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DISCLAIMER: This site is in no way affiliated with the Monkees or personal relations thereof. All fan fiction and fan art is intended for entertainment purposes only and no defamation of character is intended whatsoever. To break it down one more time: It's all just for fun, folks.

"The Bet"

Title: The Bet

Author: little red rider

Genre/Pairing: Primarily dolenzmith with a bit of ship all the boys

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: strong language, sexual situations, gambling

Disclaimer: I own nothing. you were warned.

Summary: Micky's gambling problem costs Mike the most.

Author's Note: Companion piece to THIS artwork.

“Micky, I'm at the end of my rope. I've asked you nicely. I've begged you. I tried withholdin' food, and you won all of Peter's. You know if he doesn't eat he gets cranky and won't take a nap. I tried keepin' you from girls, and you won Davy's little black book. It has to stop.”

Mike stood over Micky, arms crossed, as Micky ate the cereal he'd won off Peter. Peter and Davy sat on the couch behind Mike. “Hey Davy, what do you think is grumbling more, Pete's stomach or Mike?”

“I think it's me over the loss of me little black book.”

“Are you kiddin' me?!” Mike waved his arms in front of Micky's face.

“Listen to what I am saying to you!”

“C'mon Mike!”

“Don't c'mon Mike me! No more gamblin' , no more bets! It's unhealthy!”

“But I'm on a winning streak!”

“Streaks end.”

“Of course they do, but why shouldn't WE get what I can before it's too late?”

“Yeah, you were real concerned with what We can get when you won Peter's food off him?” Mike questioned, aggravation growing.

“I wouldn't have done that if you hadn't kept breakfast from me! It's a vicious cycle!”

“Look shotgun, eventually your luck is gonna run out. You know what happens when OUR luck runs out. Don't tempt fate. We have a gig to get ready for. Get a move on!”

The gig had gone off with out a hitch.  Mike and Peter sat at the bar, Davy and Micky chat with a couple of girls.

“It's probably for the best, about the girls.” Peter mused.


“It's good you stopped keeping the girls from Micky. Less time for him to make bets.”

“Mmm, don't count on it Pete.” Micky caught Mike's eye, smirked, and walked towards them.

“Who wants to place a bet on Davy's chance tonight?”

“Micky...” Mike warned.

“Mike, be a sport!”

“I don't like betting Micky.”

“I bet you a week's worth of being your personal maid-slave that Davy strikes out.”

“But, Davy never strikes out!” Peter chimed in.

“Unlike you, I don't live a lifestyle that necessitates the need for a personal maid.” Mike scoffed.

“Surely there's something you want from me. You heard the odds from Peter. You can't lose!”

Mike glared at him for a moment before sighing.

“Ok Micky. If you win, I'll be your, slave-maid, was it it? For a week. And if I win, you stop placing bets. For good.”

“Deal!” Micky put his hand out. Mike shook it begrudgingly.

“Uhm, Mike?” Peter tugged on his sleeve and pointed towards Davy. The pretty short haired blond girl who'd caused his latest attack of star eyed love sickness was clearly turning him down.

“Son a a bitch.” Mike hissed. Micky was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Mike awoke suddenly to the sound of Micky's battered trumpet blaring in his ear. “WHAT IN THE HELL MICKY!?”

“Rise and shine maid-slave, your servitude starts today!” Micky tossed a package onto Mike's bed.

“What is this?”

“Your uniform.” Mike rustled through the bag and turned bright red.

“You're not serious.” Mike pulled a short black French maid's outfit from the bag. “I can't even wear my boxers underneath this, it's too short!”

“Well boxers would  be out of uniform. Keep looking.” Mike looked in the bag again and turned bright red.


“I expect you in uniform and downstairs making breakfast within a half hour.”

“But..but Davy and Peter....”

“You are a man of your word, are you not, Nesmith?” Mike stared at him, defeated.

“I'll be down within the half hour.”

“Down within the half hour what?” Micky stared down at him. Mike realized what he wanted and gritted his teeth.

“I'll be down within the half hour, Sir.”


