Caution/Welcome. Devastated by the latest spat between his mother and father, Aaron takes his anger and frustration out on his fellow performers until his principle dancer, Misha Hamilton, steps forward to ease his pain, and his own. Although incorporating many real occurrences, this story does not reflect nor imply a real event nor the real sexuality of these hot young performers. If you do not like reading gay fantasies about celebrities or about teenage boys getting their rocks off in a hot rimming session, this is where you stop and hit the back or delete key and wait for the next story. This is the forty-second of standalone stories in a series of Aaron Carter and Friends fanfic gay fantasies and chronologically follows the story "Hot Summer Fun in Albany." This story is posted at gay adult story sites for the purpose of adult entertainment. Permission is not given to copy electronically for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other than described without the permission of the author. Comments can be sent to the author J.O. Dickingson at authorsix@hotmail.com
AARON AND MISHA
"Who the freakin' hell stretched this goddamn cable across here?" cursed Aaron as he kicked at the extension cord he had tripped over. The cable was taped down and in exactly the same place as it had been for every other performance in the tour. Aaron glared around the stage as if expecting the person responsible for placing it there to step forward. "Goddamn freakin' morons I have to freakin' put up with," he snarled as he gave the cable one last kick and stormed off the stage.
He had been in a particularly pissy mood all day, starting right at breakfast complaining that his bed had been too lumpy and that he hadn't gotten any sleep, and that his eggs that morning were undercooked and his bacon overcooked. The eggs and bacon were no different from any other morning. It was true he had not gotten any sleep the previous night, but it had nothing to do with the bed. He had griped and moped all the way to Myrtle Beach and everyone had done their best to avoid him and leave him to his sulking, which only irritated him further. He never was a morning person to begin with, often staying up all night working on his music and then sleeping until past noon, so his foul mood was not that particularly unusual. What was unusual was that it had continued all afternoon.
During the rehearsal at the Myrtle Beach House of Blues, he had criticised the lighting, fussed relentlessly with the sound system, had called the technicians idiots and had threatened to have the whole lot of them fired, and had criticised his opening and supporting acts. He had been particularly sharp with Libby and Brittany from Jump 5, accusing them of being off on their routine and suggesting it was because of the absence of Lesley who had come down sick and had to drop out of the tour at the last moment. Since it had been the two girls he'd criticized and not Brandon nor Chris, one of the assumptions of the others on the tour was that Aaron's real problem was the ongoing fight between Hilary Duff and Lindsay Lohan supposedly over him, and the relentless attention the media and his fan clubs were paying over their spat and his love life, or lack thereof.
Brandon Hargest knew for a fact that the hissy fit between the two certainly was bothering Aaron. He and Aaron had gotten to know each other particularly intimately when Jump 5 had opened for him on his previous tour a year ago, and the two of them had been spending a lot of time together since the beginning of this tour. He knew that despite his popularity, Aaron lacked and especially craved female friendships, and that lacking any particular skills in relating to the opposite sex, he'd approached his relationship with Hilary and Lindsay in a very juvenile way, the way he himself would have approached girls back when he was twelve or thirteen. He also knew from what little he had heard through the rumour mill, which operated twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, that Hilary and Lindsay were two particularly spoiled and strong-minded teenage girls to begin with, a match for even the smoothest Lothario, never mind someone as inexperienced and naive about girls as Aaron.
Brandon figured there was likely another reason for Aaron's irritation besides, and that was Aaron's frustration in being unable to make any progress with his fellow performer Chris Fedun. He and Aaron had spent every moment alone plotting and scheming how they could seduce Chris--well, every moment alone that they weren't engaged in sex with each other. When Aaron had said he enjoyed sex with other guys more than anything else he had not been kidding, and he had taken on the project of helping Brandon get into Chris's pants wholeheartedly. So far they had tried the usual tricks, talking about how hot their fans evidently got watching them and wondering if the girls pleasured themselves later that night, and particularly while listing to their music, hoping to get Chris talking about female masturbation, which would lead them to a discussion about guy masturbation. When that had not worked, they had commented on how hot they got knowing the girls were hot, and how they were afraid they'd bone up on stage, they had even gone so far as to wonder out loud in Chris's presence if maybe they should do something to satisfy those urges. Chris's response had been to totally ignore them, as if he was too pure and innocent to know never mind understand what they were talking about, which turned Aaron and Brandon on even more thinking how hot it would be to introduce Chris to sex with guys as Aaron had introduced Brandon. When their comments had become too obvious to ignore, Chris had simply shaken his head and had grinned as if they were children, and when they persisted in their efforts to engage him in conversation he had suggested they take a cold shower.
