Title: Amsterdamage
Author: Lydia Petze
Email: lydiapetze@hotmail.com
Web Addy: No, but feel free: http://www.livejournal.com/users/lydia_petze .
Rants, raves, flights of fancy and fiction updates. Try not to fall in.
Fandom: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds RPS
Pairing: Nick Cave/Mick Harvey
Archival: Yes. Anywhere but this list please just ask me first.
Feedback: Not necessary but gratefully accepted at lydiapetze@hotmail.com,
and that includes constructive criticism.
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with Nick Cave, Mick Harvey or Blixa
Bargeld. This is a work of fiction and is not intended to be read as truth.
Penned for love, not money.
Credits: This one was a bit like stone soup. I need to thank Nige for the
original idea, even though this didn't exactly end up where either of us
thought it would, Nige and Sue for suggestions, troubleshooting and
encouragement, Verona and Janet for sterling in-depth tech and character
beta services, and Janet's gaydar, for pinging Mick ;-) This might sound
excessive for a 1500 - word story, but trust me, these ladies are diamonds.
Notes: Although this is marked as NC&tBS RPS, it's actually set when Nick
and Mick were still with The Birthday Party. Blixa joined the Bad Seeds
project later on (and aren't we glad he did. Everyone needs a glamboy in
their lives).



Mick sat back on the sagging couch in the fleabag hotel room he'd just
shelled out a fortune for; as the only member of the band with a real job
and without a smack habit, he was usually the one who ended up paying. Which
was fine by him, meant he got the bed. Unless one of these other arseholes
pinched it first, in which case Mick would just crawl in there anyway.
Fucking freezing here - doubling up did have its benefits.

He lit up a smoke and pulled his guitar over, thinking he could use the next
few quiet hours working on the riff he had in his head, maybe turn it into
something usable. He was starting to wonder just how far they would be able
to take this thing. Leaving Australia was supposed to be the beginning of
their real career, and so far it seemed to Mick that all they'd found was
cold, poverty and a trail of skanks.

Speaking of skanks... Mick glanced up at the sound of stumbling footsteps
making their way up the hall and snorted, wondering who Nick had managed to
pull this time.
The door burst open, admitting a pissed and probably high Nick, followed by
a slightly taller bloke who looked vaguely familiar.

"Hi," said Mick shortly. Where the hell had he seen this guy before? He
tried to tease the memory forward. The guy wasn't exactly nondescript, even
for Amsterdam; leather pants, heeled boots, hair all over the place. Eye
makeup as well, noted another part of Mick's mind, filing it for possible
future reference.

"Hello." The bloke's accent was noticeably German, and then Mick had it.
That insanely weird group that had been on the telly a few nights before.
Einsturzende Neubauten, or whoever the fuck they were - this guy had been
behind the mic, screaming and growling lyrics Mick hadn't understood a word
of but had thought were kind of cool regardless. Trust Nick to be the one
that tracked the guy down. Probably went to every dive in the city looking
for him.

Mick decided to do the polite thing. He stood, offering his hand. "Mick
Harvey."

The bloke eyed him for a second, sizing him up. "Blixa Bargeld." Very
precise sounding English. The bastard even winked, and Mick noticed his
eyes. Huge and compelling, they sparked with an intelligence Mick had
previously seen only in Nick's own. Blixa looked away, distracted by -
Jesus, by Nick's hand sliding around, groping at the buckle of those
impossibly tight pants. The guy - Blixa - pushed his bum back against Nick
and turned his head, getting what Mick could see was a hell of a good kiss.
Nick grabbed hold of Blixa's waistband and pulled backwards, steering them
both in the direction of the bed.

"No you fucking don't," Mick said. He'd be arsed if he was going to sleep on
the couch again just because Nick decided he wanted to fool around in
*Mick's* bed. It didn't do him a lot of good - he was ignored by both men as
they sank down in a tangle of long,  thin limbs, dark clothes, and alcoholic
hilarity. Blixa wound both arms around Nick's skinny frame, drawing him in
tightly. Nick approved of this; he ground his crotch against Blixa's,
laughing.

"Arsehole." Mick threw himself down on the couch, turned his back on the
pair, and grabbed the guitar again. They'd just have to put up with having
him in the room. It was too cold to go anywhere else and besides, he'd paid
for the damn thing. Without turning around, he said, "You can bloody well
shove over when you're finished, Nick, I'm not freezing my tits off for you
tonight." He put his head down and got back to work on the riff. Amazingly,
it hadn't been driven clean away by the interruption.

