounds. When Salieri was up he just turned around for a quick toilet visit and a water bottle. When he came back and drained it whole, everybody was looking at him.

Verdammt it was his turn. With heavy steps he dragged himself to Salieri on the stage. The Italian musician discarded his guitar and put it to lean against a sound box. The stage went black and blue lights were illuminating the room. Wolfgang looked at the floor. He really didn't want to do this.

The music started. He sung the first notes, Salieri followed; he stated how much they had to live until they burst. Now normally they had to look at each other. He didn't, he didn't want to, he looked up to the scene instead as he continued. The music stopped. An annoyed sigh breached the rising star of Vienna's lips. He had a furious glance at Franz.

"Could you look at Antonio, Wolfgang?"

He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the request. Couldn't they just leave him in peace, even if it was just a little bit? "Why ?" he inquired with the same exasperated tone. He was digging his nails into his palm.

"Because it's what you two always have done. It would look weird if you didn't while Antonio is doing it," stated the manager in a calm voice.

The Austrian musician sighed bitterly, they started anew and he turned his head toward the Italian. But he didn't look him in the eyes, just over the older man's shoulder. He was never going to look in those eyes again. He'd be dead before he would made that mistake again. They continued the duet and argh Scheisse he had forgotten that part. The part where they were supposed to walk up to each other, touch each other.

He couldn't move; he was frozen as boiling disgust was weighing down his stomach. Salieri walked up to him, he dug his nails even deeper in his palm as the strong hand gently touched his naked forearm, gliding, the fingers entering in contact with his inner elbow, his grip on the microphone reinforced itself. Salieri's warmth dragging the feelings of remembrance and spite; the same warmth waking up the deepest of fires inside of him; that same warm hand that had touched him in ways that had made him lose his ground, making him forget everything; that same warm hand that had held him in the palm of his hand, making him hope, making him believe... But everything was nothing, Salieri didn't care, Salieri never cared, because it was a mistake, because his feelings were nothing, they didn't exist, they had no right to exist, they were just shadows. He was feeling all dead again, just the same as when Salieri had let the words flow out of that mouth of his; A Mistake, A Misunderstanding, An Error. It made him feel sick, he was sick, it had to stop. All of it.

"GENUG!" he flared out, the lights switched to standard again "I am done." He couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"Wolfgang?" He was getting off the stage, his manager shouted "where are you going?"

"I am taking a verdammt break, see you later."

He just stormed off, escaping was all that mattered. He was outside and walked straight ahead. The fires in his being hurt him like needles, his muscles were tense. He had to run, which translated itself into walking fast. A distance, creating a distance, just for a while. His head was pounding and his heart hammering in his chest. It had to stop. He walked up to the trees of the park next to the parking lot in front of the concert hall. There was nobody, only the sounds of a train coming by.

"Everybody can Leck mich im Arsch ! I don't care !" he burst out as he punched the trunk of a tree. That of course did hurt him and instantly calmed him. He cursed as he looked at his hand. It was just a little bit scraped. He kept looking at the damage on his fist as he sat down on a bench. He was just pathetic, simply extremely pitiful. He looked at the sky.

Normally, when something like that happened, he just had to pick up his phone and call Constance. But that wasn't an option anymore; she wasn't the one to call for help; not anymore. He looked at the bird flying off from tree to tree. If his mother could see what he had become, she would have been so proud but also very frustrated. He missed her terribly. Just as he thought of checking his phone for the hour, a familiar bleeping sound was heard from his breast pocket. He took the device out where in big letters the name 'Nannerl' was flashing.

"Why are you calling me, horseface ?" he was trying to sound pleasant. But he couldn't, he was mad and he needed peace. The tone his sister used showed her extreme discomfort "ah, I obviously call at a bad time, it's just I had this thing I wanted to talk about and… and you know what I am sorry I'll call you back tomorrow."

Just like that she hung up. He blinked, looking at his phone, what that was that even? But fine, he didn't care; if it was of any importance she would wait until tomorrow. He was about to put his phone back when the device started ringing extremely loudly. Reluctantly, he picked up.