Davy had whistled. Peter was slack jawed. Micky had enjoyed the scrambled eggs. Mike stood quietly in the kitchen, wishing to anything that would hear him that Peter and Davy would stop staring at him. He tugged at the bottom of the maid's outfit and the distraction caused him to forget the heels his already too tall frame was balancing precariously on. He stumbled against the counter.

“Nesmith! You appear to have put a run in your stocking. That's out of uniform.”

“Mi....sir.” Mike corrected. Micky smiled.

“It's fine. Have you finished the dishes?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, now you can head upstairs and clean up my side of the room. There's an awful smell coming from under my bed.” Mike grimaced.

“Yes sir.” Mike grabbed his bucket of cleaning supplies and headed slowly & carefully up the stairs. Peter's jaw finally returned to its proper place.

“Micky, you're not really going to make Mike do that for a whole week?”

“Yeah man, it seems kinda cruel, even for a madman like you.”

“I'm tired of Mike treating me like a kid. He wants to see what betting can do for US, I'm going to show him.”


Micky worked Mike like a dog for the next two days. No inch of the house went untouched, even Peter and Davy's room. In fact, it hadn't been that clean since they'd moved in. Micky had watched carefully, pointing out every missed spot. He'd actually gotten cocky enough to
slap Mike's ass and complain when he missed a dust bunny. Every embarrassment elicited another whistle from Davy. Peter had returned to his slack jawed state the moment Mike was back in view. Only after dinner on the second day, the dishes done, did Micky formally dismiss his maid for the day. Mike had passed out at the kitchen table the night before. Mike was heading wearily back to their room when Micky called out to him.

“Oh, and Nesmith? I expect the meals to be served on time without prompting tomorrow.” Mike didn't even turn around.

“Yes Sir.”


“Sir. SIR!” Mike bellowed. Micky jumped straight up in bed. “Sir, breakfast is ready.” Mike turned on his high heel and left the room.

Micky chuckled.  This should be a fun day. He noticed Mike had left a set of clothes out for

him hanging on his wardrobe.

“Gonna play up the part today, eh Nesmith?”

Micky dressed and headed downstairs. Mike was standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee by the sink. Only one breakfast sat at the table.

“Where's Pete and Davy?”

“Already ate and headed to the beach for a while, sir.” Mike answered.

“Scrambled eggs again?”

“You didn't enslave a chef or a millionaire, sir.” Mike's voice was completely monotone.

“Not too many cleaning chores for you today, eh?”

“No sir.”

“Well I expect you to stand at attention, waiting at my beck and call, regardless.”

“Of course, sir.” Micky ate and handed his dish to Mike, who washed it silently. Micky sat in front of the tv and waited for Mike to finish.

“Turn on the tv please.” Mike turned on the tv and stood next to Micky, staring at the front door. Micky appraised him. The French maid's uniform was a great touch. It hung perfectly off Mike's lanky frame. The stockings and heels made his legs somehow magically longer. Micky wondered if Mike was completely in uniform.

“Change the channel.” Micky ordered. Mike tried to crouch in the heels and couldn't. Sighing, he bent down in front of the tv. And jumped as Micky pulled the skirt up to his hips.

“Micky! What are you-” Mike was cut off as Micky slapped his ass. Mike yelped.

“Excuse me?”  Micky asked as he slapped Mike again, causing him to stumble forward into the tv.

“Sir! Sir. What are you doing!?” Mike stared wide eyed at Micky over his shoulder.

“Uniform check. I had to make sure you were  wearing the thong and garter belt.” Micky moved his hand up Mike's leg and let it rest between the thong and Mike's inner thigh. Mike shuddered.

“I'm just your maid sir.”

“Ah ah, maid-slave. And I don't see any more jobs for the maid. You did such a great job.” Micky flipped Mike around to face him, snaking his hand underneath the front of Mike's skirt to the bulge he felt growing there.

“Seems like my little slave likes the embarrassment.”

“Micky-” Micky squeezed Mike, causing him to wince. “sir....” Micky released him. He smiled, stepped back, dropped his pants and underwear, and sat back down in his seat.