Greg Raposo's instinct on the other hand was to avoid Aaron, knowing that all gifted singers were moody, which was his reasoning for Aaron's behaviour when he was feeling in a generous mood, and knowing that Aaron's tour was not really going all that well besides, not for him. Sure, he was drawing in thousands of fans and making probably two hundred thousand a performance, but that was pocket money for him and his family, and nothing compared to what he was making the previous year.
Greg's mother, unfortunately, saw Aaron's blue mood as an opportunity to cheer him up and thus get on his good side, and that of his mother. So of course she encouraged Greg to spend even more time with Aaron, and especially alone, which was the last thing he wanted to do given Aaron's sexual preference and promiscuity. There was only one thing on Aaron's mind when he was alone with a guy. Greg had never seen anyone as cock hungry as he was. Even after spending an hour with Brandon, with whom Greg had no doubt he was having sex, and for ulterior motives as far as Brandon was concerned, he was still eager to drop his pants when they were alone, or at least get into Greg's pants, which being straight and very definitely macho, was causing him to lose more than just a little sleep at night himself. Knowing what he did about Aaron, in his less generous moods, which were more common than the generous ones, Greg concluded that the reason for his pissy moods was because he was going through that struggle that all gay teen boys go through, questioning why he was different, why he could not be like "normal" guys, and what he had to do to change. Of course there he was totally wrong. Aaron was one hundred percent gay and perfectly at peace with that.
Aaron's dancers had not been spared Aaron's temper tantrums either. He had complained that they were out of step with the music and distracting him. He accused them of trying to upstage him, which they were not, and he criticized Misha Hamilton in particular, who was the best of all of them and whom the dancers saw as their leader and spokesmen. He complained they were performing poorly and that their poor performance was reflecting on his show and the cause of the lower turnout. They did occasionally mess up--they were teenagers after all, with growing, changing bodies, and under a lot of stress travelling and performing across the country, and especially under the demanding and critical eye of Aaron's mother. They did their best to avoid him, and in private they complained that he was a spoiled superstar with a mother who was doing nothing to control her son.
They were right on both points, and especially the latter. Jane Carter wasn't doing anything. She'd tried, but just something as simple as approaching Aaron had set him off, and she had quickly realized the best way to control him at the moment was to stay out of his sight. What hurt most of all was that she and she alone knew why Aaron was behaving the way he was. She knew, but there was not a thing she could do about it. As a mother, that was tearing her apart, and as Jane Carter, professional manger, the effect their personal life was having on Aaron's performance and as a consequence his popularity and success was making her all the bitchier. Aaron came by his moods honestly.
Of all of them, performers, stage help, chaperones, parents and agents, only one other saw what was happening. Misha Hamilton. The sensitive sixteen-year-old dancer from Larkspur Colorado saw the sorts of things that set Aaron off and the things that tended to calm him. He especially saw the dramatic mood swings when Aaron and Jane Carter were together and when they were not. He saw, but he did not understand the reason. The sixteen-year-old dancer did, however, have the heart and compassion to try to do something about it. So, after the performance that night in Myrtle Beach while everyone else had changed and gotten out of Aaron's sight as fast as they could, he had stuck around.
"Sorry about that hand spin," he said, approaching Aaron once the last performer had left the change room. "Sometimes it just doesn't come together."
Aaron grunted his acceptance of the apology, which Misha took as a positive sign. Aaron could have agreed more vocally, or could have found more to criticise, or could have in the least cursed him. Aaron, he'd discovered, could have a very foul mouth, which was the direct opposite of the bubble gum Disney image he was trying to project, or at least that his mother was.
"You were spot on tonight, as usual."
"I sucked," Aaron replied, tossing his sweaty T and towel into his duffle bag angrily and slipping on a clean shirt.
"Well, you messed up only a couple times, three actually, but hey, who's counting?" Aaron's eyes narrowed as they flared with anger and he looked like he was about to leap up and strike Misha, but he saw the slight curl of the corners of the dark-eyed dancer's lips and he could not help but smile himself despite his mood. "Nice to see a smile, even that small, on your face," Misha observed sincerely. "If you don't mind my saying so, you have been a real bitch lately."
"Yeah? Maybe I have. Maybe I have every reason to," Aaron snapped, his face darkening and the smile quickly fading as he buttoned up his shirt. "It's not your freakin' place to--."
"Your mother?"
Aaron's expression at first turned to a look of surprise, and then quickly turned to anger once again. He opened his mouth to give the insolent--.