"GOTTVERDAMMT WOLFGANG !" the manager puffed in and out, anger tainting the man's speech. He pressed his lips upon one another and let the man rage further. "If you don't get your arse right back here and do your job, I'll come and personally kill you."

There was silence, he felt like the manager had just scolded him like a child and he stopped himself to just hang up on the man. He balled his fist slightly and swallowed his pride. "I was going back anyway," he groaned. The manager didn't have the time to reply, he had already hung up.

He sighed, irked by the behaviour of others and by his own and with a lot of reluctancy he got back upon his feet.

He felt his cheeks burning when he entered the concert hall again, this time by the backdoor, as there was already a crowd forming outside. Somewhere he felt a bit ashamed. Because it felt like everyone's eyes were directed to him, people were whispering behind his back, he saw it in the corner of his eye. He walked chin up, trying to seem confident and in control. What was their business anyway ? It wasn't the first time they saw an artist bursting out, was it ?

"You are lucky that you are a good singer Wolfgang," said Franz without him looking at him, "but don't you ever go diva on me again. Or you'll deal with harsh consequences from my part." This time the manager looked up from his sheet of paper and Wolfgang averted his eyes. "Now go quickly dress yourself you have 20 minutes to be ready."

He kept in a remark, even if it burned his lips, to show that he wasn't just a teenager to be scolded. But he kept it in. He returned to the backstage. There were a lot of noises coming from the resting and restauration room. Francisca and Ann were speaking animatedly about the time they had been roommates in their college years. He made sure that nobody noticed him going to the dressing room. His costume hung on a coat rack. Everyone but him was already dressed. He removed the plastic protection on which 'Amadeus' was written.

Silken shirt and tie, the jacket and trousers made of black crushed velvet. It felt soft and rough, the golden patterns disappearing with the black fabric, it was so beautiful, he loved it. It was something that fit his image, something he'd even wear casually.

He undressed, the cool silk felt amazing against his chest. He couldn't help but caress and feel extremely comfortable. Well at least he would look absolutely stunning even if in a space of 10 minutes the material would cling to his body because of the heat. He finished dressing and tied his shoes. He glanced at the mirror and smiled. The costume department really had done their outmost best to dress him. He looked very handsome. A knock on the door tore him from his concentration.

"Wolfgang are you there?"

The muffled voice was Valentin's. The rising star of Vienna didn't reply, he just opened the door and smiled widely. The other man was a little startled but smiled back.

"Mein Gott, guys it's going to start any minute now," sang Nancy Storace's voice from across the hall. She was wearing a golden red dress.

The two men hurried up and took their positions. It started and the crowd cheered, screaming his name, their names. Everyone smiled, excited as the representative announced them one by one. Apparently they had indeed decided to match their outfits since he was wearing a black, well fitting, velours and silken suit. He shrugged, trying to not let his eyes linger too much. For an Arschloch, he was a very well dressed one. A push in his back by Francisca helped him to make contact with reality again. The screams became louder and louder. He inhaled and exhaled and went on stage.

The screams, the tears, the shouting, it reminded him why he was doing it. His music had moved them all; his art had made them think and feel. They all tried to understand his message, his soul and they all loved him. They all loved him so much, he blew kisses, and he loved them too. He took his microphone and sung.

"It was beautiful, thank you so much for the hard work." The representative shook everyone's hand.

It had been wonderful: the fans screaming and singing along, the overall good atmosphere and good mood. He had found himself smiling and enjoying the whole. Singing together with his colleagues was something he had missed. Valentin had even taken a few pictures on stage which had put the public on fire. The rising star of Vienna loved those unique moments so much; being one with so many people in the same room was just overwhelmingly beautiful. Even when he had sung 'Leben zum bersten', Salieri's face hadn't managed to break his feeling of delight, even if deep down, his heart was hurt and painful, crying out the pain through the way he sung. But he had shoved it away, not letting the emotions get the better of him. Now... now he just wanted to be home, he was tired.

Everyone gathered for a last picture. He tried to truly smile. And once they had all changed clothes, they entered a mini-bus that would get them to the record company. They'd part their ways there without having fans following them from the concert hall, or finding out where their homes were. This is something they all wanted to avoid. Everyone was still high on excitement and they were talking animatedly to each other. He was talking to Valentin, Ann and Francisca, while Michael was checking his phone. He tried to ignore that in the corner of his eye he saw that the Italian musician's eyes were looking or perhaps even observing him the whole time. Soon he was going to be home and soon those eyes were going to stop being so infuriating.