“Kneel.” Mike's lower lip quivered. “KNEEL!” Mike lowered down to his knees at Micky's feet.

“Now get to work.” Mike took Micky's erection in hand, slowly working the shaft.

“Like you mean it.” A devious look crossed Mike's face as he deep
throated Micky, causing the drummer to squeal.

“Fuckin hell Mike....” Micky shifted in his seat, his head rolling back onto the chair. Mike twirled his tongue around the base and up the shaft. Micky laced his hands through Mike's hair and behind his head as he start bucking involuntarily. Mike gagged slightly but  Micky didn't let go until he came, screaming Mike's name.  The sudden release caused Mike to fall backward. He glared at Micky, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. They both started at the sound of a clatter and a whistle. Peter and Davy were at the back door, Peter having dropped his surfboard when he'd gone slack jawed again.  Mike yanked the heels
off and stood up.

“If you need anything else, sir, I'll been in the room.” It took all of Mike's effort not run upstairs and slam the door behind him.

“Dismissed.” Micky groaned only after the door was closed.

“Micky, are you insane?” Peter whispered, his sense returning to him.

“He's going to kill you for this mate.” Davy frowned, crossing his arms. Micky licked his lips nervously. Davy was right. He wasn't sure what had compelled him to do that to Mike, but he had a feeling he knew when to expect the Texan's wrath.


Micky didn't brave the bedroom until well after the sun had set. Mike had fallen asleep in the maid's outfit, sitting on his bed and propped against the wall. He must have been waiting for Micky to call him again. Micky sat down on his own bed and watched Mike sleep, the
gentle even rise of his chest noting each breath. Micky felt himself harden slightly at the sight.

What the hell is wrong with me.....


Micky was alone when he woke up, propped against the wall next to his bed. He quickly headed out the door and slid down the banister. Davy and Peter were at the table opposite Micky's plate as Mike swept the area near the bandstand. Davy was waving his hand in front of Peter's face. Mike noticed Micky and immediately stood at attention, staring

“Uh, as you were.” Micky sputtered. Mike returned to his sweeping. Davy  looked at Micky,

who was staring at Mike's back.

“You are really going to keep this up?” Davy asked. Micky shrugged. After yesterday he'd expected Mike to just quit. Now he felt like he was losing a handle on the situation.

“Fine. I'm taking Peter out of here.” Davy pulled Peter to his feet by his arm. Mike turned back to them.

“What, why?”

“Because his face is gonna freeze like this it is. He can't stop staring at this ridiculous spectacle. I'm tired of moving his jaw so he can eat food.” Mike looked at Peter and frowned. It was one thing the first day, but Peter's inability to stop staring at Mike was

“Yeah, that's probably for the best.” Davy nodded and dragged Peter out the front door. Once it was closed behind them he gave Peter a slight slap on the face, causing him to shake off his stupor.

“You all right babe?”

“Uh, yeah. Hey Davy, can I talk to you about this Mike thing?”


“You didn't want them to leave?” Micky asked Mike. Mike didn't answer him. Micky sighed.

“Fine. Peter dropped ice cream on the area rug the other day. It didn't stain but it's sticky. Clean it up.” Micky flopped down on the sofa as Mike headed to the kitchen. He grabbed a bucket from under the sink and filled it with hot soapy water. As he turned to head back
towards the living room the weight of the bucket put him off balance and he fell, dumping the water all over himself.

“My ankle, son of a bitch!” Micky was on his feet and standing by Mike in a second, extending his hand to him. Mike took it and gingerly stood up, kicking the heels off in the process.  When he glanced back up at Micky the look of lust in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Well, wot about Mike?” Davy asked.

“It's just....no, I'm embarrassed.”

“You can't be any more embarrassed than Mike is.”

“But....ok....when I saw Mike like that, I had all these feelings...”


“Yeah, and well, when I saw what they were doing the other day.....I wanted to be one of them. Or join them. I don't know.”


Micky couldn't take his eyes off Mike. The wet dress clung tightly to Mike, the water weight causing it to hang off one shoulder. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead and water was dripping off the end of his nose. His cheeks were flushed from the hot water.

