#Colloredo thinks that part is baloney

[sarcasticdolphin]

“Mesmer(ize)” Mozart/Colloredo. 

No smut but very intimate.

It starts the same as any other evening. 

Wolfgang plays for Colloredo on the modest little piano the archbishop keeps in his bedchamber. Somehow it doesn’t really stick out despite how out of place it is amongst the opulence around them - but Colloredo doesn’t keep this one for its looks.

The sound is lovely - pure and with a slightly different candor to the piano that Wolfgang composes at during the day. 

The archbishop is half reclined on the bed in his purple and gold robe, hands clasped behind his head, eyes heavy on Wolfgang in spite of the fact that they are half-lidded.

Sometimes he finds this task beyond difficult - the music that makes for excellent symphonies is entirely unsuitable for this task, but today it is easy enough, the melody flowing softly through the room. It’s one from the string quartet that he’s almost finished - the cello line just needs a little work to make it fit. 

And so the time flows quickly enough, though Wolfgang can feel Colloredo’s presence behind him the entire time - his attention never seeming to falter. It is hardly a surprise after he finishes the last notes, taking a moment to breathe before standing and turning to face his patron, that the archbishop’s gaze is fixed on him, the beginnings of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“Will that be all, Your Highness?” The Wolfgang of only a few months ago would sneer at the way he addresses Colloredo, at the way he bows his head, but fighting with the archbishop is ultimately a futile endeavor, especially when it comes to gestures that are largely meaningless, make like this in the presence of Colloredo alone.

But Colloredo doesn’t dismiss him, calling Wolfgang closer with a small gesture of his fingers instead. Part of him rankles at being summoned like a servant. A small voice mutters inside his head that he is one of the archbishop’s servants.

He stops by the edge of the bed. Colloredo is beautiful, almost angelic in the golden light. In addition to the purple robe he’s wearing dark trousers, though with the robe open his chest - pale and strong - is visible. And his eyes - Wolfgang has been around the archbishop enough to know that it is just a trick of the light, but they appear golden, but not like gold. Like honey - and enticing.

Colloredo merely gestures again and Wolfgang takes a few steps closer, confusion starting to build. The next gesture is easy enough to interpret, but Wolfgang puzzles over it for half a moment before obeying after the archbishop taps his thigh. 

He moves more slowly than perhaps he should, as he toes off his shoes before climbing up, settling into Colloredo’s lap. The archbishop’s hands fall to his hips, gently resting there in a way that almost feels grounding.

“You are tense. Stressed.” Colloredo speaks softly. Even if there were others present, none but them would be able to hear.

Wolfgang for his part finds an odd-looking spot on the bedspread. “Yes, Your Highness.” There is no point in denying it. Though he wonders what gave him away. As skilled an observer as the archbishop is, Wolfgang thought he hid his turmoil a little better.

Colloredo seems to read the unasked question on his face. “You played the same tune last night.” Wolfgang winces at that. Had the cello line really been on his mind for so long?

“It is from a string quartet I’ve been working on. The cello line has been vexing me.” Wolfgang doesn’t realize until after he’s done speaking that he forgot to address Colloredo correctly, but as he opens his mouth once more the archbishop presses a finger to Wolfgang’s lips.

His eyes jerk up to meet Colloredo’s. The archbishop sits back, interlacing his fingers, as if contemplating something for a moment.

“Give me your hands.”

Wolfgang does, and Colloredo examines each finger in turn, his grip surprisingly gentle, tender almost.

The archbishop releases Wolfgang’s hands in time, but places them on Wolfgang’s lap, one hand reaching out to tilt Wolfgang’s chin up a little more.

“Keep them there.” Wolfgang nods, murmuring that he will.

“And close your eyes.” He does hesitate but lets them flutter closed.

There is nothing for a long moment. Wolfgang can feel the archbishop’s legs beneath him, their warmth. He can feel the soft and silky material with his feet, and the material of his own trousers beneath his hands.

The touch is achingly gentle, just a single finger that traces Wolfgang’s cheek at first before proceeding down the curve of his jawline to trace his throat, moving slowly and making gentle spirals as it continued. Wolfgang was almost sad when it traced over onto the fine material of his shirt, moving gently and slowly down one arm, then upwards once more. As it reached the top of his arm it began to slowly descend his chest, passing over his ribs and tracing the last one before finally stopping on his belly, just below where his ribs ended.

The archbishop simply held his hand there against Wolfgang’s belly, never really pressing, just there. Grounding, in a way. It felt a bit strange, but Wolfgang quite liked the warmth that he could feel even through the material of his shirt.

Colloredo did eventually move his hand once more, trailing it down to rest at Wolfgang’s hip, opposite where his other hand still rested. The archbishop’s hands made small little soothing circles, dipping under Wolfgang’s shirt. And still, his eyes remained closed, even as Colloredo’s grip shifted, pulling Wolfgang a little closer, then going to the buttons of Wolfgang’s shirt, slowly, inexorably making their way up his chest even as they undid the buttons, one after the other.

Wolfgang’s own chest was as bare as Colloredo’s soon enough, but even still the archbishop’s hands continued upward, tracing up Wolfgang’s neck, over his cheeks, and into his hair, drawing a purr from Wolfgang’s throat as the carded through his hair, over his scalp.

And then the hands began to descend once more, drawing graceful spirals over his throat, down and back up both arms, and finally down his chest, until they rested at his hips once more, pulling Wolfgang closer still.

He let his eyes blink open, taking in Colloredo’s handsome face. Ever so slowly Wolfgang leaned forward, until he was resting against Colloredo’s chest, the archbishop’s hands shifting to better cradle Wolfgang even as he closed his eyes, his mind zeroing in on the steady beat of the archbishop’s heart.

It was steady and even, slowly but surely banishing the last of the tension from his body. And Wolfgang was tired. So very tired. Colloredo’s heart beat on, steady and clear, until Wolfgang was just on the edge of sleep.

Part of him thought he must have imagined it, such was the half-dreaming state of his mind, but Colloredo had pulled Wolfgang off his chest if only for a moment, and Wolfgang knew he hadn’t imagined those lips, warm and enticingly gentle, on his own. 

He felt a second kiss, to his brow this time, as the archbishop returned Wolfgang to his resting place on Colloredo’s chest. Sleep claimed him only moments later.