The van stopped and they all got out. He was already thinking about when the next upcoming bus was arriving when an arm came encircling his shoulders.

"So Wolfgang, how about we get that drink we have talked about earlier," requested Michael with enthusiasm. "Perhaps even dinner."

He felt a bit bad because normally he wouldn't be against getting a few drinks after a concert, heck most of the time he was the one proposing them. But not today, not tonight. "I am sorry, Michael, I am a bit tired and I'd actually like to go home."

"Me too actually, sorry Michael it will be for another time," added Ann as she smiled. The Irish singer's face really looked even more disappointed at the announcement as he released the Austrian musician. Valentin patted his back, saying that he and Francisca were free, if he still wanted to go out for a drink.

"Then we are going to get that drink," he hugged the rising star of Vienna goodbye, "Go get in your bed and get that rest okay."

After a last pat on the back from Valentin and a hug and a kiss from Francisca, the group separated in two. He felt sad but really too tired to go. A silence fell between the remaining artists, he was about to turn around when Salieri's voice was heard:

"I could drive you home." To whom it was directed was unclear, but Wolfgang was sure it was directed at him. It always was... Arschloch.

Ann did jump in on the proposition though : "Oh yes that would be wonderful," good he was going to take her home, "Wolfgang you are coming with us of course."

He turned himself to them; no, he didn't want to come. He really, really, didn't want to come. But what was his excuse? What could he tell? He could only say yes, because it would be too strange, too strange for him to say no, and he just didn't want to have questions, because she would ask, she would ask why. He shrugged internally and without looking at the Italian musician he nodded. Hopefully the trip wouldn't take too long.

Ann hooked her arm with the older man, "My car is on the lower level," he said and they started walking, Wolfgang following behind. Ann started to talk about how well everything went for her. He felt unrest lurking and inhaled, exhaled trying to stay calm as he went up to her and hooked his arm with her other arm to join in the conversation. He only had to bear it until the end. It'll be quick and over without him noticing it.

He took the passenger's seat; he put his bag at his feet. As he observed the interior he couldn't help but slightly caress the beige leather. Salieri had gotten a new car since the last time they had driven together. He had only a motorcycle's license; cars had never attracted him, they were a little too common and plain for his taste. Somewhere they would never give him the freedom he had when he was driving his own vehicle.

"You have a nice car Antonio," said Ann, overenjoyed.

"Thank you, I only have her since six months."

Yeah, start a casual conversation, because honestly it's all what that Italian singer could do honestly, being casual and not caring.

"What do you think Wolfgang ? The leather is nice isn't it."

He tried not to cringe, did he really have to give his opinion ? He muttered a yes and he stopped touching the fine leather, it was indeed nice and comfortable too. Then the hairs upon his neck stood up, he noticed that Salieri was looking at him from the corner of his eyes. The other man was smiling. Violently Wolfgang had to drown his emotion; He wanted to punch the older man's face so hard. How dared he smile like that ? Like nothing had ever happened, it was just normal for him to smile and be happy. He flexed and unflexed his hand before deciding to look outside, trying to forget about his newly awakened rage.

"It is better you drop me off first, Antonio," cheered Ann, "I am living the closest by."

The Italian musician agreed and started the car. They drove off and Ann started talking again, this time about her cat. The Austrian musician joined in, trying not to show his rising irritation each time Salieri added something to the conversation; which he most of the time failed because he cut off the Italian musician more than once with a sharp remark. Ann joked that Wolfgang really seemed on edge today. That earned an extremely uncomfortable silence from all the parties.

"It's just that I am having difficulties with Constance," he lied.

The English singer nodded understandingly, she laid her hand upon his shoulder as a gesture of support. She told him that if he needed anything she was always ready to give him all the help he'd request. He thanked her with a beaming smile. They talked further about what they were currently doing in the studio. He was still promoting his latest album 'Amadeus', Salieri was still creating his, and she was rehearsing for her recovery concert. A few minutes later they arrived at her home. She laid a peck on both men's cheeks and got out and when she disappeared behind the gate of her apartment, Salieri restarted the car.