“Oh my god, I can't take this.” Micky pushed Mike off his feet into a sitting position on the kitchen table, his long legs dangling off the edge.

“MICK.....sir....” Micky gripped Mike by the arms and nuzzled into his neck, kissing and nipping from his shoulder to ear, & pressed himself between Mike's legs. Mike let out a soft moan.


“I'm not saying they wouldn't be into it. I'm just maybe now is an awkward time.”


“Because this is part of Micky's weird bet. What if Mike isn't really into it?”

“Mike doesn't generally do things he doesn't want to do.”

“That's true.”


“Yeah Pete?”

“Do you think Mike looks hot in that outfit?”


Micky had pushed Mike flat on the table, simultaneously pulling those long legs up and over his shoulders. He had dropped his pants to his knees and was slowly, gently pushing into Mike, who whimpered and bit down on his lip so hard a thin trickle of blood and saliva trailed down his chin. Micky wiped it away with his thumb. Mike's legs tensed around him, pushing him in deeper. Micky groaned.


“Yeah Pete, I do. I think it's hot. I'd never even thought about another guy like that before. Okay, I take that back, I thought Mick looked smashing as Ms. Arcadian.” Peter grinned.

“So we should both ask to join them together!” Davy waved his hands in front of him.

“Whoa whoa whoa, I don't know about all that!”

“It'll be fun.”

“Peter, how are you even gonna ask something like that?  Every time you see Mike you freeze up.”

“I do?”

“You don't realize you're losing large chunks of time?”

“No more than usual. Besides, now that we've talked about it I'm sure I'll be fine.”

“You know what Pete, even if they're not into it, I think we need to address the issue regardless.  It's too tense at the pad, and I am tired of Mike's scrambled eggs.” Davy opened the door. And sighed as he shoved the  once again silent staring Peter back into the pad.

“Oh.....oh god Mike you're so fucking tight.....” Micky opened his eyes to stare at the half pain half blissful look on Mike's features.

His breathing was timed with Micky's thrusts, and the movement had slid the table across the wet kitchen floor until it was stopped by the ice box. Micky's orgasm was accented by a sharp whistling noise and Mike crying out his name.

“Fellas, we need to talk. First of all, we eat there!”  Davy scowled. Micky quickly separated from Mike and grabbed up his pants. Mike hopped off the table onto wobbly legs. Davy slapped Peter's face again.

“We want to join you!” Peter chirped excitedly.

“I uh....sure?” Micky shrugged, confused.

“I need some air.” Mike sprinted up the stairs. He returned a few minutes later, dressed normally, and stormed out the front door.

Before anyone could move or speak, the heard the Monkeemobile start up
and speed off.


Mike have driven aimlessly for a while before finding himself at a diner. He realized he hadn't eaten much since his kinky indentured servitude had begun and was craving red meat. When he entered the diner he immediately caught sight of the pretty blonde girl who had turned Davy down sitting with three other people. He quickly walked past them and slid down into the booth next to them.

“So I'm at work, and this guy comes in wanting to buy perfume for his wife. I asked him if he wanted me to gift wrap it and he says, he says 'baby, I got something you can gift wrap right here!' How lame is that?”

“Guys just never quit, do they? Only thinking of one thing.”

“Speaking of guys, Debra, I noticed you got hit on by that little Brit from the Monkees.”

“Oh yeah, poor sweet little thing.”

“Pfft, poor sweet little thing my left tit! I've seen that little ball of hormones with so many different chicks-”

“You let him down easy right?”

“He's really so pretty, he looks like the boy version of my Abby here!”

“Surly you jest, I modeled my eyebrows after Paul McCartney!”

“I know Abby, but you've both go such beautiful big eyes and long lashes-”


“Cool it Abby, she already turned him down!”

“She ain't leavin' you for a boy any sooner than I'd leave Minnie here.”

