#and as always he is my colloredo choice

[sarcasticdolphin]

"Work" And for what feels like the first time in forever, Mozart/Colloredo.

Thank you to the lovely @kristylime for requesting them :)

As usual for my mozartredo Wolfgang is somewhat OOC.

Wolfgang can feel Arco’s scowl. It’s not that he takes joy from it - more a deep satisfaction. For all his lordly title the Count is impotent before the Archbishop’s whims, and Colloredo had been ever so clear. Arco could not lay a hand on him. And the Count was likely more familiar than anyone else with what might become of those that disobeyed the Prince-Archbishop.

Which made it rather difficult for Count Arco to drag Wolfgang back inside as he had threatened.

Yes, rather difficult indeed Wolfgang mused as he let his eyes flutter open. The Archbishop’s gardens were vast, but his own favorite place amongst them was the little grove he now occupied.

The trees were large enough to give pleasant shade but small enough that the ground between them was covered with a soft grass that made rather lovely place to rest. Not to nap - that would be a waste of Wolfgang’s precious waking hours - but to gather his thoughts. To let the themes of music weave themselves together in his mind. To let the notes flow onto an imaginary page, all the easier to transcribe in time.

To that end, Wolfgang let his eyes flutter shut. The gardens - and Arco’s sneer - disappeared, leaving him along with the warmth of the air, the firmness of the ground, and the music in his mind. The jaunty little pastoral tune that filled his thoughts isn’t on that Wolfgang loves all that much - it’s too cliche. Too typical. He is a prince amongst musicians - even Colloredo had to admit as such. But the tunes melds and shifts in his mind. Perhaps a lively little quartet, or even a concerto. Or even-

Wolfgang grimaces. It’s not that he owes Colloredo a Mass - for all the pompous nature of the Prince-Archbishop, His Highness has Wolfgang on a remarkably long leash so long as he regularly produces music. And it is the Masses that hold Colloredo’s attention the longest, though the chamber music is a close second. Wolfgang for his part prefers Opera. The church has its rules and as much as Wolfgang cares little for the abstractions of some pope who died a thousand years ago, he takes more than a little pleasure in perfecting the exactness of the Mass while still making it clear the music was his - bound only because he allowed it, not on the whim of the pope.

“Wolfgang.” Arco’s sneer is clear in his tone. It’s not that Wolfgang particularly likes hearing his name on the Count’s rough and nasal voice - no one would ever imagine that the Count was even a passable singer - but Wolfgang’s name is a marked improvement over other things he had called Wolfgang in the past. Still, the echoes of mockery linger in Wolfgang’s ears. Fürstin.

“His Highness is expecting you.”

That has Wolfgang’s lips quirking up as he hums. “No. I’m working.”

Arco doesn’t sputter - he would have once, but he seems overly used to Wolfgang’s antics. How tragic, Wolfgang thinks. He will have to come up with some other way to throw the Count off balance. “A rather odd way of composing without quill, parchment, or piano.”

The retort is predictable, and Wolfgang can’t resist the implied insult. He doesn’t lose at anything, after all. “I wouldn’t expect an unlearned churl such as yourself to understand. A quill, parchment, even a piano is useless without the mind to bring the music into being.” It’s not that Arco is totally unlearned in truth, but his ear for music was beyond hopeless. 

Colloredo’s, on the other hand? Wolfgang gave a soft shiver. The Archbishop’s ear was the only one in all of Austria that came close to matching his own. It was just as well - the piano Colloredo kept in his quarters was always perfectly in tune.

“Wolfgang.” Arco was well and truly annoyed now. Good. Well, good that he was annoyed. Wolfgang was rather vexed that the Count insisted on speaking once more. He was imagining Colloredo’s voice - a melodic tenor that could reasonably be called angelic. And it was rather rude of Arco to interfere with the lovely picture that Wolfgang had been painting in his mind.

The lively little melody would go to a string quartet. The other melody that had been skulking about the edges of Wolfgang’s mind would be for solo piano.

As much as Wolfgang had once reveled in the praise of the world, there was something utterly hollow about it. Fake. He’d never admit it to Colloredo, but perhaps the Prince-Archbishop had been right, if only to a degree. The masses might praise his music, but they didn’t understand it. Colloredo, on the other hand? Colloredo knew Wolfgang - and his music. Knew them in a way no one else did. And Colloredo understood Wolfgang’s music in a way no one else did. The velvet-clad, honeyed words that Wolfgang adored so were proof enough of that.

Different from the raucous applause of a public premiere, certainly. And so much more addicting.

Arco chose that moment - as Wolfgang was imagining Colloredo’s strong hands on him as he murmured the praise that Wolfgang coveted more than anything else into his ear, meant for them alone - to shift on his feet. The noise of Arco’s shoes on the little loose stones was grating.