It was right, right there at that point, when Ann had disappeared, that the tension exploded. It was everywhere like a smoke, heavy, suffocating. As there was no reason to hide anymore, as there was no reason to pretend. He watched the houses go by. The more it continued, the more he just wanted to open the door of the car and get home by himself. Because this wasn't just awkward, this wasn't just weird; this was hate; Hate and accusation, drenching every inch of the car, seeping into the atmosphere and tainting it with heaviness. No-one talked because it was clearly not welcome. The houses changed into more greenish scenery, they were distancing themselves more and more from the centre of the city. The stiffness arrived at its peak when they entered the younger man's neighbourhood.

Salieri parked in front of the apartments' gate. And his heart was already starting to feel relief. Finally he could get out; he unbuckled his seatbelt and picked up his shoulderbag. He was about to open the door when Salieri interrupted him:

"Wolfgang," the Italian musician's hands rested on the steering wheel and he looked outside. As if he didn't yet want to cross the younger man's gaze. "Why did you lie about problems with Constance ? It goes pretty well between you two, you told me so yourself."

The rising star of Vienna's mouth just fell open.

"What is making you react so sensitive today ? I don't understand," he continued.

Salieri now looked at him, his eyes clearly and innocently asking that question. That was it, he exploded.

"Verpiss dich Salieri," hate, frustration, bitter was his tone, "You know very well what it is."

He opened the door and got out. He swinged his bag over his shoulder and walked fast on the path leading to the apartment building. He heard the door of Salieri's car being closed. Was that Arschloch going to follow him now ? He fished the keys out of his pockets. He opened the door and walked up to the lift and punched the button in. He rolled his eyes when the Italian musician was actually able to join him. His stupid face showed that he was lost and disorientated; but he also looked upset.

"That's it Wolfgang, you tell me right now what your problem is."

His self control shattered as he finally decided let himself say out loud what had wretched his heart for the past few weeks.

"BECAUSE I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING !" The words flowed, flowed and everything leaked. "BECAUSE YOU MADE ME HOPE." Rage, he felt so much rage and hurt as he spewed the words, "BECAUSE I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU" He screamed, his lungs hurting, his body was trembling "BECAUSE YOU RUINED IT, ANTONIO" his voice cried out. "EVERYTHING WE HAD, EVERYTHING WE COULD HAVE BEEN" He could cry, but he didn't, because it wasn't sadness he felt. "I HATE YOU !" It was abhorrence, it was hate "I hate you…" it was love "because Gottverdammt I love you."

Wolfgang hadn't crossed his eyes, not once, he wasn't sure he'd want to look in the Austrian's eyes. Even when back at the concert he hadn't understood, he hadn't realised. But this time everything folded; the last remaining piece of the puzzle, the joke of his own existence, the failure of himself, taking form as a ridiculous and grotesque spectacle. He wanted to laugh, to laugh at himself, because he was the only one that could break himself the way he had done it.

Pathetic.

"I don't…" he couldn't talk, his voice so low, words stuck in his throat "I don't…"

This time Wolfgang looked at him in the eyes, the younger man didn't care about what he had to say. His whole body tensed up, his heart was breaking. The ping of the elevator was heard and the younger man broke their gaze to step in. Suddenly panic awakened, he launched himself at the lift.

"Wait !" He cried out as the doors started closing, "Wolfgang let me explain."

The doors closed.

He looked at them somehow hoping they would reopen again. But they didn't. He looked around; not knowing if to start crying or to leave. His heart was splitting. His legs were shaking. He closed his eyes. He had to take action; he had to take action now. Otherwise it'll never get fixed; it'll never be alright again. And he'd have destroyed himself, he'd have given in. He opened the door to the staircase and ran.

His lungs burned, his breath was almost nonexistent. He walked painfully; his leather dress shoes weren't made for running. He arrived at the rising star of Vienna's door. He wanted to stay calm but he couldn't.