Mike found himself standing next to their table, catching them off guard,  but his question froze it his throat. He stared at the girls. Abby did look a lot like Davy, with a Beatle bob and painfully plucked eyebrows. Minnie was peering at him through large glasses and under
even larger frizzy hair. Debra was squinting at him and smiling awkwardly. And the fourth girl, who was glaring at him, had dark shoulder length hair with bangs that hung over her eyes, and a plaid shirt.

“Um, can we help you?” Minnie finally asked.

“Oh, I uh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overhear but...are you ladies....gay? I uh, had a question....”

“Here we go!” The dark haired girl jabbed Mike in the chest with her finger. “Look buddy, we've heard it before, NO, you can't watch!”

“WHAT? Oh no, no, that's not what I was going to.....wait, do men
actually ask you that? That's awful.” Debra noticed Mike was fiddling with a green wool hat.

“Wait, I know you. You're Mike from the Monkees.”

“Yeah...yeah..maybe this was a mistake” The girls exchanged quick glances.

“You said you had a question?” Abby asked.

“Uh yeah. I...something happened between me and one of my band mates that is very different and...” Mike trailed off.

“You had an unexpected gay experience and you need someone to talk to?” The dark haired girl's expression had softened.


“Oh honey,” Debra and Abby scooted over. “Sit down.”


“I can't tell you if you can join in!”  Micky exclaimed.

“Why?” Peter pouted.

“Because I don't even know how or why this keeps happening!”

“How or why, Micky, how do you not  know, that doesn't even make sense!”  Davy was becoming extremely frustrated with the whole situation.

“It started out as a practical joke. But, the way he looked, I just couldn't help myself.”

“Yes, it's quite hypnotic.” Peter had a dreamy look on his face. Davy just shook his head.

“Do you actually like Mike like that or are you just fucking around?”

“I....do. I think I have for awhile.”

“Me too.” Peter mused.

“Well let me tell you, you're going about this the wrong way, and if something doesn't change, it'll be more than just your friendship with Mike you've affected!” Davy pushed Peter's chin up to close his mouth to accent his point. Micky rubbed his hands through his hair and covered his eyes.

“I've made a huge mistake.”


Some part of Mike couldn't believe how much of his personal life he was sharing with nearly complete strangers in a diner, but that part of him was drowned out by the part of him trying to process the things coming out of his mouth. The women were quite reassuring to him. They told him it was healthy to explore these feelings, but not in the way it  was currently happening. Mike was interested in something more equal with Micky (and maybe Peter and Davy too but he couldn't think about that too much right now) and less domination.

“How did you even come to be in this maid situation?” Debra asked.

“You're going to hate this. Micky bet me Davy would strike out with you. Since that so rarely happens...if I had won Micky had to stop betting.”

“Well that's weird. Micky asked me about Davy the week before and I told him I was a lesbian. I guess he forgot to tell Davy.” Mike eyes narrowed.

“No. He didn't forget. He cheated. He deliberately let Davy bomb out with you so he could set me up. He didn't even indicate that he knew you.”

“Well that changes everything. This calls for a little prank/revenge of your own. Why do you keep starin' at me?”

“Because Erin, you dipshit, you're dressed exactly alike!”

“Ahhaa that's not it. What were you sayin' about revenge?”


When the sun set and Mike hadn't returned Davy had yelled at Micky for an hour straight.

“Maybe you just want to take over the daddy role in this house!”

“Are you even listening to the things you're saying?” Davy was pulling his hair.

“What role am I playing?”

“Anthromorphic puppy.” Peter scratched  his head.

“This is more of a madhouse than usual.”

“Forget this, I'm going to bed.”

“But Mike isn't back yet!” Peter pouted.

“He'll be back.”


Micky had a dream where a shadowy figure was standing over him shaking a feather duster. After first it was frightening, but it never did anything else, so after awhile it was comical and then boring.

He was disturbed however, when he awoke the next morning to find his and Mike's room completely ransacked.  He quickly pulled on a tshirt and tip toed out to the landing.