Perhaps, the thought comes into Wolfgang’s mind, he should write a comic opera. One about a particularly imbecilic Count. 

“Now, Wolfgang.” Said Count almost sounds worried. Then again, they both know that Colloredo’s willingness to punish Wolfgang is generally non-existent. But when it comes Arco, on the other hand? The Prince-Archbishop has a reputation to maintain.

“Hush. My mind is filled with music, and ever so hard at work.” The truth, to an extent. Though Wolfgang’s mind had begun to wander from the music back to the Prince. 

Colloredo was handsome - no one would ever deny that - and Wolfgang is one of the few who had gotten to properly inspect the Archbishop’s beautiful face up close. One could not be faulted for thinking the Prince was a marble statue come to life.

And his strength. Wolfgang arches his back almost unconsciously. For all Colloredo is far too gentle with him for Wolfgang’s tastes, there is something about how calmly firm and confident the Prince’s grasp is. Any time Wolfgang is within the Prince’s arms he has no hope of escaping save for by the Archbishop’s will. Not that he ever wants to - Colloredo’s words alone are as amber, fixing Wolfgang in his grasp.

There is another noise from Arco - the Count muttering something under his breath. Wolfgang for his part is too caught up in his musings on and memories of Colloredo to care what childish insult the Count has chosen this time. But he certainly gives a proper yelp as Arco seizes Wolfgang by the wrist and hauls him to his feet, half-dragging him down the path, back toward Colloredo’s sprawling palace.

[emptymasks]

I Am No Thing

Pairing: Hieronymus von Colloredo/Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Words: 1456

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: Light Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfor | ti guess? | Arguing | Kinda fluff?maybe? | its impossible for me to write something that isn't at least a little fluffy | Fluff and Angst | Controlling Behaviour | it's colloredo what did you expect | Established Relationship | based on mark and oedo's colloredo and mozart

Read on Ao3 @ emptymasks and @ crowdedmasks

Part 1 of the My Mozart | Mein Mozart 

Notes: i suppose this could take place in a timeline where mozart accepted colloredo's offer/order to work for him again, or just before the musical takes place? maybe? honestly i didn't plan this is just kinda came out of me

so, amelie, this is because of you, you already know that. thank you for telling me about this musical, and others that i will get around to watching and i'm sure i'll enjoy

i just can't believe i had to go and write this when i'm less than half way through the musical. i went ahead and watched some later clips after i started writing this and one was 'der einfache weg' and i was like 'oh okay colloredo is as controlling as i'm going to write him, alright' 😂“You’re mine, you understand that?”

Colloredo’s hands were always so warm, scorching marks along him. A farcical juxtaposition, Wolfgang supposed; Warm hands, cold heart. It was easier to think the heart didn’t exist at all, but it was there, Wolfgang could feel it beating through Colloredo’s ribs and into his own spine.

The prince had them drawn up against the head of his bed. His whole body like a cage surrounding Wolfgang, his feet planted either side of Wolfgang’s calves, his knees drawn up, almost pressing against Wolfgang’s sides, and his arms leaving their glances along Wolfgang’s shoulders, his arms, his wrists. His chest, bare and achingly hot, was pressed against the cold, porcelain skin of Wolfgang’s back.

“I belong to no one. I cannot. I will not,” Wolfgang replied, even as he allowed his head to fall back.

“You know saying things like that only will make me want to make you mine even more?”

Wolfgang let out a slight laugh. “I seem to have been able to figure that out by now,” He twisted his head to speak more directly at Colloredo. “But I mean it. I have to be free. To be able to work, to be able to live, truly live.”

“And what more freedom is there than what I can grant you?”

“You couldn’t let me do whatever I wanted, even if you wanted me too.” Wolfgang let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “I sometimes think you would have me kept on a leash if you could.”

Colloredo nosed at Wolfgang’s neck. “That would be a sight.” He twisted his head ever so slightly and Wolfgang almost jumped at the feeling of Colloredo’s mouth, of hungry teeth scraping over his skin.

“I’m serious,” Wolfgang’s voice gained a tone his father always said sounded like a child having a tantrum. He attempted to pull away, thoroughly surrounded as he was, twisting his body and shuffling back so he was knelt between Colloredo’s ankles.

“So am I,” And there Colloredo truly was. Sometimes, in moments, he could make Wolfgang forget, but there, in that change of tone, was the formidable and powerful prince. There hiding in the back of this throat was the need to be in control.