"Wolfgang !" he couldn't help himself, he was panicking, he pounded his fist on the door, "please, open the door. Let me explain." He rested his forehead against the wood. "Please…"

There was no reaction, none whatsoever, He wanted to wail and scream at his stupid self. He was about to give up when there was movement behind the door. His heart started to hammer in his chest and there was the sound of unlocking.

The door opened.

He blinked twice; this was his sole and unique chance. He walked in; sweat broke him and nervousness gnawed at his stomach. The younger man had put on the light in the kitchen and was resting against the kitchen counter, his arms folded, his shoes and shoulderbag discarded. The brown eyes pierced and judged him. He wanted to shift from foot to foot, because it was distressing, the atmosphere the younger man had created to intimidate him. But he stood his ground.

"I am listening." The Austrian musician's voice was low and uninterested.

He realized he didn't know what to say, merda. The younger man raised an eyebrow inquiring why the Italian musician was still silent. He had to say something. The other man was becoming impatient as he still hadn't said anything. So blurted out :

"I have been stupid…"

"That I know" broke the younger man immediately, visibly not really caring. He looked at the floor feeling ashamed.

"…and careless and selfish…" did the older man try again.

"Yes." The Austrian musician was annoyed, and sounded annoyed as he broke him off again.

He did shift from foot to foot; Wolfgang was really not making this easy. "…and I am sorry.."

"Is that all what you have to say ? Because you can leave immediately you know." He uncrossed his arms ready to walk toward the main entrance again to show the older man the door. He panicked; he was making a fool of himself; letting his sole and unique chance slip away.

"No, Wolfgang, please listen," The Austrian stopped walking. "I…" verdammt this was so hard, but he had to do it. He flexed and unflexed his hand, he then raised his head with determination he started talking" I've never really had someone,"

yes brilliant start, now he should perhaps try a little harder and make Wolfgang completely pissed. He inhaled trying to put in order what he wanted to say "Someone who could wriggle himself a way under my skin."

"Until I met you there was no-one," he started to feel better, unlocking the lock he had put over the chest where he had put his heart. "You intrigued me since the very first time, your looks, your way of talking, your humor, your music, especially your music." Showing his admiration, his love, he stopped to think what to say next. Because this was his chance, his only chance, to say it all. To let it flow and not regret it, because it showed that this time he was trying, trying so hard to fix it.

"That we ever would become friends was something I'd never have thought would happen" He hadn't, he had thought himself too boring, too common for the rising star of Vienna "but you are like a weed, you grow on people without first being noticed and before you know you are everywhere" his heart was aching, he was laying his soul bare.

"When I first started dreaming about you, it was casually, without it being strange. Then I started wanting to sing with you, to be with you all the time. I started desiring you, desiring you so much that I repressed it all. I locked it away somewhere inside of me. Because you were married, because I could never fanthom the idea that you could look at me the same way, because I thought that a half depressed and caffeine addicted fool would never ever make your heart look differently at me. Dio, I never would have guessed, guessed that one day you'd return the same desire I had for you…"

He inhaled deeply and exhaled and with a broken voice he was able to say those last few words, ending his plea: "Wolfgang, I love you, more than anything. I have been a fool I have been a cretino, I have been an Arschloch, but may my soul be damned if I cannot say it another million times. I love you with my whole heart and soul, by the very ounce of my being. Please forgive me, I have been blind, I have been stupid, I am sorry, sorry for everything."

"You love me ?"

"Yes"

"You are sorry?"

"Yes"

"You've hurt me."

"Yes"

"You've made me hope, you made me feel I meant something to you, we almost made love on that very spot, Antonio. I reciprocated your kiss, your touch. I showed you that I wanted it, that I loved you. The worst is not that you misinterpreted it all. It is that you choose for me, you choose for us, you never wondered, you never let me talk. "The Austrian turned himself to him now, locking their gazes. "I could just throw you out you know. Just show you the door and decide that you can just go rot in hell."

The words made his heart rift in two parts, but he had already fucked up so much, he didn't want to make anything worse, and with heavy heart he said : "If this is your choice then I'll follow what you want."

"And If I tell you I don't want to work with you ever again ?"

That hurt, that really hurt, but right now he wasn't the one deciding, he wasn't the one choosing, "I'll respect that and leave."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I love you." His voice was so low, so torn.