Mike was sitting on the couch, eating pistachios and dressed once again in the maid outfit. In place of the heels he was wearing his normal boots, which were propped on the ottoman.  Peter, surprisingly not frozen in place, was bobbing back and forth next to Mike, gorging himself on junk food from a red bag. The same red bag Micky had kept the packaged junk food he'd won off Peter, which had been stored in the top drawer of his dresser.

Micky came down the stairs and stood next to the couch, crossing his arms in front of him. Mike tilted his head towards him, stilling chewing. Micky looked at the boots and back to Mike, who shrugged, popped another pistachio into his mouth, and flicked the shell off
into a random direction.

“Mike, Davy told me if you leave pistachio shells on the ground the cops will find you.”

“Not the way I do it baby.” Peter giggled. Micky pointed at the bag, which Peter pulled close to himself.

“What's that about?”

“Mike gave them to me.”

“He had no right to.”

“You had no right to them.” Mike cut in.

“Excuse you?”

“You had no right to them, siiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrrr.” Mike rolled his eyes.

“You know your time isn't up. I thought Mike Nesmith was a man of his word, but all I hear is sass.” Mike twitched. He took the bag from Peter, stood up and walked at Micky with such rage on his face the Micky tripped over himself to get away.

“How dare you!” Micky bumped into the kitchen table as Mike shook the bag in his face.

“You cheated Peter. Admit it!”

“A gambler never reveals his trick!”

“That's a magician.” Peter responded, peering over Mike's shoulder at Micky.  Mike grabbed Micky by the wrist and turned it sharply, and when Micky tried to turn to adjust for the pain, Mike shoved him towards the table and grabbed his other arm, pinning them both at
Micky's lower back with one hand. He handed the bag back to Peter.

“Ahh, ow ow ow!”

“Admit it!” Micky struggled against him. Mike slapped him hard on the ass.

“Ok ok ok, I cheated Peter, I’m sorry! I saw the mail had come and bet him he actually had a letter.” Mike craned his neck to look at Peter.

“Oh, you got a letter Pete, who was it from?”

“My mother. She  says she thinks you could have been a dancer.”

“Ah. Ok.” Mike turned back to Micky. “Anything else?”



“Ok ok, I cheated Davy. He bet me he did have April's phone number in his book, and I knew he wouldn't have it because I gave him a pen with disappearing ink to write it down in.”

“You've got to be joking!” Davy had just walked in with a bag of groceries. “Because of you we missed a charity gig she was throwing! She was gonna give us free laundry service for a year!”

”I‘m sorry!”

“Anything else you wanna fess up to shotgun?”



“OK I'M SORRY MIKE. I'm sorry. I cheated you. I knew Davy would strike out with that girl!”

“How could you possibly know that?” Davy asked, now also standing a few feet behind Mike.

“Because Debra is a lesbian. Micky knew it and didn't tell you.”


“I ran into her last night.” Mike released Micky's wrists and took a step back, bumping into Peter.

“Mike, Mike you promised!”

“What Peter”

“You promised I could join in!”

“Peter I don't-” Peter stepped around Mike and slapped Micky.

“HEY! I said I was sorry!”

“That's for cheating me!”

Micky pushed off the table and spun around, unwilling to be spanked again. Three very angry Monkees were staring him down.

“No more bets, no more cheating, right Mick?” Davy asked, hands on his hips.

“I can’t promise anything when it comes to Mr. Schneider, but yeah, no more.” Peter and Davy smiled. Mike stared at him coolly. “I really am sorry Mike. It was supposed to be a joke but then I saw you in that dress, and I just realized I had all these....feelings...”

“Me too!” Peter chimed in. Davy patted him on the back.

“Me too Micky.” Mike sighed. “But I don’t like being lied to.” Mike reached out and took the wrist he had twisted, rubbing it gently with his thumb. He smiled at Micky.

“Hey Mike?”


“If you already knew I’d cheated you, why did you put the dress back on?”

“Dramatic effect. Let’s start over.” Mike tilted Micky’s face towards him and kissed him. A tap on the shoulder interrupted their kiss.

“YOU PROMISED. Start over right!” Peter was grinning. Davy smiled and shrugged. Micky and Mike pulled them both into their embrace.