“Music does not despise anyone. My music should be for everyone to hear, not just anyone who you deem worthy enough to hear it,” He was raising on his knees now, the need to place himself higher than the prince, something disrespectful. There was always that niggling, nagging need at the back of his brain, the need to show he was unafraid of Colloredo, to show that he was no servant, no toy, no little music machine for him to own. To stand up and call the man out for being the utter and complete arse that he was. “It and I myself cannot be contained to a cage. That would be blasphemous-”

“You dare speak to me about blasphemy?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Why should I not be able to speak about whatever I wish, my hands write out music, the likes of which your highness had never heard before and shan’t hear again. If you tire of me, there are plenty out there who would hear my music.” Wolfgang was aware he was spitting the words out now. “There are plenty of other princes, and lords, and emperors in the world-”

“You are and continue to be the most insolent brat I have ever had serve me-”

“But I do not serve you! Do you still not see? I was given this gift to share with all of Salzburg, all of Vienna, all of Europe, even.”

“You serve me as long as you are under this roof, as long as you are in my city.”

“Then perhaps I shall leave again!”

“Yes, because that worked out so well for you last time!”

Colloredo’s voice rung out and echoed off the walls and stung like tinnitus in Wolfgang’s ears. He despised Colloredo getting anything right. He would not be contained. He couldn’t be! And there was more world out there ready for him, he just knew it. He could go out on his own again, surely… He could… So last time he had underestimated the influence a prince could have, how many ears would bend his way, but… He could see Colloredo’s breathing slowing down, and his own was starting to do the same. His breath swelled up in his chest and pulled at the corners of his eyes and no that was something he would never do, he would never cry in front of this man.

His breathing was barely audible now and he raised his head, chin jutting out, to lock eyes with Colloredo… but he faltered as what his gaze found wasn’t anger.

“I wish you would…” Colloredo began and trailed off. That was unlike him. He was always so sure of everything he said, even if he didn’t think about it before it left his mouth. He said what he said and stood by every word. But Wolfgang watched as he ran a hand through his hair and seemed almost… uncertain. “I wish you would just learn that everyone and everything has its place. It would make life a lot easier for you.”

“Easier for you,” Wolfgang spat back on impulse, and there was that petulant child in his voice.

Colloredo sighed.

So they would continue around like this. Butting heads and making up, in a way. Wolfgang knew he would not change, and he knew Colloredo would not change. This was there dance. As much as it drove the both of them mad, they seemed to keep falling back in together.

They both remained as they were, Colloredo seated and hunched over, and Wolfgang perched on his knees, his toes bent underneath him and aching from being in the position for so long. He didn’t want to be the first to move. He didn’t want Colloredo thinking he was backing down, that he was about to crawl back into his arms… again.

Wolfgang fixed his eyes on part of the soft linens and was willing to stay put until Colloredo physically kicked him out of the bed.

Which might be happening sooner than he’d thought as there was something prodding against his knee, albeit it was a lot lighter than a kick should be. The foot kept prodding at him until it finally did kick harder and Wolfgang glared up at Colloredo.

“You wonder why I’m harsh with you, but it seems to take that to get you to respond.” Wolfgang opened his mouth to retort but found no words ready. Colloredo looked amused and smirked.

He was so infuriating. How dare he? How dare he fight and then be able to look at him and make him feel as though they are now merely quipping, almost as friends would?

Colloredo hooked his foot around the back of Wolfgang’s knee and pulled so Wolfgang had no choice but to move to his hands and knees less he wanted to fall.

“Come,” Colloredo looked down at him.

Come? As if he was some lap dog only too eager to do his master’s bidding.

How dare he be able to look down at him with something akin to softness on his face? How dare he be so cruel as to look as though he cared?

And yet Wolfgang found himself moving – ‘obeying’, his mind supplied the word and it disgusted him – and Colloredo moved his legs together so Wolfgang could sit in his lap. Wolfgang slid his body forward against Colloredo’s legs until their bodies connected and he was free to hide his head in Colloredo’s shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat in silence, but Wolfgang could not keep his tongue quiet for very long.

“I am no thing.”

It felt like saying it broke some strange spell over the room. While breaking the silence and bringing some anticipation back into the air, it was as if the room was starting to feel strangely calm.

“You’re not a thing,” Colloredo conceded, his hands placing themselves on Wolfgang’s hips. “An object could not be so talented. But you are still mine.”

“We’ll see.”

Colloredo laughed, a rare sound, and it bounced against Wolfgang’s lungs. “I suppose we will.”

Wolfgang let himself start to feel comfortable. As he kept breathing he let more and more of his weight fall onto Colloredo, calming down to the point of almost falling asleep. Perhaps he would, perhaps he would fall asleep on him, see how the man would deal with that. Perhaps he'd let himself get so comfortable he could just drift right off. Just to spite Colloredo.

Purely to spite Colloredo...