The silence that came, where the younger man looked him in the eyes, was making him want to fall on his knees. He'd beg, he'd beg to be taken back, he'd beg to be forgiven. But he restrained himself. He was getting more and more desperate when finally the younger man broke it :

"Come and kiss me." The voice was soft. "Come and kiss me, show me that you are sorry, show me that that one Saturday meant everything it meant, show me you love me Antonio, please; before I start crying."

His eyes opened wide and before he let himself completely freeze on the spot at the request, he walked toward the man, the man he loved so much. His hands trembled slightly as he raised his hands to cup the younger man's cheeks, the thumbs caressing the skin underneath them. His heart was flying and ramming in his chest. He closed his eyes and laid his lips upon the other's. A light pressure upon them was applied; If felt soft, so, so soft. The younger man's hands went up to his neck and in an embrace they kissed each other.

He felt as if he was dreaming, dreaming and floating when Wolfgang applied even more pressure upon their lips. He was soaring high on the bliss the rising star of Vienna made him feel. As if nothing else existed but their touch. Too long he had himself looking from afar; too long he had denied himself everything. But this wasn't then anymore, he had crossed that bridge. Now he was one with him, one with the man he loved so much. The younger man's hands caressed his neck, intertwining his fingers with his dark short hair. He shivered as their lips started to move against each other. His own hands moved to the nape of the Austrian's neck. He kissed the mouth even more; the younger man pressed their bodies together. It was getting warm between them as he tasted the lips to a greater extent. He felt love, passion, willingness, comfort, consolation at the touch. He couldn't help but desire that their embrace would never end.

Wolfgang's hands were the ones initiating it, when after the chaste kissing they started traveling upon the lapels of the older man's jacket, undoing the buttons. He'd break their kiss if he could but he felt himself unwilling to let go of the lips. He discarded the jacket letting it fall on the floor. The Austrian musician's hands were already on his chest, caressing, exploring. He broke the kiss and removed the older man's T-shirt. He shivered, Wolfgang's callused hands weren't particularly warm and the air of the room was rather cool. Two lips took his mouth captive once again, he groaned as their kiss became more carnal.

He found himself pressing the younger man hard against the wall, one leg between his. He broke the contact with the lips and travelled toward the Austrian musician's neck. A growl escaped the younger man, Gott he had never hoped to hear that wonderful sound again. He lapped at the skin tasting the texture with delight. Nails scraped the top of his scalp, making him moan. His hand found a way under the younger man's T-shirt. Wolfgang felt hot and warm at the touch, the skin of the muscles on his stomach, the fine line of curls, feeling so soft under his fingers. Against his thigh, the bump of the younger man's erection in the extremely tight trousers was already making his head spin. His desire was flaming as he, himself, was in the same state of arousal. His mouth went higher and kissed the flesh on the underside of the younger man's ear. The nails scratched his back; making the burning sensation spread to his shoulder blades. He went kissing that mouth again, this time letting his tongue explore what he had only tasted once. The wet and tasteful mouth was just as eager to be ravished by him.

His hands went up to the younger man's clean shaven cheeks again. His head was pounding and his feet were losing his ground. He was lost in the heat and the feeling. Wolfgang broke the kiss, desperately needing air. He opened his eyes and looked at the dark gaze full of desire the older man was giving him. Both of their breathings were irregular. He laid his hand upon the Italian musician's chest, the fingers ghosting over the nipples. The dark brown eyes were like fires. The younger man smirked. He wanted more than just kissing and the feeling was reciprocated. He took the opportunity to liberate himself from the embrace Antonio had made between with his body and the wall. The older man's eyes followed his every movement and he took a few steps toward the bedroom, taking off his sleeveless jacket and grey T-shirt. A last glance was inviting the Italian musician to follow him.

As Wolfgang disappeared into the room, the older man quickly took off his shoes and followed the younger man to the bedroom. Wolfgang turned on the lamp on his nightstand. The light from his window wasn't enough to illuminate the room. Antonio sat down on the unmade bed, unclasping his sock garters around his calves. The younger man opened the nightstand and had a satisfied smile; looks like he had everything that could possibly be of use. The sound of the unfastening of a belt was heard and he turned his head; his heart fluttering in anticipation.