"It is difficult, especially when one is so angry with one he loves so much," Misha continued hurriedly before Aaron could stop him. Misha knew how to read people. It was part of his training, both ballet training and martial arts training, and it was part of his personality. He'd sensed that the trouble lay in the relationship between mother and son, and Aaron's response confirmed that. "Parents sometimes have no idea the hurt they cause those they love the most."
"Tell me about it," Aaron said bitterly, his anger having been cut off.
"You tell me," Misha responded as he sat down on the change bench beside Aaron.
Aaron looked at the teenage dancer, again in surprise, and then with a look of mockery as if Misha had no idea of the depth of his agony, and then finally once again with growing anger as his defence and temper began to build. How dare he, a mere dancer in his tour, a minor supporting player, make such comments?
"It is good to talk about it, to voice what is in your heart, and I am a very good listener."
Aaron's anger at Misha, the nearest and only available target of his anger in the absence of the one he was really angry with, spiked, but instead of striking out, Aaron saw the look of understanding and the plea to let him help in Misha's deep brown eyes, and instead his anger dissipated as fast as a summer's rain in the hot afternoon sun.
"How could she? How could he? How could both of them?" he sputtered as his face began to contort. "I had such hopes. I know we all did even if I can't talk to any of them, Nick, Angel." His upper lip quivered. "When she said she was going for a ride in Dad's boat and that they were going out for dinner at Burine's afterward, I really thought they were going to reconcile.
I knew the moving vans had gone down, that she was moving out, but when she said that, I really, really thought they were going to patch things up you know?" Tears began rolling down his cheeks. Misha drew close, putting a muscular arm about him.
"All because of some dumb pictures, and a couple gold records!" His sorrow turned to anger as quickly as a sunny summer can turn into a summer storm. "I could have made duplicates of the fucking pictures! Hundreds of copies! I've millions in the fucking bank! And who gives a shit about the records! That is the past. We all know I've made gold! Mom and her fucking possessiveness! And, and his fucking temper! He actually threw a fucking coffee pot at her!" He looked at Misha pleadingly, as if hoping he could explain why. "And then he started throwing stuff out the truck, smashing things, breaking them, my fucking things! He really scared her. He really did." He voice was quivering and he tried his best to regain control, but having begun, he could not stop what had to happen. He trembled as his body was racked with sobs.
"She ran," he choked as he fought back the tears. "What else could she do?
What else could he have expected? And what fucking good did it do? He smashed in the fucking door to the guest house, then the fucking door to the bathroom where she'd locked herself. Him and his fucking, stupid temper! And then she fell and hit her head. Of course she said he'd pushed her to the cops. She was scared. Scared for her life. She knew his temper. What else could she say? And now he's in jail. In fucking jail! And it's all her fault, the fucking bitch. All her fucking fault, over a couple fucking pictures and records!" His face contorted in agony. "And here I am fucking performing as if nothing's going on, as if everything is fucking all right!"
It all out in the open, Aaron collapsed in Misha's strong arms, his head on Misha's chest, his tears soaking his sweat-stained, black muscle shirt. He choked back his tears.
"No, don't fight it," Misha said softly, "let it happen."
He did. He lay there trembling, feeling ashamed, feeling such a weakling, his tears flowing freely, a broken dam of false strength. Misha waited patiently, saying nothing, just holding him tightly. When the tears finally stopped and Aaron began to relax, Misha wiped away the tears with a forefinger, and then leaning forward, gently kissed them away. Aaron's cheeks were salty and burning hot and Misha brushed them with feather-light kisses, first one and then the other, softly and gently, and then after a moment's pause, his lips touched Aaron's. Aaron made no attempt to draw back, and offered no complaint, and so Misha kissed his lips again, and then again. The fourth time was with more force as he began to unbutton Aaron's shirt.
"They're going to be coming to look for us," Aaron warned regretfully. Placing a finger across his lips, Misha got to his feet and told him he'd be right back. He was gone less than five minutes, and too drained, physically, emotionally and mentally, Aaron made no attempt to pack. Returning, Misha locked the door to the change room behind him. "What--?"
Misha placed his finger across Aaron's lips this time as he sat beside him. "The others are going on ahead of us," he said softly as he resumed unbuttoning Aaron's shirt. "Your PR agent said he'd see we got back to the hotel."
"Good ol'Mike!"
"No talking," Misha advised. Planting his lips firmly against Aaron's so he had no choice, the young dancer ran his hands over Aaron's smooth chest. It was a long kiss, followed by a second and a third.
