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Description
PICTURE IS NOT MINE- IT'S BY THIS LOVELY ASC FAN:
[link]

That being said, here is a Mozart/Freud story. Totally my first fanfiction to actually go on the web, and the first slash I've ever written. It's in the comments thingy because my computer=fail.
No warnings- I mean, there's one kiss, but nothing else. Well, that and the fact that it's rather badly written.
--

Freud was sitting on his bed reading when there was a violent knock on the door.

“Hello?” he called, trying to sound as normal and unpanicked as possible.

“It’s me. Let me in.” Frued breathed a sigh of relief, glad that it wasn’t some mysterious assassin come to shoot him. He got up and opened his bedroom door to the furious face of one teenage Mozart.

“I’m going nuts,” Mozart barked, “fix me”

“Fix you?” Freud echoed, baffled.

“Fix me,” Mozart practically shouted. “It’s your job, isn’t it?

Freud flailed around in his words for a moment. “What? I can’t just... it doesn’t... what do you expect me to do?

“How would I know? I’m a musician, okay? You’re the one who’s supposed to be a shrink.”

Freud furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought.

Mozart leaned on the doorframe.
“It’s just- oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Come in. Sit down,” said Freud, trying to keep the smirk off his face. “Why don’t you tell me why you think you’re going insane?”

Mozart sat down heavily on Freud’s bed.
“Well, sometimes I’m angry. So much more angry than a normal person would get,” he began. “Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m just plain scared. Is that enough for you to go on?”

Very interesting.

“What are you scared of?”

“Everything! Being someone who doesn’t quite exist. You know, I’m not Mozart. but I’m not someone else either. So who am I, and what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

Freud sighed.
“I wonder the same thing all the time.”

“Wait, you’re the doctor! You’re not supposed to get depressed /with/ me,” Mozart complained.

“Mozart- I’m sixteen years old. I’m not really a qualified doctor.”

Mozart wilted at that. His shoulders slumped, his head fell forward, and a few strands of his long blond curls fell accross his face. Freud wondered briefly what that pretty hair woud feel like to the touch, then realised it was a bad time to be admiring how beautiful his classmate was.

Freud sighed again.
“I wish there was something I could do for you,” he said. “I really do.”

Mozart grimaced.
“Would you miss me,” he asked carefully, “if I disappeared?”

Freud’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning to do, Mozart?”

“Answer the question!”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Do you mean it, or are you humoring me?”

“Of course I’d miss you! I haven’t gone a day without seeing you for five years, and only then because I got sick and- mmph”
Mozart grabbed him by the shoulders and cut him off with a violent kiss.

“Look, I have to go now. Don’t say anything. Goodbye.”

And Mozart was gone.

The next morning, the entire academy found out that Mozart had attempted suicide.

Description
PICTURE IS NOT MINE- IT'S BY THIS LOVELY ASC FAN:
[link]

That being said, here is a Mozart/Freud story. Totally my first fanfiction to actually go on the web, and the first slash I've ever written. It's in the comments thingy because my computer=fail.
No warnings- I mean, there's one kiss, but nothing else. Well, that and the fact that it's rather badly written.
--

Freud was sitting on his bed reading when there was a violent knock on the door.

“Hello?” he called, trying to sound as normal and unpanicked as possible.

“It’s me. Let me in.” Frued breathed a sigh of relief, glad that it wasn’t some mysterious assassin come to shoot him. He got up and opened his bedroom door to the furious face of one teenage Mozart.

“I’m going nuts,” Mozart barked, “fix me”

“Fix you?” Freud echoed, baffled.

“Fix me,” Mozart practically shouted. “It’s your job, isn’t it?

Freud flailed around in his words for a moment. “What? I can’t just... it doesn’t... what do you expect me to do?

“How would I know? I’m a musician, okay? You’re the one who’s supposed to be a shrink.”

Freud furrowed his eyebrows, deep in thought.

Mozart leaned on the doorframe.
“It’s just- oh, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Come in. Sit down,” said Freud, trying to keep the smirk off his face. “Why don’t you tell me why you think you’re going insane?”

Mozart sat down heavily on Freud’s bed.
“Well, sometimes I’m angry. So much more angry than a normal person would get,” he began. “Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m just plain scared. Is that enough for you to go on?”

Very interesting.

“What are you scared of?”

“Everything! Being someone who doesn’t quite exist. You know, I’m not Mozart. but I’m not someone else either. So who am I, and what the hell am I supposed to do about it?

Freud sighed.
“I wonder the same thing all the time.”

“Wait, you’re the doctor! You’re not supposed to get depressed /with/ me,” Mozart complained.

“Mozart- I’m sixteen years old. I’m not really a qualified doctor.”

Mozart wilted at that. His shoulders slumped, his head fell forward, and a few strands of his long blond curls fell accross his face. Freud wondered briefly what that pretty hair woud feel like to the touch, then realised it was a bad time to be admiring how beautiful his classmate was.

Freud sighed again.
“I wish there was something I could do for you,” he said. “I really do.”

Mozart grimaced.
“Would you miss me,” he asked carefully, “if I disappeared?”

Freud’s eyes narrowed. “What are you planning to do, Mozart?”

“Answer the question!”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Do you mean it, or are you humoring me?”

“Of course I’d miss you! I haven’t gone a day without seeing you for five years, and only then because I got sick and- mmph”
Mozart grabbed him by the shoulders and cut him off with a violent kiss.

“Look, I have to go now. Don’t say anything. Goodbye.”

And Mozart was gone.

The next morning, the entire academy found out that Mozart had attempted suicide.