Mesmerized, he watched how the older man took his trousers off, leaving his dark blue boxer briefs on. Antonio really was handsome and arousing; the movement of the muscles just captivated him when the older man laid himself back further on the mattress. He was shortly joined by the younger man; they kissed again, more languidly, letting their tongues taste each other's flavour. Wolfgang's hands upon his thighs traveled over his skin, setting his senses ablaze. His hands went to the younger man's shoulders and traced the shoulderblades on the Austrian musician's back. They went lower to the rim of the black trousers the rising star of Vienna was still wearing; his fingers fidgeted and opened the buttons, lowering the zipper. The younger man helped himself out of his trousers with impatient gestures.

It was impossible to not have the hungriest gaze as he discovered the sight; the pale skin of the bare thighs; the clean shaven chest; the brown line of curls; but most of all he couldn't tear his gaze away from the Austrian musician's hips, the eyes traveling from the hipbone where the star tattoos embellished the lower part of the younger man's belly, to lower. Somewhere it wasn't surprising that the younger man owned that kind of underwear. Dark transparent and completely out of shape because of the erection it had trapped inside. It was… hot, he wet his lips, so unbelievably arousing. He raised himself and went kissing the Austrian musician's lips. The younger man smiled under the kiss, delighted that Antonio seemed to like his undergarments in particular. Not a lot of people he had slept with found it arousing. The Italian musician caressed the fabric, really liking the texture. The hands upon the older man's thighs continued their journey. The Italian musician gasped when Wolfgang's hand cupped him. His erection was already extremely sensitive and a stain had started to form itself under the dark blue material. He looked into the brown eyes of the Austrian musician, whose left hand was already tracing him.

The passion was written all over Antonio's face, he -who normally concealed every emotion from the outside world under a cold or warm smile- was an open book. The older man was laying himself bare to him. And it was beautiful, so beautiful. He came laying on top of him, wanting to feel the warmth of being chest against chest. He sighed in contentment and bliss. The Italian musician's hands went to his upper arms, traveling to his back, upon his hips, grasping firmly his bottom, grinding the younger man against him. He moaned when Antonio's hands breached the rim of his boxers, the warm strong hands caressing every inch of skin. He tasted the older man's tongue again as it invaded his mouth and groaned.

He let go of the strong and well defined butt cheeks and he raised himself, something very specific in mind. With one glance the younger man understood. Wolfgang laid himself on his back. The spot on the bed was cold and he shivered. Antonio opened the nightstand, getting the supplies. Wolfgang smiled at the slight blush upon the Italian musician's cheeks while he was removing his own underwear. He knew that some of his toys, just as their owner, were extravagant. He made a mental note because it was clear that the Italian was interested in the content of the drawer. The older man came back upon the bed with condoms and lubricant, which he deposited at an arm's range. Antonio settled himself between his legs; the warmth of him was very welcome; and so were his kisses.

There was tension in his body, in both of their bodies. Antonio broke the kiss and raised himself up. The first thing he took was the lubricant, coating his fingers. Wolfgang shivered in delight at the cold contact against his rectum, knowing the next action would only increase his pleasure. He felt some restlessness lurking inside of him. His whole body shivered, his erection twitched in anticipation.

Only the top of the finger was inserted, the younger man sighed. The Italian musician looked up, trying to remember that he had to be receptive to signals that would show any discomfort or unwillingness. Wolfgang smiled approvingly and nodded that they could take the next step. The Italian musician's finger left the other man's body to take a condom package to rip it open. The older man took out the rubber carefully in his left hand, repressing the fog of his primal instinct that was threatening to enclose his mind. He noticed that even the Austrian musician was observing him impatiently as he flexed two of his fingers. He laid the condom on top of them, concentrating himself on the task. Carefully he unrolled the rubber until it reached his wrist. He applied lubricant upon his protected flexed fingers. Once done he positioned himself between Wolfgang's legs.