"I'm all right now," Aaron said softly as Misha paused. "You don't have to do this."
"I know. I want to."
That was the truth. Misha had been watching Aaron throughout the tour. He'd seen the look in his eyes when he'd talked to Brandon, the way he was always checking out Greg and Chris and some of the others, including himself quite often. Aaron was gay. Of that he had no doubt. He should know. So was he. In fact he was the stereotypical boy ballet dancer with that effeminate face, the double rings in his ears, one along the top rim and the other in the lobe, and those graceful, feminine moves. He'd been studying ballet for seven years, since he was nine, and he'd heard all the fag jokes and all the innuendos, seen the curious looks and the knowing glances, and received the direct out and out insults. That was one reason for his training in the martial arts. His father knew, and he wanted his boy to be able to defend himself against the bullies he would meet, as a boy, a teenager, and in the future as a gay man. So Misha knew Aaron was gay, and that Aaron was attracted to him, which was fine as he felt the same way about the hot, blond singer.
And so he slipped off Aaron's shirt and sliding off the bench and kneeling before him, he kissed his chest and toyed with his nipples with his tongue, causing them to quickly become firm. Aaron reached down and pulled Misha's T out of his trousers. Slipping his hands under it, he massaged Misha's back, still hot and sweaty from performing and from the closed, stuffy change room. Aaron pulled the T up over Misha's head and the two boys, now shirtless, embraced and kissed.
Their hands reached down simultaneously and they unbuckled each other's belt and pulled down each other's fly. As Misha pushed down Aaron's jeans, Aaron raised himself off the bench to assist the aroused young dancer and then he pushed down Misha's. Both boys had developed significant bulges, Aaron's plaid boxers having a very definite tent and the outline of Misha's swollen cock clearly visible in his tight white jockeys.
Kissing Aaron's neck and then his clavicle, Misha's lips slowly continued down along the middle of his smooth, sweaty chest and his ribs to the elastic band of his boxers. As Misha slipped his hands under the band and slowly began to push them down, Aaron raised his hips to allow him to slip his underwear over his buttocks. Kneeling now beside the bench, Misha kissed Aaron's navel and his flat stomach as far as his bush, and then continuing to draw down his boxers, he followed them with his lips, kissing the inside of Aaron's thighs and causing Aaron's swollen cock to begin to rise. He continued down, brushing his lips along Aaron's hairy calves to his ankles and then slipping off his underwear and his socks.
He then began his way back up, kissing the fifteen-year-old's calves and thighs once again. Easing Aaron down onto his back on the low bench, he raised the young singer's hips until his legs were raised in the air and his now stiff cock and sweaty balls were dangling before his eyes. He knelt on the bench behind Aaron and kissed the space below his balls. To Aaron's surprise, instead of continuing up to kiss and lick his dangerously exposed balls, Misha continued in the other direction, along his crack. His cock lurched with arousal as he felt Misha's tongue slowly slipping along his crack to his tail bone. He could not believe what Misha had just done!
Pulling apart Aaron's smooth ass cheeks, Misha slowly slipped his tongue back down along his sweaty, oily crack again, over his asshole and down along the cord between his legs and back to his balls. His stiff cock wagged with arousal and Misha's own cock, stiff and throbbing hotly in his jockeys, tried to break loose. Slowly licking back up and arriving at Aaron's butthole once more, Misha pulled his ass cheeks even further apart and zeroed in on his target. Aaron shivered with arousal as Misha ran the tip of his tongue along the folds of his pucker and then pressed his lips against his quivering hole in a perverse kiss before releasing his grip on Aaron's smooth melons and allowing his asshole to close. He pressed his lips against the closed pucker and sucked on it, causing Aaron to squirm on his back, and then Misha pressed the tip of his hot, wet, muscular tongue against his butthole and wormed it in.
Aaron could not believe it! The sultry, muscular dancer he'd been admiring and fantasizing about was sitting there straddling the change bench, his glistening, muscular arms holding him up and supporting him by the hips as he licked, kissed and sucked on his asshole. Aaron trembled as Misha's hot, moist tongue forced itself into his opening and wormed its way into his body, into his dank, dark chamber, as far as it could penetrate. As he felt Misha's lips press tight against his pucker, he opened and closed it, as if returning the perverse kiss. He felt something hot and wet oozing into his rectum and slowly realized it was Misha's spittle. Misha's spittle was quickly followed by his amazingly strong tongue.