"Why don't you just come over here now?" Nick drawled seductively, sounding
entirely too reasonable for a guy who was supposed to be fucked up on more
than just bourbon.

Mick opened his mouth to refuse and stopped short. Why fucking not? It was
bound to be warmer over there than it was right here, at the very least.
Nick was Nick, and this new bloke seemed all right. More than all right, if
Mick was honest.  Mick wondered if his dignity would hold up to being chosen
after this guy. He decided he'd be able to stand it. It was nothing he hadn'
t dealt with before. Nick's seductive, fearless mouth and agile pianist's
hands had absolutely nothing to do with it.

He put the guitar aside, shed his jeans and jacket and crawled beneath the
threadbare blankets Nick was holding open for him. He twisted around to turn
off the lamp, felt a set of teeth bite just hard enough on the back of his
neck, and a cold hand slide inside his shirt. He wasn't sure who any of it
belonged to and he didn't really care.

Nick released his hold on Mick's neck. "Well?" he asked, caressing Mick's
belly with his fingertips.

"Well, what?" replied Mick, trying for irritable and not quite making it, to
his own ears at least. Distracted, his hand remained on the still-lit lamp.

"Stop fucking about," Nick laughed, kissing the back of Mick's neck, right
at his hairline. Mick shivered, and felt Nick smile against him. "I remember
how you were at school, Mick."  That hand in his shirt wasn't so cold
anymore. He abruptly wondered just how drunk Nick was.

"Fuck off."  That earned him a pinch on the bum. "Fuckin' stop that, your
hands are freezing!" He reached back and swatted Nick's hand away. He was
dimly aware that Blixa was already out of his impressive getup, leaning
against the headboard, a lit cigarette dangling from his fingers. He wasn't
sure how much English this guy spoke, but it was clear Blixa realised that
something was going on.  He was slouched back on the bed, those huge eyes
glinting with amusement. Not leaving, though. Mick wasn't really inclined to
help either of them.

"You were the slut," Nick whispered in his ear. Mick could hear the
affection in it, but was there a note of amusement in there as well?

"What?" Mick stiffened, and quickly twisted around to face the insult. "You'
re not a paragon of virtue yourself, arsehole!"

"Back off, I didn't say it was a bad thing," Nick said, catching Mick's gaze
and holding it.

Mick stared at him and didn't say anything, not even after Nick leaned in
and pressed his mouth to Mick's. Hard. Mick closed his eyes and submitted to
Nick's familiar, sensuous kiss. He jerked, abruptly remembering he was
pissed off. Planted a hand on Nick's shoulder and pushed him away.

Nick laughed, not discouraged in the slightest. "Don't be such a girl,
 Mick."

The sting was removed with another, gentler kiss, and Mick relaxed, still
annoyed but not willing to finish this just yet. He felt the old slow,
almost lazy interest wake up in his groin, and would have chided himself for
being easy had this been anyone but Nick. He felt movement dip the bed a
little on the other side, and abruptly remembered there was a third person
involved in this little show. They both looked up to see Blixa climbing out
of bed.

"What's up?" Nick had opened his mouth but Mick was the one asking the
question.

Blixa looked back at them and shrugged. "You two don't seem to need me
around."  Looked like their guest didn't have any trouble with English,
after all.

"You don't.look, it's freezing out there," Mick said. Blixa found this
hilarious.

"You aren't from around here, are you," he said, apparently not caring that
he was standing naked in front of two near-strangers. He ashed his cigarette
and reached for his clothes.

Mick laughed a little, figuring he'd just been pegged for a wuss.

"OK, we're pussies, you're not," said Nick. "Hang around anyway, it'll be
fun." Mick saw Blixa watching him, and looked away.

"I don't think so, tonight. Perhaps later."

Mick relaxed almost imperceptibly. He looked up again and saw their guest
shimmy into those incredibly tight pants, a little amazed at the ease with
which he seemed to do it. Blixa lit another cigarette, gave them a wave and,
considerately, locked the door on his way out. Mick laid his head back and
exhaled. Nick looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Now look what you did, you pussy," Nick said, but without any rancour.

"He'll be back."

Nick snorted. "You're more fuckin' trouble than you're worth, you know
 that?"

"Up yours," said Mick easily, daring to reach up and run a hand through Nick
's long black hair, sliding it around to rest on the back of his neck. "I'm
the brains of this outfit. You'd be fucked without me."

Nick laughed. "I'd rather fuck with you, you sook. You know that." He nudged
Mick's legs apart and settled between them. Mick grinned, drew Nick's mouth
down to onto his, and held it there.


The End