He closed his eyes, relaxing himself, trusting Antonio like this was keeping him in bliss. The first part of a finger was introduced inside of him; A moan escaped his lips; he found himself panting heavily. His whole body was tensing, putting his senses on alert, his full attention settling himself upon what was happening between his legs. The sweat broke him as he tried to let his muscles relax, he inhaled and exhaled; His breathing speeding up; he nodded because that's what Antonio was waiting for. The finger went further and he groaned, overwhelmed by the sensation. He was seeing stars already. Antonio pulled out his finger slightly and the Austrian musician's mouth fell open. With care and slowness the finger came back. He opened his eyes, looking at the ceiling. Antonio's finger stayed still again, he tried to relax his muscles which contracted by reflex. He nodded again and Antonio pulled out his finger even more, with the same slowness it came back. Wolfgang felt his cheeks burn as he started rocking against the hand. The Italian musician repeated the movement and each time the younger man nodded in approval. Sighs were breaching the rising star of Vienna's lips. The older man decided to flex his second finger. Himself relishing in the sounds he was drawing out of Wolfgang's mouth.

The younger man felt himself unwillingly tense up when the second finger came in and out; the Italian musician added more lubricant right before letting his fingers penetrate the Austrian musician again. Wolfgang growled; He grabbed the sheets above his head forcefully when Antonio's free hand enclosed around his sensitive erection. He closed his eyes as the hand moved up and down. His whole body was on fire as he was opening up to the even more intense touch the older man was giving him. So very slowly the fingers started to go faster, going further in each time they came back. He groaned as the pleasurable tugging sensation appeared in his member. Antonio reached his prostate. He couldn't help but grunt when the Italian musician proceeded by caressing the spot in circular motions. His whole anatomy jolted in pleasure, as everything was setting him on fire. And once the fingers ceased their administration and that they pushed more on the sensitive spot, he opened his eyes, his mouth open, his voice gone, he let out a cry, the feeling of release washing over him as his orgasm hit, taken over by spasms, his body convulsing, he had lost his ground, lost in the throes of bliss.

He wasn't on this earth anymore, he was somewhere in the clouds. He felt a tissue ghosting over the skin of his stomach. It took him a few minutes to know where he was. Antonio was still on the bed. He had thrown away the used condom and he was currently putting away the bottle of lubricant. A sly smile appeared upon the Austrian musician's lips as he saw how the older man was still aroused. He summoned all his strength and hugged the man from behind.

"I don't thin-" he had a sharp intake of breath as Wolfgang, who had found a way underneath his boxers, took him in hand. He moaned loudly as the Austrian musician caressed him, his hands going up and so very slowly, sliding his foreskin over his glans, his hips following the movement. His head was spinning because of the warm touch he had been craving for so long. And in the end he couldn't care less when, at the second stroke, he was already liberating himself in the Austrian musician's hand in a growl.

Little by little he let his own breathing become regular again. He put the back his head upon the Austrian musician's shoulder, enjoying the scent and closeness they had. His hand laid itself upon the rising star of Vienna's forearm, caressing. They both felt like sleep was taking them, the calmness of the atmosphere giving them the security they enjoyed. Once the room started to feel cold, Wolfgang released the older man from their hug. He dug himself a way into the covers.

Antonio took off his boxers, discarding them somewhere in a pile of clothes, before turning off the light. He settled himself right next to Wolfgang, whose hand came to encircle his waist. The Austrian musician seemed to be already falling asleep when the older man turned himself to him. In a low and tainted Italian accent he whispered: "I love you." He kissed the younger man's forehead to espouse what he just said.

"And I love you too," replied Wolfgang in a soft voice that showed contentment and satisfaction. He smiled one last time before the arms of Morpheus rocked him and Antonio to their sleep.

The end

Author's note: Ye all be happy my gf has me on a leash because I would have made it end with Mozart throwing Salieri out. Francisca is actually Anna Francisca Gottlieb, since there was already Ann I didn't want to create any confusion so I took her second name. I hope you all enjoyed this sequel.

Concerning the rest and continuation of Singspiel AU I'd like to say there's nothing planned. Since this as actually a try out I didn't intend to make a full blown story with upfollowing parts and chapters. I have many ideas for oneshots in this universe, so they're not intended as an actual series where you read from A to Z, but they'll appear out of chronological order.