Aaron was not the first boy Misha had ever rimmed, but Misha was the first to rim the King of Pop. It was not the most common nor the most popular act between guys, and was even rarer between a girl and a guy for that matter, which to Misha made it all the more special, and all the hotter. He worked his tongue in and out of the hot, throbbing pucker as an adder darts its slender tongue. As Aaron inhaled sharply, Misha pushed his tongue up his asshole as far as he could, delighting in the perverse action.
Aaron trembled and immediately tensed as he felt the twang deep in his groin and he muttered a curse of ecstasy as he came, his stiff cock jerking and wagging, spraying his face, his chest, and his stomach with ropes of hot cum. He gasped for breath and threw his head back in rapture as shot after shot sprayed his body. And then Misha had lowered his legs and was straddling him and bending over him. His eyelids lowered in lust, Misha stuck out his tongue and lapped up a streamer of cum from Aaron's cheek, then another that had laced his forehead. Aaron could not believe it. The hot, dark dancer was lapping up his cum, licking it from his face and from his chest. Aaron looked down at the dark-haired, dark-eyed dancer and his cock twitched again, causing more cum to ooze from it.
Misha raised a leg and spun around so he was straddling Aaron once again, this time in the opposite direction. It was a smooth, fluid motion, as were all of his moves, a graceful movement like those that had fascinated Aaron the first time he'd seen Misha dance, and that had turned him on. Misha shuffled back so he could lick the cum from Aaron's waist, bringing his bulging Jockeys to above Aaron's nose. Aaron reached up and quickly pulled down his Jockey briefs and Misha raised a leg, somehow stepping out of the leg hole. Clad now only in his black socks with one leg still in the leg hole of his briefs, he bent down again to resume his lapping up of Aaron's cum.
Aaron reached up and gripped the muscular young singer's stiff cock. Seven months older than Aaron, the recently turned sixteen year old lowered his body effortlessly and Aaron opened his mouth and slipped his lips over the dancer's danging, low-hanging balls. Taking both of them in his mouth, he sucked on them gently, his cheeks puffed out like a puffer fish. Delighting in their saltiness and the musky, spicy fragrance from Misha's sweat, Aaron found his mouth quickly filling with saliva. He worked it over Misha's tender balls, basting the orbs with his spittle, and then swallowing the ball-flavoured saliva.
Unable to resist the swollen sausage protruding above the tender orbs, Aaron allowed them to slip out of his mouth and as they hung there dripping with his spittle, he shuffled along the low bench on his back so he could slip his lips over the knob of Misha's stiff dick. The young dancer's cock was almost seven inches, almost half an inch longer than his own, an impressive size, and one that many a straight boy had eyed with envy and with anger that a gay boy would be hung so well. As a gay boy, all Aaron could do was drool with admiration as he sucked on the plum-shaped knob. Misha waited, and then as he slowly lowered his body Aaron took in his cock until it was pressing against the back of his throat.
The muscular dancer began to slowly pump his hips, fucking Aaron's eager mouth. He was randy as fuck after rimming the hot blond star, and it was not long before he was panting with his approaching orgasm. His tan skin glistened with sweat, his muscular dancer's thighs and biceps flexing and relaxing as he fucked the young singer's mouth. Years of dance and martial arts practices had resulted in firm, well-developed muscles and he effortlessly raised and lowered his hips, working his stiff, aching cock in and out of Aaron's hot, moist mouth. The tension in his loins built and he relished the building tension and aching of his dick head until at last he groaned out a warning and seconds later began to shoot out his cum, shooting it directly down Aaron's throat and filling his mouth. Spurt after spurt shot from the panting young dancer as he straddled the star of the tour. He quivered in ecstasy as his swollen cock throbbed with pleasure and the knob burned as if on fire while his head spun. And then when he'd finished shooting, Aaron took over, sucking on the hot, throbbing cock and drawing out the remainder of his thick cum.
Aaron inhaled and exhaled deeply with pleasure, having sucked off still another performer on his tour, and having engaged in sex with still another new boy. He licked his lips, relishing the taste of Misha's cock and cum. Life was great. With his eyes closed and his lips parted as he sucked in the cum-scented air, the taste of Aaron's ass on his lips and the taste of his cum in his mouth, Misha too sighed with delight. He had much to be delighted about that evening in the Myrtle Beach House of Blues change room.
He had brought Aaron an hour of peace and pleasure and had distracted him from the worries and sorrow that had been plaguing him, something nobody else had been able to do, and he had at last achieved two of his long time goals, that of having rimmed the hereunto unrimed asshole of the hot, young Prince of Pop, and that of having gotten off a hot, satisfying load of jism with him.